Tom Inglis - To Love a Dog: The Story of One Man, One Dog, and a Lifetime of Love and Mystery

Tom Inglis is a sociologist and a lifelong dog lover. Born and raised in Dublin, he now lives in a former schoolhouse (the school was once attended by John McGahern) in County Roscommon. For eighteen years he lived alongside Pepe, his beloved Wheaten terrier bitch. He is the author of several books, including Making Love: A Memoirand Moral Monopoly: The Rise and Fall of the Catholic Church in Modern Ireland.

For Olwen

We did not get out much yesterday, so in the evening, although it was pitch dark, I suggested a walk down to the lake. It was a bit stupid, as the path had become very overgrown and, in the darkness, could be found only through memory. The thick grass was wet and slippery. I could see the edge of the lake in the distance. It was just a case of getting there through the array of holes, hidden stones and clumps of weeds. It didnt help that I had had a couple of glasses of wine. In the past, I could have relied on her. But not now: she was far too old and far too deaf and blind.

As we stumbled along the little headland that juts out into the lake, the madness of the excursion became more apparent. If I fell in, there was nothing that she could do to help me; and if she fell in, I would probably drown trying to save her.

The lake was still; the wind had died. There was a sense of us being at the edge of space and time. We stood silently. I had no idea what she was thinking. Was she resentful that, yet again, it was I who had suggested the walk? Did she feel some obligation? She has learned that I am the source of all that is good in her life. In her magical world, I am the light. I am God. So wherever I go she must try to follow. In her world, she can never be sure what will happen next. There could be food. There could be something to chase. There could be excitement.

As we turned away from the dark beauty of the lake and started back to the lights of the house on the hill above us, she suddenly lunged to the left and was inches from falling into the lake. I screamed at her and immediately felt remorseful.

When we got back to the house, she ignored me as I sat down to watch television. But then, many minutes later, she came over and looked at me. It was a warm look of wonderment, as if she understood that we were both helpless creatures caught in time. We were both a collection of atoms flying through time and space that had become attached to each other.

And then she came closer and slowly put her head on my lap. I stroked her and we stayed like that for some minutes, and then she upped and walked away back to her bed, where she sat and watched me. I wondered what was going through her mind.

When it was time for me to go to bed, I left the door to the bedroom upstairs open. It was an invitation for her to come upstairs to the other bed she has there. The bedroom is her daytime refuge. As I sat in bed reading, I kept listening out for the sounds of her coming up. But there was nothing. I turned out the lights and then, in the dark silence, I heard her coming. I lay still and she came into the room. She stopped for a while and then turned around and walked out back downstairs. Was she being deliberately cold? Maybe I had let her down. Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I had pushed her too far.

But there was another deeper, darker thought. Mixed with feelings of sympathy and concern there was a growing realisation that, someday soon, I was going to have to arrange her death.