We came to France fourteen years ago and because of the differences in property values between the outskirts of Bristol and rural Finistere we were able to afford a house with a chunk of land and an old workshop. I was overjoyed that I could at last afford to paint and draw fulltime and that I had the space to do that without distraction.
We also came over with a six month old lurcher puppy called Harvey. I have painted in that workshop (long since called my ‘studio’) for fourteen years and it has only just occurred to me that every day I have sat in there working, Harvey has been sat in there with me.
Sadly Harvey died this morning and in the mere seven hours since he has gone there is already a Harvey shaped hole in the household. He was a quiet dog, but the house now seems quieter.
I know that every pet lover faces this situation but it does seem particularly odd to me when I would never have considered myself a ‘dog person’ before Harvey lolloped into my life. He was the dopiest, most loving and playful four-legged bag of nonsense you could imagine, and all the family loved him.
The studio dog story I’ll leave you with though… the time when, still a puppy, and seeing my attention being laboured on a small chalk and charcoal drawing on canvas, he waited until I stood up. Then he snatched it from the easel and ran out of the studio dragging it through a wet, long-grassed garden. When I got the canvas back it was as clean as a whistle and Harvey was content that my attention was rightly on him again.
I don’t care about any other dog on the planet; their pedigrees, tricks, abilities and super-powers… No other dog will ever come close. Harvey was the best dog in the world and this pacifist will fight you on that point. And, most significantly, I’ll notice his absence in my studio every day.
Rest in peace sunshine…

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