Enjoying the snow earlier this month
Well, there's no easy way to post yet ANOTHER pet bereavement story but yes, another member of the family has bitten the dust and it's the end of an era. Our complex, centenarian canine has gone to the big kennel in the sky - aged 105 in doggy years - and it's been heartache all the way. This is our second loss in three months. And the pet departure lounge has not emptied yet.
Yes, it's been a veritable sob-fest here in the South West. If you've had a dog in your life, you'll know how this feels.
Our have-a-go hound hailed from the North East, a puppy found wandering the streets. He was cute and chocolate and looked very Lab-like. But boy was he angry - from the minute we got him. He was supposed to complement our laid-back Labrador but instead he brought a maelstrom of emotions and energy all the way back to the capital. He was touchy and temperamental and, at times, quite scary. That dog pushed us to the edge. And back again. But we loved him. We absolutely did. And he loved his pack with a passion.
My mother even moved house for him! He loved Devon, he loved his garden, he loved being free and not having to encounter too many other hounds but, if he did, a vicious tirade would emanate. Even when he mellowed with age, that anger towards any other dog he didn't know was never far away. But if you were in his own canine circle of trust, you were in for life. He idolised my husband, which was a surprise for us all!
Part-collie/part-Lab, he was super sensitive and highly, highly intelligent. He desperately needed to be top dog - always leading the way on walks - yet was riddled with anxiety. He didn't like to be touched (his coat was a magnet for ticks) or tampered with in particular ways. If you tried to catch him out (by removing the ticks when he was distracted), he'd catch you with his razor sharp teeth. (But he never bit anyone. Ever. Which was quite a miracle, all things considered!)
His decline has been particularly rapid but our vet says he was a living miracle. He had the most aggressive type of doggy cancer, he had spondylosis and he was not expected to see out Christmas. But he did and he almost made it to his 15th 'birthday'.
He's been in my life since my twenties so he's crossed three decades. Old age (and deafness) made him sweet and a joy to be around (as long as you didn't invade his personal space in the wrong way or from the wrong angle!). He became obsessed by food - perhaps his inner-Labrador was finally emerging. But the past few weeks have seen his legs weaken so that he was like a hinged wooden toy; you could almost hear all the creaking. The frequent visits to the acupuncturist eased his joints so that he could get on with life. This week the magic needles stopped working.
The past few days he's relented - he's let me carry him to the garden without snapping. He's let me bury my head in his Elizabethan-like fur collar. He's let me kiss his face all over. And so this week we've had to make that hard, hard decision. The hardest one of all. The black humour that has sustained us stopped working once that phone call to the vet confirmed the worst.
I know we have given him an amazing life but this is heartache like no other. It's just so hard to say goodbye.
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