Testimonials
“I’ve been intimately associated with many dogs over the past 80 years. I’ve loved them and received buckets of love in return. I’ve also become all too familiar with the unbearable pangs of grief when they die.
I’d have thought that with so much practice I’d be better at coping with the grieving process. But the opposite seems to be true it gets harder not easier.
So, when I lost my dear old boys, Brutus and Lucky, it was a marvellous comfort to be able to provide such a beautiful tribute to their love loyalty and devotion during the 15 to 16 years they were part of my life. There are still tears, but I feel it a comfort to be able to pay tribute to them both.
Thank you My Beloved Pet.”
— Sue, My Beloved Pet’s first customer
The Eulogy for Brutus
A small, doomed puppy, one of two, rests his chin on my knee and looks up, big eyes beneath bushy, brown brows.
Bigger now, huge, refusing to fit on my lap, bits of him hanging down, like a towel. A gentleman, always eager to please, wringing his paws if anyone gets cross.
The scholar! The physicist! The professor! Mad about balls: gravity experiments, rolling them down the slope; tests for buoyancy, the one ball on the riverbed, the other floating, chewed until they get all soft and sink, sometimes found, sometimes not.
Arranging the cushion on the sofa, turning it with his paws until, exhausted, he abandons it on the floor, and sleeps. Blocking the door, or leaning against your legs: through here none shall go, the password a pat. A fat luxuriant tail, sleek, soft fur, and an athletic waist, but more than anything, his intense loving stare.
The Eulogy for Lucky
Beloved son of Chris, brother of Brutus, always family, no matter if the bounding puppy or the sober, slow-moving, old boy.
Long walks, making friends along the way, like the Buckingham Street cat. Wagging his tail with happy anticipation every time he sees a tall, grey-haired man. On the sofa, his head in my lap, the beautiful soft fur of his ears.
The master thief, gently tugging on the tablecloth, pulling the food closer, and presto, two whole roast chickens gone. The canny pickpocket, searching through handbags, looking for used tissues. The clever student, teaching himself his sibling’s game, rolling balls down the slope and teaching others too, a patient master.
Chasing flocks of pigeons, his favourite game, or inspecting lizards, watching their every move: always carefully, never causing harm. The constant companion, always at my side, following like a shadow. The ever-present black shape in the doorway, stopping all from getting past. The doleful, soulful eyes, forever full of love.