Sherlock is no more. He was sick on his eleventh birthday more than two weeks ago, and critically ill his last few days. He was intelligent, kind and loving, which perhaps makes the loss even more searingly painful. We spent his last days living in a haze, making frequent trips to vet hospital and trying to prepare for what was imminent. I am grateful for the love and support coming my way at this soul-crushingly difficult time, of see-saw struggle between holding together and falling apart. See you on the other side, Sherlock.
The nineteen-year-old (I guess) me wrote this on Sherlock’s first birthday. I’ll find and post more stuff with happy memories of him.
My pride and joy, the apple of my eye, my baby Sherlock turns one today. When I had first set my eyes on the tiny chocolate Labrador pup, I noticed his coat was remarkably white. I named him Sherlock- the one with white locks. Dad calls him Sherry; to his trainer he is Sheru, while mom calls him by assorted endearments in used to address a darling child. Surprisingly, Sherlock responds to every call.
Though Sherlock is only a pre-teen going by Labrador life expectancy he is already the perfect gentleman. He’ll kiss you if you extend your cheek in greeting and raise his front right paw in a handshake gesture when you’re properly introduced to him. When we go for a walk he ambles along with his posterior inscribing a generous arc and his tail wagging from side to side. I love him so much I wrote my first blog post ever on him.
Sherlock turns one today and I know he is going to be around to lick my face to wake me up in the morning for many, many more years to come.