Simply gazing into Toothless’s electric-jade puppy dog eyes and gummy salamander smile is enough to illuminate the innocent fragility and emotional intelligence of all the creatures in the animal kingdom, let alone my devoted canine comrade. The DreamWorks animated tale of the young-bodied, old-souled Hiccup and his unimaginable kinship with Toothless the Night Fury dragon never fails to resurrect my boyhood and my kelpie Coco, bringing them both back to hyper-coloured life. All I could do was gulp the salty globules back down and wince through the cracks of my clenched teeth.Įven though so much time has transpired – with 30 years now under my stretching belt – rewatching How to Train Your Dragon kills me. Trapped tears swelled in the back of my throat. When the vet left Coco and me alone for a moment’s privacy, grief’s claustrophobic grip squeezed the wind from my lungs. Memories of lying nose-to-snout in front of the gas heater, our snores somehow in sync. Sixteen years of life evaporated into the surgery room air, stirring up memories of bee-biting, lawnmower-attacking and regurgitated cocktail frankfurter-scoffing. Propped up on her side, on a stale wilted blanket, my best friend’s rusty red ribcage ballooned for the last time the furry grey flecks around her mouth pulsating with her final wheezing breath.
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