I can measure my life in dogs.
My parents have had Alsatians since before I was born and Mitch, the first one I knew, was 10 days older than me. He was a quiet dog as far as I remember, largely because he'd been through his bouncier period when I was too young to play with him. He madly loved my mother's mother, who spoiled him rotten whenever she visited. He never, ever begged at the table (Mum's trained that out of all of our dogs at a very early age), but she'd slip him bits of meat under it even though he didn't ask for them. Of course, it then took a week to persude him that nobody was going to feed him at table now that she had gone home. He once tried to follow her onto her train home, even though Mum and I were going in the other direction. He died when I was about 11. I don't remember why he had to be put down, but I suspect that he was just too old and falling apart. Alsatian's have a tendency to lose the use of their back legs, either through inflammation of the spine or hip problems. Any way round, my parents sensibly didn't tell us until afterwards, and I don't think any of us kids had an emotional outburst, I certainly felt fairly shellshocked and I'm sure Mike and Hugh did too.
Mitch was succeeded by Rama (you don't replace dogs, any more than you replace children or friends). I was proud of suggesting the name (found in a dictionary of mythology) which replaced the previous suggestion (Zulu) fairly quickly. He was a lovely dog, obedient and playful. He never really got used to how large he was (he grew to about 8 stone), because he started off smaller than all the dogs he knew. When we got him he came home sat on Mum's knee, and when he meepsed (in a mixture of confusion and fear, I suspect, this being his first time away from home and family) she would place one hand over him and he'd snuggle into it and calm down for a while. It seems somehow unreal to me that he could go from so small to so large. He was scared of the other dogs in the park for a while, especially the large alsatian that always used to put him in his place, until one day he realised that he was looking down on this other dog, and quickly showed him that he wasn't going to take it any more (no damage done, except maybe to pride). He loved walking with us, and was made even happier if he could have a large stick to carry. Large, in his case, meaning about 4 inches in diameter and at least 4 feet long, preferably 10 feet. He'd sweep along whatever path we were walking on and (if we weren't careful) remove our legs out from under us. He was also the first dog that shared the house with a cat. When we brought in this strange small beast he struggled to get near it and whined to see what it was. When he finally got close to the cat, Hesalik (don't ask) took one look at this strange creature with a mouth bigger than his entire body and swiped Rama's nose with his claws. One loud yelp later, Rama was hiding under the table and Hesalik was firmly in charge of the house. He'd sit on top of the table and attack Rama's ears as he walked underneath. When I was 23, Rama joined us on a walking holiday in Scotland, fell over a fence and broke a leg. He recovered from that, but his back end went steadily downhill. He was a real mess for several months, with my parents unwilling to give up on him, despite the fact that he was thoroughly incontinent. Eventually they had to have him put down, which was most depressing to both of them.
They decided not to get another dog for at least 6 months, to give them time to recover. This, apparently, lasted nearly 6 hours (I was in Scotland at this point and so missed Rama's goodbye and Shadow's arrival). I first met Shadow about 2 months later (I believe), when I was introduced to this floppy puppy, running riot in the kitchen. He was a pure delight, if rather neurotic. He'd been the runt of the litter and was quite sure that at any moment he was going to be abandoned by us. He was also terrified of other dogs. A bark from over a nearby hedge would have him trying to hide under Mum. It took him a long time to get over most of his fright, and he was never fond of many dogs larger than a terrier. He adored the 3 teddy bears he had, each of which he'd clutch between his teeth, lie next to someone (usually Mum) and demand to play tug with. Of course, the second you played with it/him he'd assume you were going to take his teddy away and make the most awful growling sounds. He always sounded like he was going to bite your arm off, but the worst he ever did was draw a tiny amount of blood, and that only happened a couple of times. For some reason he grew very attached to me whenever I visited and I could be assured of him arriving in my room at around 3am to see if I was still there, and a cold nose (and tongue) would nudge away the covers and give me a damp face. According to my mother, I was the only person he'd protect. If another dog came near my mother in the park, he'd be 50 feet away, cowering. If I was there, he'd put himself in between me and them. Very strange, as as far as I remember I never did anything special to deserve it, except for scratching his chest from time to time. A few months ago, Shadow's spine started to go. He had 2 slipped disks, which pressed on the nerve. He could move his legs when lying down (as easily demonstrated by scratching his stomach), but slowly lost the ability to walk, until he could only drag himself on his front legs. Mum and Dad laid carpets on the polished bits of floor so that he had enough traction to get to his favourite places, but it eventually became obvious that his quality of life was going slowly downhill. Dad was determined that there wouldn't be a replay of Rama's last few months, which had depressed him horribly, and talked to Mum about it at length, until they were in agreement that something needed to be done.
It's been strange and difficult for me the last week or so, playing with him as if he were going to be here forever, trying not to think about the fact that soon we'd lose him forever. Yesterday Mum phoned the vet and today he came to the house. Mum held Shadow, his head on her lap, as the injection took hold and he slowly went to sleep, never to wake up again. I spoke to her half an hour ago and she told me it was done.
I have tears in my eyes. I have to go. I shall miss him.
Mitch was succeeded by Rama (you don't replace dogs, any more than you replace children or friends). I was proud of suggesting the name (found in a dictionary of mythology) which replaced the previous suggestion (Zulu) fairly quickly. He was a lovely dog, obedient and playful. He never really got used to how large he was (he grew to about 8 stone), because he started off smaller than all the dogs he knew. When we got him he came home sat on Mum's knee, and when he meepsed (in a mixture of confusion and fear, I suspect, this being his first time away from home and family) she would place one hand over him and he'd snuggle into it and calm down for a while. It seems somehow unreal to me that he could go from so small to so large. He was scared of the other dogs in the park for a while, especially the large alsatian that always used to put him in his place, until one day he realised that he was looking down on this other dog, and quickly showed him that he wasn't going to take it any more (no damage done, except maybe to pride). He loved walking with us, and was made even happier if he could have a large stick to carry. Large, in his case, meaning about 4 inches in diameter and at least 4 feet long, preferably 10 feet. He'd sweep along whatever path we were walking on and (if we weren't careful) remove our legs out from under us. He was also the first dog that shared the house with a cat. When we brought in this strange small beast he struggled to get near it and whined to see what it was. When he finally got close to the cat, Hesalik (don't ask) took one look at this strange creature with a mouth bigger than his entire body and swiped Rama's nose with his claws. One loud yelp later, Rama was hiding under the table and Hesalik was firmly in charge of the house. He'd sit on top of the table and attack Rama's ears as he walked underneath. When I was 23, Rama joined us on a walking holiday in Scotland, fell over a fence and broke a leg. He recovered from that, but his back end went steadily downhill. He was a real mess for several months, with my parents unwilling to give up on him, despite the fact that he was thoroughly incontinent. Eventually they had to have him put down, which was most depressing to both of them.
They decided not to get another dog for at least 6 months, to give them time to recover. This, apparently, lasted nearly 6 hours (I was in Scotland at this point and so missed Rama's goodbye and Shadow's arrival). I first met Shadow about 2 months later (I believe), when I was introduced to this floppy puppy, running riot in the kitchen. He was a pure delight, if rather neurotic. He'd been the runt of the litter and was quite sure that at any moment he was going to be abandoned by us. He was also terrified of other dogs. A bark from over a nearby hedge would have him trying to hide under Mum. It took him a long time to get over most of his fright, and he was never fond of many dogs larger than a terrier. He adored the 3 teddy bears he had, each of which he'd clutch between his teeth, lie next to someone (usually Mum) and demand to play tug with. Of course, the second you played with it/him he'd assume you were going to take his teddy away and make the most awful growling sounds. He always sounded like he was going to bite your arm off, but the worst he ever did was draw a tiny amount of blood, and that only happened a couple of times. For some reason he grew very attached to me whenever I visited and I could be assured of him arriving in my room at around 3am to see if I was still there, and a cold nose (and tongue) would nudge away the covers and give me a damp face. According to my mother, I was the only person he'd protect. If another dog came near my mother in the park, he'd be 50 feet away, cowering. If I was there, he'd put himself in between me and them. Very strange, as as far as I remember I never did anything special to deserve it, except for scratching his chest from time to time. A few months ago, Shadow's spine started to go. He had 2 slipped disks, which pressed on the nerve. He could move his legs when lying down (as easily demonstrated by scratching his stomach), but slowly lost the ability to walk, until he could only drag himself on his front legs. Mum and Dad laid carpets on the polished bits of floor so that he had enough traction to get to his favourite places, but it eventually became obvious that his quality of life was going slowly downhill. Dad was determined that there wouldn't be a replay of Rama's last few months, which had depressed him horribly, and talked to Mum about it at length, until they were in agreement that something needed to be done.
It's been strange and difficult for me the last week or so, playing with him as if he were going to be here forever, trying not to think about the fact that soon we'd lose him forever. Yesterday Mum phoned the vet and today he came to the house. Mum held Shadow, his head on her lap, as the injection took hold and he slowly went to sleep, never to wake up again. I spoke to her half an hour ago and she told me it was done.
I have tears in my eyes. I have to go. I shall miss him.