Every now and again, someone will ask me where Katie is, someone I hadn’t realized didn’t know, and it will bring it all back to me, with a grimace, an indrawing of breath through my teeth, and eyes filling up with tears. This morning it was the gardener who then confessed to me that Katie had been her favourite, the way she just quietly followed her around as she pottered about the garden doing her work, unlike the yappy and hyperactive schnoodles (she didn’t describe them that way but I knew what she meant).
We got a card from the vet about a week after Katie died.
What a lovely, kind and thoughtful thing to do. A workmate told me it’s just standard these days but I don’t care: I really appreciated the gesture. This is one part of the vets job that I would really struggle with. I’d be there with my syringe, blubbing with the rest of the family. Whatever the rights or wrongs of the end of life care bill, I’m just glad it would never be my job to do it.