Muffin has over the years gained a certain reputation for his eating habits, his ill timed running away habit and keen appetite earlier on in his life for my sunglasses and Birkenstocks. But he has matured into a very lovable dog.
He has been our silent go-to. Over the last few years he has given us something only a dog can give and that is his loyalty and affection and an uncanny knowing when things in our household look fractured and sad.
When Ian got sick, Muffin our dog knew well before the doctors, he followed Ian everywhere sitting as close as he could to him. He did not want to leave him.
And when he died Muffin went to ground under Phoebe’s bed for three weeks. If a dog could sense sadness and be sad, he could and he was. When Ian died we took him to the hospital and we took him in to see Ian. We felt he had the right to know what had happened. The funny thing was he acted as if he wasn’t interested. It was as if , I thought at the time that if a dog could smell a person’s soul, then Ian’s soul was no longer in his body. He then rushed off to chase the hospital cat down the corridor.
Sometimes I can look at Muffin and I swear to you those eyes look back at me and I thinking that I see a sniff of Ian in them. It feels like Ian left instructions and Muffin is determined to carry them out.
For a long time he use to walk to hall checking on all of us one after another all through the night. He knows when one of us needs him more and he will go to that person. He hates family arguments and disappears until it’s all over.
His ears are the panacea to panic, sadness and emptiness. The velvety softness soothes and reassures.
Yes, he is still partial to the odd loaf of bread, Belgium milk chocolate, butter, Claire’s anti biotics and the cat food, but I can forgive him because Muffin knows and he is always there when I need him most.
So thank you Muffin.