I can not remember the first time I saw her. I wish I could.
I wish I could say:
It was an enchanting summer’s evening, the sun was setting the sky on fire, pink blazing colours provided the back drop to her velvety coco eyes and her brindle speckled hair.
But I can not say that, because I would be misleading you, dear readers. And that would not be politically correct. I would like to think that we are friends now, we have known each other for quite a while. And friends should never lie to each other.
So, I have to be truthful, the first time I met her I can not remember. But it probably wasn’t an enchanting evening. In reality it was likely to be as follows:
It was a grey, wet evening, she leapt towards me, damp and smelly, her muddy paws discoloured my attire. And she proceeded to lick me with her death breath.
Yes, that is probably a reasonably accurate encounter of the first time I met her.
Have I mentioned her death breath? Oh no, silly me, I am getting ahead of myself. Of course you are not aware of her hygienically challenged breath. I loved Blaze, I loved her faithful and adoring nature. Alas, with every cloud there is a sliver lining. If I could compare Blaze to a silver lining, her cloud would be her death breath.
I should stop here. I should not make the immediate thing to spring to mind when I mention the name Blaze to be swamp infected breathing.
No, there were so many other wonderful, endearing parts to her nature.
For example, the way she would proudly perch herself on your lap. She would sit, contently panting, absorbing the affection you could not help but feel towards her. Her calming, peaceful aura was guaranteed to put a smile on your face. It did not matter what kind of day you had experienced, whether it was problems at work, despondent relationships, anxiety with financial matters, Blaze would be your guaranteed 'get out' clause. A reason to be cheerful, to feel thankful for small mercies. A friendly lick, a special gaze. One stroke on her prickly perfect hair, and you would know everything would be alright.
There was a time when I thought I had lost her. During one animated evening we were too busy guzzling wine and discussing the meaning of life, that we did not see her slip away.
Panicked, like a crazy woman, I screamed, “Where’s Blaze?!” I ran into the dark night, her name echoing the silent streets, my footsteps pounding on the pavements. My terrified self entered the spooky out of bounds woodlands opposite the house by the pylon. Normally I would never have entered such a place after twilight, I would be too scared of the erie trees and the menacing bushes. But that night I did not care, I had to find Blaze. Had a wicked, monster captured her? Had she fallen, and trapped herself in the evil brambles and the disgusting mud path? I ran, shrieking around the woodland and then back into the house by the pylon, sobbing, desperate, feeling like a mother who had no idea where her child was, or what horrible fate was ahead.
It was okay. One telephone call to our friend Scaggs confirmed she was safe and sound and we had not heard him inform us he would be taking her back to his house.
After that evening I hugged her a little tighter. On top of her head I kissed her in a slightly more passionate fashion. I did not want to ever experience the fear of loosing her again.
However, dearest readers, we all know this is not a perfect world. Loosing loved ones is unfortunately part of life. It’s inevitable. As much as it hurts we must be realistic. Nothing, and nobody, lasts forever.
Not even Blaze.
Sadly she has passed away. To the big doggy heaven in the sky. And heaven is a lucky place to have her.
I can remember the last time I saw her. I'm glad I can.
The last time I saw her may not have been an enchanting summer’s evening, the sun may not have been setting the sky on fire with pink blazing colours. It was new years eve 2010 at my dear friend Sarah's house. I remember her velvety coco eyes and her brindle speckled hair. And I told her I loved her.
And I always will.
This is an ode to Blaze.
And her wonderful death breath.