Remembering Rufus

Rufus came home in the spring of 2012, a scruffy border terrier who had already decided the house was his. He was twelve when he left us, and in all those years he never once thought a walk was a bad idea.

He lived for the outdoors. Rain, mud, wind off the tops, none of it put him off. He knew every gate and stile on the round, and he would wait at each one and look back, just to be sure you were still coming. On the hill he was pure joy, ears up, tail going, checking in and then bounding off again.

At home he was gentler. He followed us from room to room and settled wherever we settled. He was hopeless around the cheese drawer and shameless about the fire. He greeted everyone who came to the door as though they were the best thing that had ever happened, and somehow he made them believe it.

The house is quieter now. We keep finding his lead by the door and half expecting the scrabble of claws on the kitchen floor. He was the truest company on the quiet days and the best of it on the good ones. We were lucky to have him, and we will miss him for a very long time.