Trust me on heavy petting

Forget the brown shoes. Beloved had a fabulous pair of brogues before he died and I trusted him unconditionally.

But how can I trust a man who never had pets?

I’m surrounded by three farting dogs and three cats with slightly more decorum as I type my deep distrust of the Advocate.

He has never had a pet – or been stung by a bee (did I mention my father was a bee-keeper and I’ve swatted more bees off my head than I can remember?)

He’s never had the pleasure of building a flat pond with two islands for Slug, the salamander, who had to come up for air occasionally.

Forget that three years later I one morning found only his tail on the lawn.

Just like I found the tail of the bunny who used to sleep with the dogs stretched out in the sun until our Dalmatian Serenity decided he needed to go.

Or poor Kiepie the chicken who was hunted down by our Maltese Skye for three weeks – a better record the two quails and three guinea pigs had with her.

Or Leila, our corn snake, who slid out of her cage just after I showed her off to dinner guests.

But we scaled down to a house with no space for any coop – and the dogs and cats scaled down with us, uncomplaining, unconditionally loving us.

And I just know the Advocate will never know unconditional love. And he will never know how Covid-19 changed us.

Him? Just lonely. Me? I went from pats on the heads in the morning when I left for work to… pure joy.

Joy is old Eliza being scared of thunder. I now shelter her, because I’m here, at home and she’s in my face as much as I’m in hers.

Joy is opening the door at seven in the morning and watching them gallop through the house after their broad smiles saying good morning.

No pats on the head. I have to love them; each and every one.

Joy is all my cats spread on my bed and all my dogs on my strip of carpet whatever time of the day – because they know I’m going nowhere. I’m here. I belong to them.

So my silent question to the Advocate is: have you ever kissed a dog or three? Had a cat curl up on your face and you just breathe? Had a bee sting?

Carine Hartman.

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