life lessons in black fur

I had a  poodle,  once.

We were babies together, clumsily toddling around a little garden, me squealing joyfully as I grabbed his curly puppy fur. We grew up together and I took him for many a walk, annoyed with his constant tugging on the leash. He also took many unauthorised walks on his own around the neighbourhood whenever he managed to find a way out of the house - this poodle loved his freedom.

Then I had a Labrador.  I was thirteen, a lonely, skinny teenage girl, and he was a stout puppy who grew at an alarming rate and turned into a bulky, headstrong dog. Before long, he almost weighed more than I did. This proved to be a challenge when we were out and he frequently decided to take off - at a run - in a different direction than the one I wanted. I developed some amazing muscles for a teenage girl, along with a strong determination that has taken me far later in life. I trained him myself. We had quite a few battle of wills but in the end, he turned out a very good dog, loyal and loving. And I, the lonely teenager, discovered that I was neither alone nor weak and useless.

And then, I had a  collie.  Technically, she was not mine. I lived in staff accommodation at a hotel where I worked and she turned up out of the blue, a runaway sheepdog. She loved everyone, and everyone in the staff house loved her back, so she moved in. Attempts to find her owner, or a new owner to give her a real home, all failed. She was a great companion on long walks in the wilderness around the hotel, except for the time we were caught in a thunderstorm and she was so scared she tried to walk between my legs all the way home. She was also the centre of conflict, great drama and a few conspiracy theories, as she had to be hidden away from the hotel boss who hated her and more than once tried to get rid of her. He finally succeeded and we never saw her again.

I think it's safe to say I would not be who I am without these dogs. Three great loves, three heartbreaks when I lost them.