As much as I tried, I couldn't get Pudding to eat or drink anything. A week later, we took him to the vet, but apart from acute malnourishment, there was nothing physically wrong with him, so they referred us to a dog-behaviour-specialist. After a month of weekly sessions, Pudding still refused to eat and drink. We didn't know what was wrong, and I began to panic. What was wrong with my dog?
"I'd like to keep him in for a couple of days, to see how he is in general." Requested the specialist, one rainy Saturday. "If it's alright with you," she turned to me, "would it be possible to leave him with me today, and come back in a couple of days. Monday, perhaps?"
"I have school on Monday." I replied, reminding the specialist that I'm a student.
My response was countered with: "That's fine. You can come by and pick him up after school."
Unimpressed, stared at her, replying; "But that's two and a half whole days without him."
"He'll be fine, Kal." Mother's soothing voice echoed around my head. "Kathy knows what she's doing. She'll look after Pudding."
"What, because I can't? Because I can't make him eat? Or drink? Or do anything other than lay there? Yeah. I understand. I'm useless. I'm a terrible dog owner. I get it. I'll be in the car." With that, I turned my back and headed for the door.
"Kal! Come back, that's not what we meant." Silently, I strutted out, ignoring my mother's attempt to call me back.
In the two and a half days that followed, I got worse. It was like I didn't know how to live without Pudding. I'd been getting worse when he was ill, but without him, I was at my worst. The voices came back for a night. I couldn't bring myself to talk to Sass and Kim. Or even Beck. The distance between my dog and I was killing me.
A few months later, Pudding had starved himself to near-death. I had no idea what to do. I was terrified that one day I would come home from school to find him dead, alone. So I didn't. I didn't leave his side. Skipping school, I sat with Pudding all day, refusing to do anything or go anywhere. He needed to know I'd be there for him. He needed to know he wasn't alone. Having lost track of the days, it eventually happened.
As he lay with his front legs and head on my lap, he whimpered a little bit. I placed a hand on the top of his head, and sat like a statue as I felt the life drain out of him. What scared me the most, wasn't the fact that I was losing my only friend, it was the fact that I hadn't known what was wrong with him, or how to stop it happening. The most terrifying thing about the experience was not knowing.
We had a proper funeral for him in the garden. Mother and Father dug a large hole, and placed a wooden cross on the dirt-patch. I watched from my window, listened as they said their words, cried as I lost my friend. Cried until I fell asleep, and slept until next morning. From that time, I refused to leave my room. Nothing was going to make me open that door again.
Each and every day, I logged into the online cafe where I talked to Beck. She asked if I knew when I was going to Australia to see her. Lying, I told her I didn't know. We were actually supposed to be going in about a month's time, but I didn't particularly want to. Pudding was my life, and I couldn't stand the thought of living without him. There was no way I was going to the other side of the world, knowing my pest friend wasn't going to be there when I got back. Or so I thought.
