This is going to be an odd post, and a little rambling perhaps...I apologise in advance.
On Friday 30th November I lost another friend this year. Only this one had four legs, a cold nose and a wagging tail.
August/September 2013
I met my wife 5 years ago. We began dating and I soon came over for dinner and to meet my future mother-in-law. I was a little apprehensive, knowing that I can be abrasive and uncultured at times, and walking up to the door I was presented by a sound that had set my heart racing for a long time. The baying of hounds. Big, deep barks. I spent my younger years terrified of dogs, and uneasy around them as I got older. At the opening of the door, I looked for two Great Danes or German Shepherds and was instead greeted by Jimmy and Manny. Two full-size, wire-haired Dachshunds. Their bark is that of a much larger dog, and I soon discovered their personality was far larger than their stature suggested.
I loved both dogs. Manny, the older of two was a very noble, regal dog - he was a friend and companion to my mother-in-law during a very trying time for her, and as the first family dog, he was the spoiled boy and could do no wrong. Manny passed away last year, after living for 18 months past his predicted passing, going through 2 major operations and bouncing back both times.
I fell in love with Jimmy in a way that I have never experienced with a pet before. He wasn't even my dog. I was always excited to see him, to play with him and take him on walks. When a film was put on the TV and we all watched, I would be the one laying on the floor with Jimmy. Most girlfriends would soon tire of entering the bedroom only to find their boyfriend asleep and spooning an equally unconscious dog, clearly a bit of a passion killer.
On walks, if he tired or, on one occasion, the ground was full of spiky conker casings, he would stop and look at me, knowing I would pick him up and carry him. Not a small feat considering he wasn't the smallest dog, and it was obviously all uphill!
I don't think I have told anyone "I love you" as often as I did him. He was a special dog. His eyes were soft, he was a bit dopey and you could see he loved all of his family, and I felt no different.
We found out in June that Jimmy, at 10 years old, had a mass on his heart, as well as Cushings Disease.
I didn't cry when I found out one of my best friends hung himself in February. I felt disappointed and angry.
I didn't sob uncontrollably when, 7 years ago, my grandfather passed after a lengthy time of diminishing health. He died with dignity and I will always remember that of him
At 16, my paternal grandmother, Nanny Dolly, died after a battle with dementia and I wasn't inconsolable. Though not as dignified as she once was, she was still my Nan and I was happy she wasn't sad, confused and in failing health anymore.
In fact, in my family, we have a strange view of death compared to others. As children, my brother and I were never shielded from death and it has always seemed a natural part of life to me. We cry for ourselves when a loved one passes, for our loss and our broken heart, for the hole left in our lives at their passing. I have always understood this and was at peace with the concept of death at a young age.
However, on finding I had a short time left with Jimmy I was beyond comfort. I sat with him, sobbing into his fur, telling him I loved him and how special he was. How much he had done for me to truly make me feel part of a family when I never expected to be taken in like that. How happy I was to have known him, to have been able to spend time with him.
And what did I get in return? licked and then looked at for another marrow bone treat! As ever, he was oblivious and his normal, good-natured self.
After a few trips to the vets, his health going up and down, he took a turn for the worse on Friday 30th, struggling to draw breath and his chest filling with fluid again. I will forever be grateful to my mother-in-law, the strongest woman I know, for making the hard call to end my friend's suffering, to not have him die slowly and uncomfortably. He died, as he lived, his tail wagging and happy to be around people.
Jimmy - thank you and I will never forget you.
On Friday 30th November I lost another friend this year. Only this one had four legs, a cold nose and a wagging tail.
Jimmy.
August/September 2013
I met my wife 5 years ago. We began dating and I soon came over for dinner and to meet my future mother-in-law. I was a little apprehensive, knowing that I can be abrasive and uncultured at times, and walking up to the door I was presented by a sound that had set my heart racing for a long time. The baying of hounds. Big, deep barks. I spent my younger years terrified of dogs, and uneasy around them as I got older. At the opening of the door, I looked for two Great Danes or German Shepherds and was instead greeted by Jimmy and Manny. Two full-size, wire-haired Dachshunds. Their bark is that of a much larger dog, and I soon discovered their personality was far larger than their stature suggested.
I loved both dogs. Manny, the older of two was a very noble, regal dog - he was a friend and companion to my mother-in-law during a very trying time for her, and as the first family dog, he was the spoiled boy and could do no wrong. Manny passed away last year, after living for 18 months past his predicted passing, going through 2 major operations and bouncing back both times.
I fell in love with Jimmy in a way that I have never experienced with a pet before. He wasn't even my dog. I was always excited to see him, to play with him and take him on walks. When a film was put on the TV and we all watched, I would be the one laying on the floor with Jimmy. Most girlfriends would soon tire of entering the bedroom only to find their boyfriend asleep and spooning an equally unconscious dog, clearly a bit of a passion killer.
On walks, if he tired or, on one occasion, the ground was full of spiky conker casings, he would stop and look at me, knowing I would pick him up and carry him. Not a small feat considering he wasn't the smallest dog, and it was obviously all uphill!
I don't think I have told anyone "I love you" as often as I did him. He was a special dog. His eyes were soft, he was a bit dopey and you could see he loved all of his family, and I felt no different.
We found out in June that Jimmy, at 10 years old, had a mass on his heart, as well as Cushings Disease.
I didn't cry when I found out one of my best friends hung himself in February. I felt disappointed and angry.
I didn't sob uncontrollably when, 7 years ago, my grandfather passed after a lengthy time of diminishing health. He died with dignity and I will always remember that of him
At 16, my paternal grandmother, Nanny Dolly, died after a battle with dementia and I wasn't inconsolable. Though not as dignified as she once was, she was still my Nan and I was happy she wasn't sad, confused and in failing health anymore.
In fact, in my family, we have a strange view of death compared to others. As children, my brother and I were never shielded from death and it has always seemed a natural part of life to me. We cry for ourselves when a loved one passes, for our loss and our broken heart, for the hole left in our lives at their passing. I have always understood this and was at peace with the concept of death at a young age.
However, on finding I had a short time left with Jimmy I was beyond comfort. I sat with him, sobbing into his fur, telling him I loved him and how special he was. How much he had done for me to truly make me feel part of a family when I never expected to be taken in like that. How happy I was to have known him, to have been able to spend time with him.
And what did I get in return? licked and then looked at for another marrow bone treat! As ever, he was oblivious and his normal, good-natured self.
After a few trips to the vets, his health going up and down, he took a turn for the worse on Friday 30th, struggling to draw breath and his chest filling with fluid again. I will forever be grateful to my mother-in-law, the strongest woman I know, for making the hard call to end my friend's suffering, to not have him die slowly and uncomfortably. He died, as he lived, his tail wagging and happy to be around people.
Jimmy - thank you and I will never forget you.
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