My conversations with friends and complete strangers lately have had a lot to do with death. And grief.  It’s been one of those strange coincidences where talks have gone into a lot of depth, very quickly. 

Death is but one part of life, and it’s an area that we often don’t feel comfortable talking about. But taking part in those discussions is vital, and healthy, and frankly life affirming.

Today I was in tears outside the supermarket, as I heard that yet another of my dogs’ best friends had been let loose in the off lead area on the other side of the rainbow bridge.

Our dog park group has been diminished in the past couple of months. 

Dogs and their owners do come and go from our little world at the park. We remember the dogs and wonder how they’re going. Sometimes we remember their humans’ names, sometimes not.

Some dogs become friends not only to our dogs, but to us as well.

We lost our elder statesman, a black standard poodle by the name of Jasper recently. Even in his last weeks, Jasper still impacted dogs and humans in such a wonderful way. He loved his time at the park, and we loved him being there. But his time had come, and he had had a very good innings. It was very hard to see him go, but the image of him once again  gleefully chasing a blue rubber ball at ease in that mysterious place where dogs are finally free, helped.

We have now heard of the passing of Chewie’s absolute 100% bestie, a sausage dog named Biggie. These two, a month apart in age, met on almost their first trip into the big wide world of the dog park. Nearly 8 years ago. Their joy and sheer excitement when they met up, was infectious. They chased, they rolled, they….frankly…gambolled.

They were kindred spirits.

The humans became friends and socialised – sometimes even without the dogs. But mostly with.

As they get older and more mature (physically, that is – I suspect mentally they stayed at puppy age for a long time), the gambolling eased back a little, but the joy in each other’s presence didn’t change.

Biggie’s owners had the temerity to move to another place, and their joy at seeing each other was restricted to special visits.

That ‘death is but one part of life’ discussion doesn’t mean anything sometimes. But looking at my middle aged dog reclining on a couch, comfortably snoozing through the heat of the day…I do know that while her gambolling days may be behind her, she is who she is now, because gambolling was once part of her life.

She has moments – when she is deeply asleep – where I’m sure she is reliving her gambolling times. 

I strongly suggest that maybe gambolling is a state of mind, not of youth. 

Until you die – as we all will, eventually – may you have moments when gambolling with those who share your joy, is a very real part of your life. If you are still dealing with grief that hits you in the back of the head when you least expect it, I hope that you also have gambolling moments when you least expect them also.

RIP Biggie and Jasper. Chewie and I will miss you.

Gambol (verb): run or jump about playfully.

Heathers dictionary edit: running and jumping not actually required.