My precious friend

He came from a shelter where he was left by persons unknown. Though we don’t know how old he was then, we know he was rescued by the age of two.

His rescuers told me they picked him up because he looked scared.

There is so much in just that one sentence. Much about chance, kindness, and life–for both of us

When I came across him online, I saw a warm, wise face looking back at me. It almost made me weep and I wanted to reach into the computer and hold him close. “A beautiful boy!’ the writer said.

I was looking for a companion dog for mum, and so we both went out to Doggie Rescue in the Western suburbs of Sydney, to a rescuer’s house to see this beautiful and wise dog. While we stood in the lounge, a few dogs came to meet us, and the rescuer indicated who Claude was. A terrier cross on the larger side. Shaggy, long white hair and so so calm. There was no hint of how he’d spent the last two years.

“Hello Claude,“ we both said.

He looked over to us and let us pat him. It was clear he was one of the gentlest creatures we’d met, and that we would be together for a long time.

He stayed with me until he was almost 18. By then he’d become a big part of me. A part I will never let go of for as long as I have memory and a beating heart.

I’ve always loved dogs and Claude wasn’t my first, but the bond I had with him was a different one where my soul had awakened to much.

There was nothing like his joy, and the presence that made everything alright.

His generosity extended to those who befriended him or just said hello. His mental strength pushed away the pain of being attacked by smaller dogs, and he remained dignified, regal and joyful. People who were afraid of dogs lost their fear after meeting him. Body wags, furious licks, a warm body curled up peacefully next to you, and looks into your eyes with all his heart and a love that flows and flows.

He gave so much of that love to mum in the six months that followed the summer we got him so many years ago. His friendship was healing to her, a balm to the marauding Alzheimer’s in her brain, the cruel thief that took away her mind, her autonomy and her brilliance. Though among the relentless assaults and injuries, and among the mercies life can grant, some things grew and changed: her love for animals flourished, as did her compassion and humour. She wrapped Claude in these every single day.

“How have you been mum?

“Ok, I’ve got Claude,” she would say with her big smile. She would sit contentedly with him, stroking him, and speaking to him in Arabic. And they would play in the backyard—running at each other, running away from and around one another. He, searching her face for clues and she, smiling and making playful gestures and sounds. I had never seen her like this. She was beautiful.

In the wandering haze of dementia, she never forgot his name. She would tell me again and again that she was alright because she was with Claude. For the first time in a long time, I felt someone had broken through to her soul and bathed her with love. It was Claude. He was her lifeline.

And then one day mum left me, and I was crushed again by my old friend grief like I did so many years before when we lost my gentle, young father. I was bewildered. Couldn’t socialise, couldn’t talk, wept desperately.

It was Claude who brought me back from the brink. He was my lifeline. He gave meaning back to me, dragged me out of the void with his joyfulness and unconditional love. I took him everywhere I could. I remember telling a slightly concerned colleague when I tuned up for a meeting at her house with him, that he’d become my constant companion. She seemed to understand.

We got on trains and buses, walked through the inner west, and were quite the attraction in Circular Quay. The world was different to the days when you needed a car to get around with a dog. Not only could I take him to a café and find a bowl of water for dogs already there, but I could take him in a taxi if I needed to. The drivers were always willing.

Little by little I healed. And I changed.

Claude forced open my heart and taught me to care about all living creatures. The love I had for animals intensified because of him. I learned to be more accepting of people too though also watchful of their treatment of animals–nearly getting into a scrape once with a man who was hitting his yelping dog. I devoted more time to rescuing stray or injured animals. I wasn’t always successful, and it broke my heart many times, but it felt good to know what to do and how to help. I sponsored a rescued cow and a disabled sheep. And though already a vegetarian, I became vegan.

Ultimately, with Claude guiding me, I relented to joy and drew more upon life’s wonder.

It was a blissful existence for over 15 years. I didn’t need anything because I had my friend Claude.

I heard a podcast on Greece’s legendary protest dog Loukanikos, and how loved he was by the country’s anti-austerity protesters over a decade ago. He became famous for taking the side of the protesters against the police, for showing solidarity with their cause. He was a stray dog, but became a symbol of hope and inspired music, and art. He shared the protesters’ experiences and was there every day as the demonstrations went on. One of the older activists tells a story of being left behind one day by her fellow protesters who could run faster than her, and how insecure she felt. It was a day when the police were particularly “vicious’. But it wasn’t long before Loukanikos came up and walked beside her at her pace. “I felt as though I had Lancelot, a knight, next to me,” she said.

Tall, handsome and sandy coloured, Loukanikos lived with the protesters. It would eventually take his life three years later as the impact of tear gas took its toll on his health.

And it’s this quality of devotion and esteeming that is a constant in dogs—a powerful remedy to the world’s regular assaults and judgement. When Britain’s famous gardener Monte Don lost his dog Nigel in 2020, he told BBC Radio 4 that Nigel exuded an unsullied sense of innocence and an absolute purity. Whatever we call it—devotion ,innocence or purity, it’s an ineffable quality, a connection we feel, a bond we make, a life we share. After all, they bear witness to our lives watching us going about them each day. They learn about and bond with us as our companions. It’s that deep connection –at least in my life–that we miss when our friend is gone,

I lost Claude at the dawn of Covid in 2020. It was like losing meaning, and light. I wailed for him and my heart ached as I was assailed by grief once more. It was so much pain. I’d been teaching from home and loving the lockdown because I got to spend more time with both Claude and Tiger -my spirited ginger cat who’d grown up with Claude.

I thought, at last I didn’t have to panic about Claude’s frailty, I could be with him and I felt lucky. At one stage my students asked to see him. I picked him up and put him in front of the camera, and there was a collective “ahhh”. It was a positive note to end the class on.

But a lump was silently spreading across Claude’s spleen and stomach and not long after proudly showing him off and telling the students he was 17 and a half, I had to let my beautiful boy go.

The night before he died, Tiger lay beside him to comfort him. He came in from outside as if he’d heard my weeping and could feel his brother’s pain. It’s a profound moment of love forever etched on my heart.

The vet was gentle and compassionate, but I couldn’t believe I was saying goodbye to my closest friend. The friend who shared every day with me; who waited patiently until I came home; who was the first to hear about good or difficult things; who shared Friday night movies with me and the Miss Fisher Murder mysteries; whose eyes bewitched me, and with whom I felt secure.

The emptiness took over for a long while, and I shut down again and didn’t want to talk to anyone. It still visits but now I can talk about him without sobbing even though there are moments when nothing can console.