If you’ve been reading Mummy Matters for a while, you might remember a very excited post I wrote almost ten years ago introducing the newest member of our family. Bramble had just joined us, and although I knew we were bringing home a beautiful chocolate working Cocker Spaniel, I had absolutely no idea just how much of our hearts he was about to claim.
This isn’t an easy post to write.
In fact, I’ve started it several times over the last few days before quietly closing my laptop again because I simply wasn’t ready.
Our Bramble
Bramble deserves his story to be told. Not because he was a perfect dog – goodness knows he wasn’t! – but because he was our dog, our Bramble, and he brought more love, laughter, muddy paw prints and chaos into our home than I could ever fit into a single blog post.
He was the dog who stole my door wedges almost every single day. The dog who couldn’t resist diving into a muddy ditch no matter how loudly we called him back. The dog who made family mealtimes feel like we were being circled by vultures because he was convinced that, sooner or later, someone would drop something delicious. The dog who somehow managed to be both incredibly annoying and completely irresistible all at the same time.
Bramble also had a habit of making a bid for freedom whenever the opportunity presented itself. We became experts at shutting doors quickly whenever a delivery driver arrived because, if he spotted half a chance, he’d be off.
The funny thing was, he never went very far.
Instead, he’d usually let himself into one of our neighbours’ houses and help himself to whatever food their pets had left behind. One neighbour had a cat, so Bramble would happily polish off the cat food before wandering back home looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Our other neighbour also had a chocolate Cocker Spaniel, which made things even funnier. I remember one time when she told me, she had looked down to see “her” dog happily eating from the bowl, only to realise it was actually Bramble helping himself to a second breakfast!
He really was a character, and although those little adventures often had us apologising to the neighbours, they’re some of the memories that make us smile the most now.
If you’ve ever loved a dog, you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that those are the very things I miss the most.
The Beginning
Bramble joined our family when he was 18 months old. He was a fifth-generation pedigree chocolate working Cocker Spaniel with endless energy and the sort of enthusiasm that filled every room he walked into. When he wagged his tail, his whole body joined in. If there was a ball to chase, a beach to run along or a field full of long grass to disappear into, Bramble was in his element.
Like many rescue stories, though, his came with a little heartache too.
Before coming to us, Bramble had lived with a gamekeeper. The loud bangs of gunshots had left him a very anxious dog, and spending long periods shut away in a stable had given him separation anxiety that never really disappeared. Even after all those years with us, we still had to leave him safely in his crate whenever we went out because otherwise he’d become so distressed that he’d run around in circles and often have accidents.
Some people might have seen those things as faults, but we never did. We just saw Bramble. He wasn’t naughty; he was worried. Looking back now, I think he simply needed the reassurance that his people were always coming back for him.
Daddy’s Boy
He was definitely Simon’s boy. If Simon was in the garden, Bramble was in the garden or staring at him through patio doors. If Simon was in the garage, Bramble wasn’t far behind. But he loved each of us in his own special way. Lillie was the one he’d choose to snuggle up with in the evenings, while the boys could always persuade him into another game of fetch, even when he must have been exhausted.
Brothers
Then there was Dobby.
Those two had such a lovely relationship.
Every evening Dobby would somehow manage to spread himself across almost the entire bed, leaving Bramble with the tiniest sliver of space. It never seemed to bother him. He’d simply curl himself into whatever little gap was left, sometimes looking as though he was about to fall off altogether, just because he wanted to be close to his best friend.
That was Bramble all over. He never needed very much. Just his family. Just his favourite teddy. And somewhere close enough to know he wasn’t alone.
When Things Started to Change
Like so many dogs, Bramble seemed to have two speeds: full speed or fast asleep. Even as he got older, there was still a puppy-like excitement about him whenever we mentioned going for a walk or picked up his lead. Of course, he wasn’t quite as quick as he used to be and his face had started to turn grey, but in our eyes he was still Bramble.
That’s probably why the changes caught us by surprise.
Over the last couple of weeks, we’d started to notice that he was losing weight. At first, I convinced myself it was just part of getting older, but then mealtimes became a little strange. We’d put his food down and it was almost as though he’d forgotten it was there. When he did eat, he’d take a mouthful before letting most of it fall back onto the floor.
Something wasn’t right. We changed his food thinking perhaps he didn’t like it anymore, it seemed to work for a few days.
Then came the morning that changed everything.
I came downstairs on Saturday morning as I always did and found Bramble standing in the lounge, but he wasn’t himself. His back legs kept giving way beneath him and, when he sat down, his little body gently swayed from side to side. He looked tired… not the sort of tired that comes after a long walk, but utterly exhausted.
I picked him up for a cuddle and, instead of wriggling to get back down as he usually would, he buried his head into my neck and simply stayed there.
I can’t really explain it, but in that moment my heart sank.
I knew.
I phoned the vet straight away and explained what was happening. Even as I made the call with the tears already falling, I think I already knew why we were taking him in. It wasn’t a decision I’d reached lightly, but something inside me was telling me that our beautiful boy was trying to tell us he was tired.
Before we left the house, I gathered everyone together. Whatever happened next, Bramble wasn’t going to face it alone.
The Kindest Goodbye
The drive to the vets felt strangely quiet.
Bramble was lying in his bed in the back of the car next to Albie with his favourite teddy beside him, and somehow everything felt different. Looking back, it almost felt as though he knew. He was calm, far calmer than I’d expected him to be, he knew the drive to the vets and would always be anxious but he wasn’t. We found ourselves talking to him throughout the journey, telling him what a good boy he was.
When we arrived, we decided to leave him in the car with the boys until the vet was ready for us. It just felt kinder than sitting in a waiting room when he was already feeling so poorly.
The veterinary assistant came out first and gently explained what would happen. There was no rushing us and no pressure; just quiet reassurance at a time when we needed it most. She was so lovely.
A few moments later, the vet came out to examine Bramble in the car. By this point, Simon, Ollie, Albie and Will were all there with us. Sadly, Lillie was at work and despite trying to contact her, we couldn’t reach her in time. That still breaks my heart because I know how much Bramble adored her and how much she adored him.
One by one, the boys each had the chance to stroke him, cuddle him and say goodbye. It was one of the hardest moments we’ve ever experienced as a family.
After examining him, the vet quietly explained what she could see. Bramble’s breathing was very noisy and she couldn’t hear his heart properly. She believed his body was filling with fluid and toxins as his heart was beginning to fail. The weakness in his back legs and the gentle swaying we’d noticed that morning weren’t simply signs of the toxin build up and his heart failing. He was very poorly.
Then she looked at us and said something I’ll never forget.
“You’re making the right decision.”
Those six words didn’t take away the pain, but they took away something else.
The doubt.
Ever since I’d made that phone call that morning, I’d been carrying the weight of wondering whether I was making the decision too soon. Hearing an experienced vet gently reassure us that this was the kindest thing we could do for Bramble gave me a sense of peace that I can’t really put into words.
It didn’t make saying goodbye any easier.
But it did help me realise that choosing to end his suffering wasn’t giving up on him.
Our Final Goodbye
Once the boys had said their goodbyes, it was just Simon and me who went into the consultation room with Bramble.
The vet explained that she needed to take him through to another room for a few moments to place a cannula in his front leg. It meant that when the time came, everything would be calm and gentle for him. It was only a few minutes, but it felt much longer.
When they brought him back into the room, he was wrapped up in his bed and they settled him on the sofa between Simon and me. Looking back now, I’m so grateful they gave us that precious time together. There was no feeling of being hurried or rushed. We could simply sit with him, stroke his soft ears, tell him what a wonderful dog he had been and thank him for everything he had brought into our lives.
I honestly believe Bramble knew he was safe. He wasn’t frightened. He wasn’t distressed. He was simply surrounded by the two people who had loved him every day since he came into our lives.
When we felt ready, we nodded to the vet.
She gently administered the medication through the cannula, and in those final moments Bramble did something that will stay with me forever.
He lifted his head and rested it on Simon’s knee. A moment later, he rolled gently back towards me and laid his head against my chest.
Simon and I have said since that we like to think he was saying goodbye to us both.
Within seconds, he relaxed completely. There was no struggle. No fear. Just peace.
As heartbreaking as it was to watch him take his final breath, there was also an overwhelming sense of relief that his pain had gone. The anxious little dog who had spent so much of his life wanting to know where his family was no longer had to worry. He was finally able to rest.
Before we left the room, we spent a few more quiet moments with him. We stroked his fur one last time. We kissed him goodbye. And we thanked him for choosing us to be his family.
I don’t think there are enough words to describe how it feels to walk away from a room knowing your dog isn’t coming home with you. You leave with an empty lead in your hand, but a heart completely full of memories. As we walked out of the veterinary practice that afternoon, I realised something. The hardest part of loving a dog isn’t muddy paws, stolen door wedges, chewed toys or being circled at every family meal.
The hardest part is loving them enough to let them go when they need you to.
Coming Home Without Bramble
Walking back into the house without Bramble was one of the hardest parts of the whole day.
Up until then, we’d been focused on him and making sure he was comfortable. Once we were home, the reality hit us. His bed was still where he’d left it. His crate was empty and Dobby was sitting there all alone.
The house looked exactly the same, but it didn’t feel the same.
Dobby wandered around looking for him, which was heartbreaking to watch. I took Bramble’s collar and lead over to him and let him have a good sniff while telling him that Bramble had gone. Whether he understood or not, I’ll never know, but it felt like something I needed to do.
We all grieved differently over the days that followed. There were lots of tears and plenty of hugs, but there was also laughter as we shared stories about the things Bramble used to do. Somehow, remembering all of his funny little habits helped to soften the sadness, even if only for a moment.
It’s the Little Things I Miss the Most
People often ask what you miss most after losing a pet. Before this happened, I think I would have said the walks, the cuddles or having him greet us at the door.
The truth is, it’s the little things that catch me out.
Every single day Bramble would steal my door wedges. It became such a regular occurrence that I’d find myself wandering around the house muttering, “Bramble, where have you put it now?” I can’t tell you how many times he drove me mad with that little habit, yet now the door wedges stay exactly where I leave them. It’s such a small thing, but every time I notice one still in place, I’m reminded that he’s no longer here.
Whenever a delivery driver knocked at the door, I’d leap up to close the internal doors before Bramble could make a dash for freedom. Dobby has never been interested in escaping, so now I can leave every door open without giving it a second thought. It’s easier, of course, but I’d happily swap that convenience for one more frantic race around the house after Bramble.
Family mealtimes are quieter too. I always joked that eating dinner felt like being circled by vultures because Bramble would patiently make his way around the table, convinced that eventually someone would drop something. We tried for years to train him out of it, but he never quite gave up hope. Now our meals are much calmer, but somehow they don’t feel quite as much fun.
One of the last changes we made for him was putting a stair guard across the bottom of the stairs. As he’d got older, he had started wandering upstairs more often, so it was a simple way of keeping him safe. The first evening I realised I didn’t need to put it across felt incredibly strange. It’s funny how quickly little routines become part of everyday life, and how noticeable they are when they’re suddenly gone.
I suppose that’s what grief really is. It’s not just missing the big moments; it’s noticing the hundreds of tiny moments you never realised meant so much until they disappeared.
Keeping His Memory Alive
A few days after we lost Bramble, I found one of his old teddy bears. Dobby had already managed to partially destroy it and, realistically, I knew it needed throwing away. I even carried it towards the bin, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I left it beside the bins and walked away.
One of the loveliest things we’ve done is ask the vet to take Bramble’s paw prints. I’m planning to display them on the newel post at the bottom of our stairs, where he loved to sit and watch everything that was going on. It feels like the perfect place to remember him because, in a way, he’ll always be keeping an eye on us.
We also have a digital photo frame in our home, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked past it to find a photograph of Bramble smiling back at me. Whether it’s just coincidence or perfect timing, it always makes me stop, smile and remember the happy years we shared with him.
What Bramble Taught Me
People often say that dogs leave paw prints on your heart, and I understand exactly what they mean now.
For eleven years, Bramble made our lives noisier, muddier, busier and, at times, far more chaotic than we ever imagined. He stole my door wedges, pinched food whenever he got the chance, disappeared into muddy ditches just after I’d cleaned him and somehow managed to make every family meal feel as though we were under siege. There were plenty of days when I’d find myself saying, “Oh, Bramble!” as he did something else he really shouldn’t have.
What I wouldn’t give to say those words just one more time.
It’s funny how the little things that used to drive you mad become the things you miss the most. The house is tidier now, the door wedges stay exactly where I leave them and mealtimes are much calmer, but I’d swap all of that in a heartbeat just to have him padding around the house again.
If I could tell Bramble one last thing, it would simply be this…
You may have been told off more times than I can count, but please don’t ever think it was because you weren’t loved. You were loved beyond words, exactly as you were, with all your funny little quirks and annoying habits. In fact, they’re the very things we find ourselves talking about the most now.
Thank you for choosing us, Bramble. Thank you for every walk, every cuddle, every muddy paw print and every memory you gave us.
We were so lucky to have you.
Goodbye, Our Beautiful Boy
Nearly ten years ago, I sat down at this very keyboard to introduce the newest member of our family to Mummy Matters.
I never imagined I’d one day be writing the post where I had to say goodbye.
Thank you, Bramble, for every muddy walk at Hunstanton, every game of fetch, every whole-body tail wag, every stolen door wedge, every cuddle on the sofa and every happy memory you gave us.
If I could have one more day with you, I know exactly what would happen. You’d probably steal my door wedge, jump into a muddy ditch and spend dinner circling the table hoping for a roast potato. I’d tell you off, just as I always did, and then I’d laugh because that’s who you were.
The truth is, all of those little things that used to drive me mad are the very things I’d love to see just one more time. You may have been the most annoying dog at times, but you were our Bramble, and we loved you more than words will ever say.
Run free, beautiful boy. We’ll always love you xxx
Useful Resources
Helping Children cope with pet loss