The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
THAT’S LIFE Full marks for naughtiness, but how I’ll miss my precious four-legged friend
And now there are two. Because we have lost one of the Macnaughties. Poor little Rummie. He went downhill so quickly. What started as a mild heart murmur had become a serious condition.
Until recently our 12-yearold Norfolk terrier could easily take himself upstairs. Why, one morning he managed to jump on the bed.
Fast forward a couple of weeks and he could hardly stand.
He went off his food and I bought a tin of luxury meat. When that failed to do the trick, we took him to the vet.
We came home with tablets. By now, Rummie had a glazed look on his face.
We took him back to the surgery. Eventually we were told there was no hope.
Lockdown rules dictated that he had to go to sleep in the open air.
The young man that carried out the procedure was so sympathetic. Not long out of veterinary school he seemed as upset as we were.
The chief stroked my shoulder and I stroked our doggie’s head. “Where are those rabbits?” was the last thing I said.
And for a spilt second there was a tiny spark in those dark, round eyes. Then he was gone.
Losing any pet heartbreaking, as many of will know. But for me, this really hurt.
You see, while I have lived with dogs for decades, Rummie was the first to belong to me; a tiny puppy given as a present by the chief.
Mind, I say he was mine. In Rummie’s mind I was always his. This hairy, cheeky four-legged friend that came with a lot of love – and a load of attitude.
My Norfolk strutted round the house. He thought he could always twist us round his little paw.
Which he usually could. He was always forgiven for the cushions he destroyed; the midnight raids he tried to make on the biscuit cupboard; and the times he ran off and had us hunting high and low.
Afterwards, we brought him home and buried him in our garden among the snowdrops. The cocker looked solemnly on, as did the chow chow.
They clearly know something is amiss. Barra the spaniel has been out most days; prowling round the garden as if he is looking for something, or someone.
We muddle on. Because in this pandemic there are those facing far worse at the moment.
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And at least we have wonderful memories.
Because Rummie the Norfolk was the best.
He was born in Perthshire, and although he never got to see the county his breed originated from, he saw many parts of Scotland over the years.
There was the photographic trip to the Shetlands. And there were all those fishing days by the river.
There were the walks along the Solway coast when he skipped in and out of the sea. And who can forget our autumn adventure in the campervan?
So, thank you Rummie! You may have aged but you never looked any older.
And as far as naughty dogs go, you were definitely 10 out 10…
“FOR A SPILT SECOND THERE WAS A TINY SPARK IN THOSE DARK, ROUND EYES. THEN HE WAS GONE