It’s been almost a week since she died and the sound of her claws clicking across the floor still hasn’t left us.
I still half imagine she is dozing in another room, expecting her to reappear at my heel, catch a glimpse of her through a crack in the door or find her watching from the window as the other dogs return from a walk. As I sit in the garden a Facebook ‘Memory’ shows Leica in the dappled sunshine of an early summer day exactly a year ago, and as the other two wander beneath the trees and casually trample the flowers, her absence seems impossible.In her later years Leica’s hind quarters weakened gradually and the sound of her claws on the pavement became more pronounced. Her fore claws wore far less as her gait changed and we used to joke about her “talons” which she resolutely resisted having trimmed. It seemed unimportant, hardly worth the anxiety that the appearance of the clippers provoked.

I collected her ashes today and the post brought a card from the Vet where she had gone to be cremated. Her forepaw, indelible, imprinted inside the card.