“It’s how we’re related to Drew Barrymore,” is how I’ve always started Simon’s story, so it’s a good way to also bring it to a close after 14 and a half years. As a hack I do like headlines. “I met Ana playing tennis with her husband...but we got together through clowns and fire,” is a favourite introduction to our love story. More about that another time. Oda and Ana found Simon cowering under a table at a fabulous little dog rescue place called Bark n’ B*****s in Los Angeles in early 2012. Having arrived in LA from Bangkok six months earlier we had made a few attempts to adopt a dog directly from a shelter, but baffled by bureaucracy which made it extremely difficult to find one, the girls looked elsewhere. Bark n’ B*****s was a strange blend of animal accessory shop and zoo, where the dogs were all off leash to hang out with each other and interact with the hopeful foster parents looking for their soul mate, or dæmon if you’re a Philip Pullman His Dark Materials fan. It was a chaos of yapping and blurred movement, all with one member of staff on hand with a mop and bucket to deal with any accidents and an air-lock style double door to stop escapees racing out into the Fairfax and Melrose traffic. But the dogs could be themselves, not frightened or over-compensating animals alone in a cage at the pound, competing with their neighbours to be rescued. I was working away and we wanted us to decide on a dog together...but Simon was incredibly cute and the owners warned he’d soon be snapped up, so after a quick call, the adoption was agreed by all parties and the small ball of fur was brought home. We don’t know much about the first three months or so of his life – we picked November 15th as his birthday – but for years he was petrified of metal dustbins and Hispanic men. I presume you’re still wondering where Drew Barrymore comes into all this? Well, she adopted a dog called Oliver from the same place the next day...so Simon had almost certainly sniffed the ass of the Golden Globe-winning actor’s dog. I mean we don’t send each other Christmas cards or anything, but we’re close like that 🤞and definitely related. And so the only American in the family learned to walk off-leash with Ana on the streets of LA, not to beg and – honest to his Hollywood roots – learned to perform a series of tricks from “high five” to “bang” where a finger gun persuaded him to play dead. (The initial trigger word for training was “die” but I questioned that one, as Ana and Oda were shouting it over and over again while rolling him over and popping treats in his mouth. I feared the police might be called). He developed his jaunty walk in Los Feliz during the four years Oda spent at the nearby High School and we all lived in California together, and surprised himself – and us – one day when a nearby LA fire truck siren sent him into an involuntary howl and look of confusion which we forever tried to recreate elsewhere through YouTube. These wonderful little animals are so interwoven with our lives – constant companions – and it’s only after they have gone that you realise all the moments, big and small, that we shared together. Simon was part of almost half of Oda’s life thus far, and was well-travelled, moving from LA to Nairobi, from Nairobi back to northern California via a summer in Sweden, and then to here in Portugal in the middle of COVID. The story of Simon’s life is the story of most of the time Ana and I have spent together, and it’s a long story...too long to write about here...and amid a grief that is deep, I can do little more but share some memories. Oda used to joke Simon was my son, and this is certainly the hardest blog I’ve written so far. It’s taken me a few weeks to put down on paper. Simon was ring-bearer at our friends’ outdoor LA wedding...complete with a tux, top hat and small ring box attached to his collar. Ana dispatched him down the red carpet towards the happy couple whom he knew and loved, I lured him offstage with dried chicken jerky and it’s only by the grace of dog that a squirrel didn’t distract him and throw the whole ceremony into a human/dog/squirrel farce. In the heat of one Palm Springs summer we had to buy some emergency protective rubber shoes which turned him into Spider Dog at the nearby Joshua Tree boulder park...leaping between rocks he defied gravity for 15 minutes until they were worn through. We tried to instil in Simon our love of fancy dress, but as he aged and understood we were laughing at him rather than with him, he developed a very effective strategy for countering such humiliation. Dressed as a T-rex, a lobster, a Christmas elf...or in any of the other costumes we acquired...he would simply stand still and look miserable until we took it off. Only the matching Kenyan shirts Ana bought for Simon and I were acceptable...probably because they were quite nice shirts. It was a full life: he was kidnapped by the FBI, was almost killed by a tick in Kenya which left him with a weak liver which is probably what got him in the end. We hiked the Hollywood hills of Griffith Park, ran the tracks of Karura Forest, and explored the Portuguese countryside and coastline together...although he was always more comfortable in Lisbon checking his pee-mail, inhaling gasoline fumes and being the city dog he was born to be. Ever the California shade monkey, on the beach he would race ahead to steal a stranger’s towel while they swam, and after cooling off would check if they had any chicken. I prolapsed a disk helping him fight off a slum dog in Kenya, and during our year at Stanford he delighted (almost as much as I did) in pooping on rich people’s lawns in Palo Alto...and developed a brief desire to act like a dog and fetch a ball. It didn’t last long. At our Nairobi house parties he would slink upstairs for an early night, despite our bar being named after him (the “Dog and Hound” sign beneath a clock bearing our faces always prompted the question “which one’s the dog and which one’s the hound.”) A week before he died, with faltering health, eyesight and hearing, he dragged himself all on his own up the hill from our house to join a late night party...his last. He died a little before 8.30 in the morning on the last day of our wine retreat. As he was breathing his last, our neighbour Daniel took an amazing photograph of a rainbow in our valley. A weird wind whipped through the house as he slipped away. After our retreat guests had left, we dug as deep a hole as we could in the hardened clay...and then we dug it a little deeper until our hands were sore. We went to buy an olive tree, stopped off at one of his favourite beaches to take some time to remember, and then came home to place him in the ground and plant the tree above his grave. The spot we chose reflected our happiest memory of headstrong, independent Simon – that same jaunty walk developed in LA, tail wagging, as he made his regular morning trips up the drive to visit our neighbour Daniel, where he would bark at the door for a better breakfast than ours. Tree planted, we sat back to pour a little beer on the soil, say cheers and thank you to our wonderful little dog – our Sssssssimon, our SiFi, our puppy – for all the wonderful years of companionship he had given us. We hung his Kenyan, bead-work rainbow collar on the tree and as we looked up a huge rainbow spread across the sky. Being neither religious, nor particularly superstitious, we just enjoyed one of those beautiful moments that provide people faith in something greater than ourselves. Simon’s rainbow above Simon’s tree. Next morning I walked up to the spot, cried a little and then turned around to see another giant rainbow behind me above the house. Let’s just call it his farewell. We haven’t seen a rainbow since...except on the little collar that still hangs on Simon’s tree that we drive past every day and sometimes walk to for one of the most beautiful views of our valley. I’ll make a bench soon to place there. We’ve always wanted to use that space. We will be able to sit and contemplate the lives we shared – the unquestioning love and joy he brought to our nomadic lives – and the companionship he shared with us in our Portuguese home. As he declined in health, a good friend told us it’s our responsibility to give a dog a good life, but also a good death. When he stopped eating and drinking, did we really want him alone in a sterile veterinary hospital to be put on a drip and kept alive? When my father was dying I had fought the hospital hard for the energy drinks and liquid foods to give him more strength to keep him alive. Thankfully a doctor suggested perhaps it would be better to let him slip away. We had said our farewells. It was good advice. If you met Simon and have any memories or photos of him you’d like to share please send them to me…I’m going to do a little YouTube collage for us to remember him. We made Simon as comfortable as we could. Ana sang him old Swedish songs, I urged him to let go. He had a good life, and dying in our arms, I believe we gave him a good death. It’s the first time I have lost a dog. As everyone who has lost a dog knows already, it is hard – it is proper grief – especially perhaps when the grief over the loss of family – of people – has perhaps been pushed down and put off for another time. My only remaining family is on Ana’s side. One friend said he finally understood why as a child there was a “gap between dogs” as his parents grieved. One approach is leaving time before falling in love with a little ball of fur all over again, knowing our lifespans are out of synch. Another is continuity – our other two dogs have helped comfort us, despite Garfunkel’s name now being much harder to explain. Let’s go with Garfie. Through chance, circumstance, luck and perhaps with a little help from a
