Last Summer, I posted on this blog about Larry, a Basset hound who lived with our friends, but who had settled on many of our couches over the years. Almost thirteen of those years, in fact.
At the beginning of this week, Larry passed away after a short time of being very unwell. His thoughtful owners texted us on Sunday to see whether we wanted to come and say farewell; I’m rubbish with goodbyes, so I stayed with the children. D went along for a bit, to drink tea and give the old fellow a final hug.
The Ancient Greeks had four words for love. Valentine’s Day is usually associated with Eros, the romantic kind, but Larry’s death has made this week feel more about Philia – affectionate regard, friendship, comradeship, community. Larry was often at the hub of our local social gatherings, and he had an impressive turnout to his last birthday get-together (the largest table in the pub for a Sunday roast). He was a smelly, drooling, bundle with a saggy tum, who often lodged himself in the comfiest corner and wouldn’t budge.
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