Yogi

Taken from Lynne’s weekly column ‘Green Scene’ for the Western Mail
17^th October 2026

Last week the colour drained from my life as Yogi, my wing-dog and loyal companion of 17 years, left her tired little body to go to Rainbow Bridge.

I have alluded to her ‘doggy dotage’, and all the various transitions and adaptations we both made during it, in previous columns.  For a long time, I have lived each day with hope. Now there is none.

In the end, I took the pain so she didn’t have to.  The final act of love.  And the most painful.

Bernice of Riverside Vets was, as always, quietly compassionate, as was Angharad at Marley Hall Pet Crematorium in Ledbury.

I am grateful to them both.

And so to grief. It is said that grief is felt in direct proportion to the love that is felt.  It feels as though my body is trying to turn itself inside out with pain.  As though I’m going to vomit my heart. It hurts so much.  A lot of the time, I am managing, the hours stick a bit but they pass, and I cope. But then I am suddenly steamrollered by grief and all I can do is hold on.

I am no stranger to grief – a lot of my favourite people have ‘changed sides’ amid varying degrees of grief, but I am used to grief being tidal, coming in waves, engulfing me externally. This time it starts as a swell from a source deep inside.  Like the geysers I revered in Iceland, bubbling and spluttering, rising in stature, heat and intensity before just erupting and exploding – ‘geyser grief’.  It’s messy. It has no rules, no set schedule, no warning.

I am leaning into it. Leaning into unbidden grief. I am too old to try and swerve it. I have learned the hard way. I will never outrun grief.  I will let it keep erupting through me until it doesn’t.  It will take time.

I am also separating grief from fear; fear flickering about the future. A future without Yogi.  Whilst it takes courage to resist fear, I know the only cure for grief is to grieve.

The cottage is so quiet, so still. Nothing moves unless I do.

I miss her being just a few steps behind me, watching me as I cook tea, waiting for the last bit of each meal, having to show her my empty hands – like a Black Jack player.

I miss the smell of her fur, her face in mine as soon as I wake, listening to her snore as I fall asleep, not wanting to move for fear of disturbing her.  I miss her so very much.

Inevitably, as my constant companion, Yogi shared messy bits of my life, my solitude and my waffling. I can’t say she never judged, because I definitely received some very withering looks on times.  But every day she made my life better just by being in it.  During the darkest, inky-black days, she saved my life just by being in it.

Old roads, old tales, old ways and old dogs have a rare richness, which can teach us so much.  Yogi was not only my best friend but my greatest teacher, by a long way.

She also shared – and instigated – most of the happiest times too. I have been looking back though photos of a life so well lived, so packed with adventures, truck trips, the mundane, the magical, and of course all the years of coming to work with me, ‘owning’ so many gardens.  They are not just photos but little prompts of joy – the numerous road trips, beach days, mountain walks, using her ‘buggy’ when she ruptured her cruciate ligament(s), and more recently snuggled in a Mayan sling, whilst I did the walking.

Grief is like glitter, once spilt, it will turn up in the most unexpected places and at the most unexpected time.  But so will gratitude. I have so much gratitude for my feisty little best friend, for all she was and all she gave.  Death may end a life as we know it, but not the relationship or the connection. I believe she is still by my side in spirit. Not a loss, but a transition.  There will continue to be shared walks, and waffling. Much waffling.

The one and only flaw of ‘dog-design’ is that they don’t live as long as we do.

I loved her for her whole life and will miss her for the rest of mine.

Rainbow Bridge

There are several versions of Rainbow Bridge, but this is the original, penned in 1959 by Edna Clyne-Rekhy after her Labrador, Major, passed away – although she wasn’t publicly identified as the original author until 2023.  It’s a nice story in itself, if you want to look it up.

“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigour. Those who are hurt or maimed are made strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content except for one small thing; they miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind

They all run and play together but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet you cling on joyous reunion, never to be apart again. The happy kisses rain upon your face, your hands caress the beloved head and once more you look into the trusting eyes of your beloved pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….. “