My Pet: Holly

from Sunday Independent, Life Magazine, June 12th 2022

Holly is the happiest, black Labrador-Collie mix I've ever known. A rescue from seven years ago, my husband drove when we went to pick her up. I remember kneeling down on tarmac, touching her, telling her fervently, 'you're coming home with us.'

I fell instantly in love when her head tilted and her brown eyes shone into my face.

In the back seat, I cradled her to my chest, felt her little heart pounding, her soft body warm and snug in my arms. I knew during that twenty-mile journey, in my own species-specific way that fate had delivered her to us, a balm for the grief we were carrying from losing the previous Holly, up to then the best dog in the whole wide world. 

Little Holly had never felt grass and yelped when I laid her down on the lawn, then ran a bit and yelped again, each time coming back to me, as if knowing already I was her protector. She learned to do her business outside on the same lawn in a matter of days and after a few weeks she became friends with the three cats, never threatening, just cuddling. She eventually ingratiated herself with the hens, even though her collie instinct means she likes to 'herd' them, circling them, gathering them in by the wings, keeping the group neat and going in the one direction, like she's competing in sheep-dog trials.

I work from home a lot so Holly and I spend several waking and sleeping hours together, where I go she follows, (yep, bathroom too). She doesn't need a lead, responds to all commands and there are times when I think we'd make two cheesy, romantic characters in a movie; early walks by the river in winter, lying side by side in a clearing gazing at clouds, sharing an ice cream, my heart full of love and contentment when I'm with her. I'm not averse to spending leisure time with other people but I like my own company, and I like it even more with Holly, her silent companionship is therapeutic, medicinal.  

Holly is wise beyond her years, she knows the sound of an outdoor jacket being taken from its hanger in another room, the smell of tuna before the tin is opened and she has favourites within the extended family, okay, accuse me of anthropomorphising if you like, but you haven't met her.  

Anne Marie Kennedy