Ferdi was the physically challenged long hair, the runt of the litter I picked up from an odd little hobby farm in the outer suburbs of north west Sydney, desperate to add a dog to our instant family. He was tiny and had a broken tail (a pig had stepped on it), and as soon as I held him in my hands I knew I wasn't handing him back. Elfi came a year later - Ferdi looked so sad all the time, we thought he needed a friend. We had moved to Hong Kong by then. I found a breeder and a pup in Melbourne, sent my Mum to check her out, and a few weeks later she flew over; so little and so full of energy. But Ferdi still looked sad. (Turns out, that's just how he looked.)
King Ferdi and the Little Rat. Their respective nicknames tell you a bit about their standing in the family hierarchy. According to Sean, Ferdi was the most perfect creature that ever lived, even with his overbite and crooked tail and inability to jump. Ferdi was incredibly stubborn, he always knew exactly what he wanted (not to walk on the grass, not to walk in the rain, not to walk on a lead...). As long as you let Ferdi do his thing, he was happy to live his life with minimal fuss. He was calm and quiet and entirely himself.
Elfi, on the other hand, was demanding, neurotic and needy. If you were patting Ferdi she would charge over, pushing him out of the way with scant regard for his well-being. She talked, constantly. She yelped to remind you she needed love, attention and human grade food every waking hour. And she always wanted to be with you - on your lap, at your feet. She inserted herself into everything.
The general consensus in the household was that Elfi was annoying, too loud, a bully. Ferdi, however, was a noble, thoughtful, wise creature. I, of course, went out of my way to love and defend Elfi. She was the underdog. She was my dog. She was my shadow.
I say was because a little over a week ago I had to say goodbye to her. She was 16 (-ish) and had dementia, a suspected brain lesion plus all the symptoms of lymphoma. She was dropping weight rapidly, no matter how much I fed her or what meds she was on. It was the toughest decision. She was going down hill quickly which was really difficult to see, but...she still got excited at dinnertime, she still loved a good scratch on her haunch.
I miss her like crazy. I haven't been able to pack her bed away yet, and my heart still drops every time I put the key in the front door and realise she's not home. There's no excited tippy taps to greet me.
And it's even harder for my brain to process because the end of Elfi also signifies the end of an era. That household I'm talking about, is no more. Sean died four years ago (how tf is it four years? so short, so long...), Ferdi two years later. I sold the house we bought and built together. My step-sons have girlfriends and apartments and whole other lives (well, one does, the other lives in a granny flat / mansion out the back of my place, but still - he is very self-sufficient).
Life moves on, that's what it does. And it takes you with it. I'm busy building new memories - with a new house, new dogs, new people - but I hope Sean and Ferdi and Elfi know that I think of them every single day. I hope they find each other, wherever they are. And I hope they know that I am okay, that I am happy.