Sad Day

On New Year's Eve 1996 my brother Mr D had a massive stroke. He was 26.
After a year in rehab and a year at home he moved back down to Brighton where he'd been at University before it happened.
It was a miracle really that he had made enough of a recovery to live independently. They didn't think he'd survive the night
When he moved back to Brighton he decided to get a dog.
So Harry arrived.
A beautiful liver and white Springer Spaniel who spent the next fifteen years with Mr D.
He never pulled on the lead knowing it would make Mr D fall, he never jumped up, he'd walk along beside Mr D for miles and miles, kept him company, made no demands and offered nothing but unconditional love.
Things weren't the way they were supposed to be; something heartbreakingly awful and unfair had happened. But Harry made it a little bit better and more bearable.
Today, after almost a year of precious extra time, Harry finally decided it was time to leave Mr D.
And it's pretty much unbearable.
Losing a dog is bad enough but this seems worse. I can't bear to think about how much Mr D will miss him; what emptiness and loneliness will be left.
But it was time. Time to go and see Monty, Bruno and Baggins!
He had a good run; a lovely life.
And he looked after my brother.
I'll miss you Harry Dog.