I have long admired and enjoyed John Crace’s columns, combining as they do his determination to puncture political pomposity, his acerbic wit and gentle sarcasm at the antics of the occupants of the Westminster bubble.
However, in his recent column (Digested week: The house feels less than a house without Herbert Hound, 18 April), Crace’s writing shows a contrasting tenderness in his gentle tribute to his canine pal – a sentiment with which many readers can readily identify, based on their own experience of pet death. Good on him for spelling out the impact of his loss. I hope in his case that time does indeed heal.
Phil Murray
Linlithgow, West Lothian
• I feel for John Crace. I too am in deep, painful and alarming mourning for my faithful and beautiful dog, who died in my arms last month. I didn’t come from a “doggie” family and George was my first (and only) dog. I am reminded of lines from the Rudyard Kipling poem, The Power of the Dog: “There is sorrow enough in the natural way / From men and women to fill our day; / And when we are certain of sorrow in store, / Why do we always arrange for more? / Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware / Of giving your heart to a dog to tear”.
Margaret Dixon
Longridge, Lancashire
• How I feel for John Crace. Mollie, our 14-year‑old working cocker, died last month. The grief I felt was unimaginable. I missed her physical presence, her unconditional love, her gentleness with children. But her death also brought up feelings of sadness hidden away over the years. I was engulfed by grief, remembering my parents, my son, my friends who had died. I wished I’d let her on the sofa and cuddled her more.
Jo Burden
Marlow, Buckinghamshire
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