Bereaved

Jojo lost his lifetime companion four days ago.

Max died peacefully at the grand old age of 16.5 years old.
She was an uncomplicated Spaniel, like most of them are. She chased balls tirelessly, and begged for more ball chasing, and begged for more ball chasing, and ate, at 6 pm, every day, with Swiss clockwork precision, and begged for more ball chasing, and begged for more ball chasing, and begged for more ball chasing, and farted in her armchair, and begged for more ball chasing, and slept. Loads. Because she knew that the next days would be busy with a lot of ball chasing.

Jojo didn't quite realise what was going on for the first day or two.
But for the last two, he has known that she is not coming back.

Last night was his first night sleeping on his own in the shed.

Except that he howled all night.

He had never been alone. Quite literally. He had never been alone.
From the moment he was born, he was with his siblings.
And when he arrived here, he was always with Max. They went for their daily walks with Nana, they chased the same balls, they ate at the same time, and they slept together on the same bed in the shed.

The poor dog had never been alone until last night.

At five in the morning Nana took him in the house. But she is worried. She is flying to France on Friday for 10 days and he will have to sleep on his own in the shed.

Unless we manage to convince the cat and the hens and the dog to all sleep together.

Poor Jojo. He was a really sad sight today.