12. From the Shadows and into the Light

It was a wet Friday night, and as the rain poured down outside, the phone began to ring.

Beside me on the settee, my husband Michael had fallen asleep so I reached to answer it. ‘Hello?’ I said.

‘Hi, Mum,’ said a voice. ‘Can you come downstairs and help me bring some things up?’

I thought it was an odd request from my daughter, Claire, given that we lived in a first-floor apartment and I was seventy-six! Nevertheless, I slipped on my shoes and opened the door, ready to help as best I could.

It was then that I heard a quiet bark by my feet. I looked down and my eyes widened. There on my doorstep was a small black-and-cream Pug with a curly tail. He was sporting the biggest grin I’d ever seen and had so much energy – he was like a firework about to go off.

I wondered what was going on. Then Claire stepped out of her hiding place a few feet away and smiled.

So that’s what she had been up to.

‘Do you think Shadow can stay for the weekend, Mum?’ she said.

My answer, of course, was yes, but before I could say anything, Shadow had galloped past me and raced – or waddled, in the way Pugs do – into the living room, jumping on every bit of furniture in sight.

I laughed as Claire enveloped me in one of her usual bear hugs. We turned just in time to see Shadow jump up on Michael’s lap. He woke, confused, with a start. ‘Oh! A little dog! Look, Mildred!’

But what happened next was magical. Michael’s confusion softened into a beautiful smile. It was one of my favourite things about him and I loved seeing it. Sadly, for a while, his health had been deteriorating, and the cancer now had him firmly in its grip. He was growing weaker by the day. But, for a lovely moment, there was a twinkle in his eyes as he stroked Shadow.

Claire came in, pulled off her coat and slipped out of her shoes. We cut straight to the chase because Michael and I were desperate to hear about Shadow.

‘Where did he come from?’ I asked.

Claire, who is the chief executive of Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, said Shadow, a Pug cross, had been found wandering the streets of London, foraging in bins and rubbish before somebody had brought him to Battersea. She said: ‘Mum, I know you and Dad haven’t been the same since Winky died, and when I saw Shadow, I knew he’d be perfect for you.’

Winky had been our Whippet rescue that had died a few years earlier aged eighteen. We’d loved taking her for walks and had missed her terribly. Though it wasn’t normal for a Battersea dog to be rehomed like this, Claire was able to make an exception for us. She knew our circumstances and how much time we had to devote to a dog, as well as the experience we’d had with Winky and all our family dogs before her. So, Claire became our own family’s rehomer – even down to the home visit! And Shadow had come to see if we were all a match for each other.

‘I know you’ve wanted a Pug for a long time,’ Claire went on, ‘and when I saw him out of my office window, I knew he’d be perfect for you.’

It was true. Months earlier, I’d confided in Claire that since we’d lost Winky a certain something had been missing from our lives. I had told her that I’d love a little dog to keep us company. Now, she’d delivered to us the perfect candidate to fill the empty spot in our hearts and lives.

Claire reached over and took my hand. ‘But you don’t have to have him if you don’t feel he’s the right fit for you and Dad. There are lots of animals waiting for a loving owner like you.’

‘Why on earth would I say no?’ I said. ‘Of course we want him!’

Claire smiled and so did I. She went out to her car and brought back a new dog bed, food, toys, a collar and a lead for Shadow.

In the morning, I took Shadow to the park for a walk. People stopped to chat, and anyone who set eyes on him was immediately as smitten as I was. I could tell he would quickly become a local celebrity.

I’d learnt from friends who had them that Pugs were wilful and determined but, above all, loyal companions. They were playful, too, and very sociable. Later that day we had friends over for dinner and Shadow rushed about excitedly, saying hello to everyone, as I’d expected he would. Excitement got the better of him, and for a few minutes, he rushed around like a mad little monkey. But when he realized everyone was carrying on as normal, he calmed down, found a place by my feet and laid his head down to rest.

Next day, our son, Sean, and his little girls, Ashleigh and Trinity, came to meet Shadow. Ashleigh said: ‘He’s not very pretty, Grandma, but he’s still quite cute, isn’t he?’

And he was. Wherever we went, people wanted to stroke him or ask about his background. I told them about Battersea and how Shadow might be staying with us for good.

By now Michael was too weak to walk, but later I drove him and Shadow to the park and set up a picnic chair for Michael to sit on. Shadow raced around while Michael threw a ball for him. Before Michael had become ill, we’d both been keen walkers and had spent many a weekend wandering through the woods near our home with Winky. After so long without a dog, it felt lovely to be outside and feel the spring sunshine on our skin. Michael was glowing too.

On the Sunday evening, it was time for Claire to leave our home in the West Midlands and return to London with Shadow. During the time he’d spent on the streets, he had developed a terrible infection in his teeth and most of them were due to be removed; extensive dental work was scheduled for him.

Though we’d had Shadow only for the weekend, Michael and I were close to tears when we said goodbye to him and couldn’t wait for his return.

Two weeks later, Claire called. ‘Shadow is fit and ready for you. I’m bringing him home.’

The next day, Shadow was back with us, as excited to see us as we were to see him. He raced all over the flat until he ran out of steam, then sank into his new bed by the fireplace and promptly fell asleep next to Michael’s armchair.

Shadow was home.

I stared at our dog and wondered how anybody could have had the heart to abandon him.

His story was a sad one: Shadow was nine years old and had never been truly cherished, despite his love of life and passion for being with people. He’d been thrown out to wander the streets of London, scavenging to stay alive. He was a lovely, gentle, kind little dog but no one had cared about or for him. His condition showed that he had never been fed a proper diet or enjoyed regimented mealtimes. His teeth were a story in their own right and among the worst the Battersea vets had ever seen. Almost every one was rotten, blackened to the root, and his breath was so bad it could have cleared a room at twenty paces. Shadow had fifteen teeth removed while the remaining few were scraped and polished to get him ready to enjoy his new life. I wouldn’t have wished Shadow’s history on any poor animal, but the silver lining was that he was mine. Little Shadow would never want for anything again.

Claire had brought us a rehoming pack from Battersea, with a booklet that gave details of Shadow’s injections, plus all manner of advice and information. So, while Shadow snoozed, I sat back and immersed myself in all things Battersea and new dogs.

Though Michael’s health was failing fast – he couldn’t stand and didn’t often speak – Shadow fell in love with him instantly and with all his heart. From the moment he came into our home, he developed a special bond with Michael. He would jump on to Michael’s knee, plonk his bottom down and gaze up at him with those shiny brown eyes. That goofy, toothless grin made Michael smile and I often wondered if that was what Shadow was trying to do. For the first time in many months Michael felt some joy and that helped ease our pain tremendously.

Shadow certainly knew how to get things done. Every morning, I woke at seven to take him for a walk. If I was a minute late, Shadow poked and prodded me until I got up. We’d stride out for two good long walks every day, and when Michael was up to it, I drove us all to the woods near our home and set him up in his picnic chair on the grass near the car park. Shadow, already clearly a show-off who loved stopping to chat to people, ran back and forth between Michael and me. Michael would throw the ball for him when he could and that was just lovely: a time of peace and a time of happiness.

At home, Shadow basked in the late-afternoon sunshine that flooded through our floor-to-ceiling bay window. He loved watching the world go by outside, and whenever somebody pulled into the car park outside our home, he let out a bark. I told Michael: ‘Shadow would make the very best car-park attendant, don’t you think?’

Michael nodded and gave a soft laugh. We had been married for fifty years and I never tired of hearing his lovely laugh.

Before he had retired, Michael had been a civil engineer, and after Claire and Sean had gone to school, I’d joined the police force, then retrained as an occupational therapist and later worked with a bereavement service, where I was the chairperson. The service had grown over sixteen years from a handful of volunteers to more than fifty counsellors, who helped give people strength and courage to cope with bereavement.

Though my work there kept me busy, the pace of our lifestyle was very different now from what it had been in previous years. That was especially so after Michael had suffered a serious stroke and then, later, the cancer. We no longer went dancing or for long walks; instead, we just enjoyed each other’s company, which I didn’t mind at all, but Shadow gave us both a boost.

One afternoon I noticed Michael didn’t have the energy to stroke Shadow. Shadow had already sensed something was wrong and was sitting quietly beside him. I called our doctor, who arranged for an ambulance to take Michael to the local hospital. He was admitted and I visited twice a day for several weeks. Of course, dogs weren’t allowed, but every day Michael said, ‘How is Shadow? Where is he?’

I’d explain that he’d made some new friends in the park, or had an evening with the grandchildren, who came to our home two nights a week after school.

Then Michael said: ‘I wish I could see Shadow again.’

The next day, I put Shadow into the car and drove to the hospital. When we arrived, I went around the side of the building to the window of the ground-floor ward where Michael was. I knocked on it, and when I had Michael’s attention, I held Shadow up to the window. Shadow wriggled and panted in my arms as he caught his own reflection in the window but that made it all the more fun. Inside the ward, smiles raced around the faces of patients, nurses and doctors. Most importantly, Shadow brought a smile to Michael’s face and that made me very happy.

Every day I returned with Shadow until, a few weeks later, it was decided Michael should be moved to a hospice.

The night before the move, we gathered at Michael’s bedside and, though he was now unconscious, we all talked to him and told him the latest about the Olympics, which he had been watching keenly. I believed that, although he wasn’t able to open his eyes and look at me or talk, he could hear me.

After the rest of the family had returned to their homes, I stayed with Michael and chatted to him while I put moisturizer on his hands and face. At nine p.m., I kissed him goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I told him.

I went home and straight to bed, only to be woken at two o’clock by the phone ringing.

I listened to the nurse at the end of the line and I thought: Did I hear that right?

Michael had passed away at one forty-five a.m.

I put the phone down and my mind raced with if-onlys.

If only I’d known the end was quite so close I would have stayed the night. If only I hadn’t left. If only I had stayed …

Sean and I went to the hospital and sat with Michael. He looked so very peaceful and I knew, after all the illness Michael had suffered, he was in a better place now.

I’d spent all those years helping others cope with grief and, now that it was upon me, I felt an odd sense of calm. Michael had always supported me in everything I had done and I knew he would be looking down on me now and looking after me.

At home, Shadow kept glancing at Michael’s chair and I know he sensed something had happened because he didn’t leave my side for a second. Wherever I went, he followed.

I threw myself into planning Michael’s funeral to try to keep busy. It seemed odd, but planning the service and cremation Michael had said he wanted was a comfort to me.

On the morning of the funeral, I told my family Shadow and I would meet them at Sean’s house when we were ready. Everyone was concerned about my being alone, and I understood that, but, for a reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to be on my own with my little boy that morning. I didn’t want anyone around me, only Shadow. I knew that, as long as I had him, everything would be OK.

I got myself ready, brushed Shadow nicely and, with him sitting beside me in the car, drove to my son’s house. Throughout the service, where I read from the Book of Corinthians, and the wake, Shadow stayed right by my side. Having him to stroke and cuddle was a real help.

Claire’s dog, Wilma, was there too, as was Sean’s. Though the day was heavy with grief, there were the inevitable moments of lightness that, mercifully, find their way into all such sorrowful occasions. Every time one of the dogs wove in and out of someone’s legs or rolled over for a playful, silly moment, they prompted laughter and smiles.

That night, Shadow came to bed with me and slept on Michael’s pillow.

Afterwards, I didn’t let myself grieve properly – I had done so much of that when Michael had been ill – but there were days when I didn’t want to get out of bed or go outside. But my lovely little dog would prod me and remind me that I still had a lot to do and walkies were at the top of the list. He knew how to get me through it.

We started walking more, and I realized that while Michael had been unwell, my pace of life had slowed down to match his although, thankfully, I was still fit and healthy. Now, with Shadow at my heels, my lifestyle was changing.

By winter, my wardrobe was filled with walking boots, coats, hats and scarves.

Every day Shadow and I went to our favourite park where we’d meet lots of friends. There was a group of local people with dogs and every afternoon, at two o’clock, we’d gather at our meeting point by the park’s exercise machines. As soon as we arrived and I opened the car door, Shadow flew out and barked at the waiting gang, as if to say: I’m back!

While some of the ladies and gentlemen exercised on the machines, the others watched the dogs. And what a gathering it was! There were up to fourteen dogs, including two German Shepherds, two Rottweilers, one Pug, my Pug cross, two Yorkshire Terriers, four mongrels and two Poodles.

Shadow loved socializing and didn’t have a problem with any of them. The only time he acted up was when he saw a black Labrador that lived in our apartment block. I couldn’t figure out why because the other dog was a lovely one, but I reasoned it was something from Shadow’s past. Eventually, whenever I saw the Labrador’s owner, she’d point in the direction she was walking and I’d take Shadow the other way.

During the week, Shadow came with me to the offices of the bereavement service. If I was sitting behind the desk in the waiting area, he slept in his basket in a corner of the room. People waited for their appointments two or three at a time in that room. Sometimes they’d become distressed or arrive upset. Whenever that happened, Shadow popped over and gently nudged them to stroke him. It seemed he could sense when somebody was in need and wanted to be there for them. He really was a loving little dog.

If I got up to go somewhere Shadow would come with me and often we’d encounter someone in tears. I’d stop to talk to them. They’d stroke Shadow and I’d watch as their tears slowed and their shoulders relaxed. Shadow made them feel better, just as he’d given me peace after Michael had passed.

But Shadow wasn’t always an angel. He could be a bit of a monkey sometimes.

Whenever he was running about in a field on one of our walks, he found it to his advantage to stop and chat to anyone having a picnic. Once, I waited for him to come back to me, as he always did, and he returned with a pasty in his mouth.

‘Shadow!’ I said. ‘Did you steal that?’

I found the family Shadow had been chatting with and apologized for his theft.

‘Oh, he hasn’t stolen it,’ I was told. ‘Our son dropped the pasty on the ground and we gave it to him.’ I wasn’t sure if it was the truth or if the family were trying to save me embarrassment, but it wasn’t the only time Shadow returned to me with other people’s picnic treats in his mouth. He had a habit of slipping into foraging mode so whenever he veered towards a bin or a pile of rubbish I’d guide him the other way and tell him no.

He learnt very quickly.

Somehow, with Shadow by my side, the summer flew by and soon the leaves had dropped, the ground had frozen and it was nearly Christmas, which had always been a special time for our family. Some people who’ve suffered a loss may not put up a tree, but that first year after Michael’s passing, I knew he wouldn’t have wanted us to miss out. So, I pulled ours out of the cupboard, and as I decorated it, I told Shadow: ‘This is your first Christmas.’ He watched with curious eyes as I draped the tree in tinsel and fixed colourful baubles in place. I was sure my little man understood that something magical was starting.

Michael had always loved Christmas and I was determined this year would be as special as ever. I placed flickering candles around the apartment, played Christmas carols and, slowly but surely, started to feel the warm glow of the season.

The weekend before Christmas, the entire family gathered together and with one of us on the piano, and the rest with maraccas, a drum, a tambourine or other such instruments from my granddaughters’ toy box, we all sang songs and carols. It’s a tradition of ours and that year Shadow watched us, fascinated. For us, that was when Christmas got under way.

Shadow and I often stayed with Sean and his wife Nicole, but I wanted us to enjoy Christmas morning at our own home. As the big day finally dawned, it was just my little boy and me. I put the radio on in the background, and as jingly music played, we had breakfast together. Afterwards, I gave Shadow his present, which I’d wrapped in green-and-red paper. He tore it apart to find, to his joy, a squeaky meerkat.

The moment I started opening mine, he put his toy down and watched me. I was certain he knew what was happening.

Then I packed a bag and Shadow’s furry bed, and drove to Sean’s house. We all had a lovely day together. Sean’s dog, Bentley, a rescue Pointer cross, had tinsel around his collar – even the fish had some on their tank.

We exchanged gifts and my two granddaughters sat with Bentley and helped him open his presents. Later we all tucked into a wonderful Christmas lunch. On Boxing Day, we repeated all the fun at Claire’s house. There was more turkey and more laughter than you could hope for in a year. Claire’s dogs, Simba, a German Shepherd, Wilma, a rough-haired Jack Russell, and Beanie, the grumpiest and probably the oldest Jack Russell in the world, Shadow and Bentley all had tinsel around their collars, and chased each other happily about, with toys and wrapping paper flying everywhere.

At lunchtime, the dogs should have known to stay away, but they couldn’t resist running under the table for scraps of turkey. ‘They are naughty, aren’t they?’ I said to Claire. ‘They really shouldn’t be under the table!’

She nodded, then laughed and, of course, we let them stay exactly where they were, sneaking bits of turkey to them when we each thought no one else was looking.

Shadow and I stayed with Claire for three weeks and when we came home, after the first time I’d been away without Michael, I was glad I had Shadow with me so I wasn’t coming back to an empty house on my own.

We enjoyed our meals together and in the evening, we liked to sit on the settee with the telly on or I’d read a book. Shadow sat beside me on his pillows and snoozed. Every now and then he’d throw himself against me for a cuddle and to remind me he was there. We’d got to know each other very well and could predict each other’s behaviour. If I got up to go to the kitchen, I knew Shadow would come with me. When we had visitors I’d put the day-to-day sofa covers away, and Shadow would know we were about to receive guests so he’d go to his bed, like a good boy.

It didn’t always work in my favour. Whenever I put a nice outfit on, he’d know he wasn’t coming out with me. He’d slump in front of me, with his chin on his paws, and stare at me with those lovely brown eyes, as if to say, I’m not coming, am I?

He was trying to guilt-trip me and it was hard not to feel it. Still, I’d tell him, ‘You’ll be a good boy for Mummy. I won’t be long.’

When I returned, Shadow would have turned his bed upside-down and thrown all his pillows out. He’d have had a little tantrum because he didn’t like me going out without him. I came to expect it so, after a while, I accepted this was his behaviour and tidied up after him. Sometimes Shadow wouldn’t talk to me for a while but he’d soon get over it.

Most places I went, Shadow came with me. He loved being in the car and seeing all my friends. One day, I put him in the car and drove to meet Claire and Wilma. We were in Biggleswade to lay a wreath at the grave of Mary Tealby, the incredible founder of Battersea Dogs & Cats Home.

Shadow wore his Battersea coat with pride and I felt fit to burst as he sat down beside the memorial and looked about him. With a dozen or so others, we paid tribute to a special lady. Claire said a few words and we said our own silent thanks to Mary for her love and devotion to animals: without her, I and several million other people, over 150 years, would never have had the pleasure of owning a Battersea animal – for the Home would not exist. It was a memorable moment and it felt wonderful to be a part of it. It was all because of Shadow that I’d even thought to join Claire on that unique trip.

Shadow came into my home that wet Friday and, ever since, he’s brought me so much joy.

I honestly believe when somebody is living alone like me and still has a lifetime of love to give, it’s the best thing in the world to have a little dog. I’m lucky that I have lots of friends and family, but many people don’t. When you have a dog, people stop and talk to you, even if you’re just sitting in the park enjoying the fresh air. I think Shadow was meant to come to me when he did. Without him, I don’t know how I would have coped with losing Michael.

I know that we all have a shadow and usually we only see it in the sunshine, but my shadow has four legs, hardly any teeth and a curly tail. He’s been with me through the dark times and, with his enduring love, he’s brought me back to the light.