This little chap nursed me back to health
After facing her own cancer diagnosis, Jenni Murray says...
TOMORROW: ARE YOU BUYING THE BEST FOOD FOR YOUR PET?
My HUSBAND, David, has often been heard to mutter: ‘ I think you love them more than you love me.’ I don’t mean to upset him, but, at times, I think he may be right.
After all, my pets are never grumpy, never start an argument and greet me with unalloyed joy whenever I come home. They’ve also proved to be a devoted source of comfort, love and hilarity in difficult times.
My pack consists of three Chihuahuas, Butch, Frieda and Madge, and a Burmese cat, Suu. The dogs are ranged around my feet as I write and Suu is on my lap, purring loudly and demanding I pause from time to time to tickle her under her chin.
I love them all unconditionally, even when I’ve had to clean up a little accident or found the corner of the carpet slashed to smithereens.
First, 14 years ago, came Butch. He’s a white Chihuahua, on the large side for his breed, who was so tiny when we first went to collect him, he sat in David’s hand and, as a joke, Dave said: ‘I think we should call this little chap Butch!’ The name just stuck.
He came into the family soon after I’d been treated for breast cancer. David hadn’t wanted the responsibility of another dog after our two miniature Schnauzers, William and Mary, died a couple of years before my diagnosis.
I knew I wanted another dog to cheer up the house. David was adamant. ‘No more dogs!’ So, after my treatment I played the cancer card. ‘Oh! I’ve been so ill, I really need a dog to give me something to care for now the boys are grown up and gone.’
I have been accused of using him as a child substitute and, frankly, there’s no shame in that. As the nest began to empty and the rigours of chemotherapy made me wonder if life was worth living, it was this youthful, energetic, playful little chap who gazed at me with such soulful and loving eyes and said: ‘Come on, get up. Let’s play ball in the garden.’
HE NEEDED me and I needed him. He made me get up and his antics made me laugh. He got me going. I’ve always loved animals. For my fifth birthday I was given a parcel and unwrapped a collar and lead. I was taken out to the shed and there was Taffy — a tiny, ginger Corgi who was almost as excited as I was.
For an only child he could not have been a better chum. He was my friend and confidant, always ready to listen to my worries and give me a kiss and a cuddle when no one else seemed to care about me.
Later, I couldn’t take him to university and it was while I was away, in my second year, that he ran away one night and never came home. I missed him terribly. He had always been there to greet me, seeming to know when I was on my way home.
Twelve years later, David and I acquired William and Mary almost from the moment we first got together and they had been wonderful pals for both of us. William came after I’d seen him at a horse show in the New Forest. I was longing for a dog and fell in love with him instantly.
When we went to pick him up we found he had a sister, Mary — and David agreed with me that, if you can’t be at home all day with one dog, you should always have two.
A walk in the morning before work, another as soon as you get back and they don’t get lonely during the time you’re away because they have each other.
The two of them managed to deal with the arrival of our two boys and, as I look back, gave them both important lessons in how to care for a dependent animal and treat them with affection and kindness. Daily walks on a nearby common kept us all fit, while at home there was always a dog to curl up with if you’d fallen out with a member of the family.
I shall never know how William managed to survive to the grand old age of 18. He was the canine equivalent of Houdini, always managing to escape unnoticed through the tiniest opening in the front door: a dangerous occupation during the period when we lived in Clapham, not far from the South Circular.
It’s maybe worth pointing to the fact that my older boy, Ed, was three when he came with me to the surgery for William and Mary’s jabs and announced he wanted to be ‘a doggy doctor’. He’s now a vet and keeps a strict eye on Butch who has, like me, a tendency to put on weight if allowed to be greedy!
William and Mary died within two weeks of each other and, honestly, that broke our hearts. Mary was the first to become ill and was taken to the vet, euthanised and carried home to be buried in the garden.
William sank very fast without her. He waited for me to come home from work and struggled across the kitchen to greet me.
I bundled him up in a blanket and carried him into the car.
Now, William had always hated the vet and the nasty injections. As we began to turn into the road where the surgery was, he rose up, kissed me on the cheek, sighed and died in my arms. I could hear him saying: ‘No way! No jab for me thanks. Goodbye.’ He really was smart with a pretty determined mind of his own.
We turned round for home, sobbing all the way, and buried him alongside his sister. It was then that David decided there would be no more dogs. I think we both felt we couldn’t bear to go through that grief again.
Of course, after my cancer, he gave in and Butch became the loving comfort I needed.
David fell in love as well, constantly playing with Butch in the garden. I couldn’t manage long walks when my hips were damaged by the chemotherapy, but, after a hip replacement, Butch has made me walk again.
WHEN I returned to work in London, Butch took my commute by train in his stride, but hated being left alone when I went to the radio studio. That’s when Frieda joined us to keep him company when I was absent.
Madge was not intended. I was at a friend’s house, looking to find her a dog on the Pets4Homes website. Up popped Madge. ‘Look,’ said my friend, ‘your kind of dog.’ I protested. I had two dogs and didn’t need three. My friend made the call. The pup, to my amazement, was just round the corner. I couldn’t resist. She’s the tiniest of the three, gorgeous and a bit of a show off, hence Madonna, shortened to Madge.
Now I had three. Butch is rather shy, eager to please and adores me. Frieda is independent and bossy and Madge is happy as long as she gets a fair share of admiration and cuddles.
My lovely neighbours walk them when I’m at work and Suu, the cat, brought in originally to deal with a mouse problem, comes and goes as she pleases through her cat flap.
They are all my pets and I am their willing slave. We could not be more content. As long as they are here I never feel lonely and neither do they. It’s a mutual love affair.
Friends and family are so important when you need support through tough times, but they have their own lives to lead and can’t always be there for you.
Pets, however, are always there and somehow seem to know when you’re feeling frightened or sad. Butch will gaze at me with those huge eyes full of love and concern, cuddle up during the worst moments and then say: ‘Right, let’s get some fresh air!’
Pets are, without doubt, the very best medicine.