Today would have been my beloved Oscar's 17th birthday. My first pet dog, he taught us all about unconditional love and about the magic of dogdom, a goodness that is frustratingly indescribable to those who have never experienced it. I loved him with all my heart.
Since he had to be put to sleep in November 2022, we've kept Oscar's ashes on the kitchen sideboard. I had a diamond made out of them and set into a gold heart, which I wear next to my own. That process took longer than expected while the heritage diamond company based in Switzerland moved their furnaces but I finally took delivery of him last autumn.
What to do with the rest of his ashes? I wanted to lay him to rest somewhere meaningful, away from the savage tread of ignorant feet, where he would be at peace. It occurred to me that he always loved bluebells: year after year, he'd happily scamper through their heavenly scent.
So today, on his birthday, amid tears at our final parting, we scattered him in a peaceful patch at High Elms, a place we both loved, away from human pathways, in a spot visited only by dogs and woodland animals. Rest in peace there, my angel.
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