Full Monty: a tribute to Nigel
Monty recalls his much-missed golden retriever Nigel and reflects upon what we can learn about ourselves from the devotion of a good pet
I once had a dog called Nigel. From day one he was part of the family. He soon grew into a big strong dog, bounding with energy.
The image of Nigel in his latter years, quietly plodding around is only half the story. For the first three years of his life he was astonishingly athletic, able to leap and run and swim as well as any dog I have ever had. His reaction speeds were incredible, but this was to prove his undoing. In 2012, when he was just four, he snapped his back leaping for a ball. The vet, the great Noel Fitzpatrick, said that it was not unknown but very rare. To create the force needed to cause your vertebrae to explode in that way you needed to be exceptionally strong, slim and dynamic. That was our Nige.
He did heal, thanks to Noel’s miraculous care and some patience: six weeks on a lead at all times when outside; four twenty-minute walks
Nigel represented a basic decency that we all crave... he was a symbol of goodness
a day; no running or jumping – though in his head, Nigel was still a fit dog in his prime, he itched to leap and bound and resume normal service. He never quite regained his full youthful exuberance, but instead, he devoted his life selflessly to two things.
The first, and greatest love of all, was the fetching and depositing into pots, baskets and wheelbarrows – of yellow tennis balls. Other colours were occasionally allowed but yellow was better, and yellow and squeaky, best of all. Thanks to the hundreds that were given over the years, he accumulated a large selection that lived in a basket by his bed. Every time we went into the garden he would go to the basket and choose the current favourite. All of them – over 50 – are now buried with him in the coppice. His other career was in television.
There was never a plan to have him on Gardeners’ World. It just happened. He would be around me in the garden and the film crew would notice that he seemed to naturally find the perfect spot where the composition and light worked. After a while, he’d come to work on a filming day as a signed-up member of the crew, staying with us for the entire ten hours, and, without any prompting, striking exactly a pose that best suited the shot. He’d often steal the scene by placing his ball down in the least opportune moment. Worked every time. And Nigel became famous. Really famous.
Everywhere I went people would always ask, ‘Where’s Nigel?”. On aeroplanes, in royal palaces, in hospitals, in Japan, America – even, most weirdly of all, during my brief visit to Iran in 2017. Nigel was known everywhere. When I gave talks, I knew that really people wanted to see him, not me. The One Show had him on as a star guest with his own dressing room, hairdresser and a limousine home. Hay Literary Festival had a sold-out event that was an hourlong interview with Nigel. I came along as the interpreter. At Christmas he had many more cards than the whole family combined. He became A Star. This was strange and funny and lovely but, actually, something more serious was going on. Yes, he was handsome, incredibly photogenic and his guide dog genes meant he was ideally suited to the patience needed for the snail-slow process of filming. But it was more than that.
I think that the genuine love and affection that people felt for Nigel was based on something deeper. He had an innocence and dignity that shone out. He had life stripped down to the things that mattered to him and he pursued them with a quiet focus. He was loyal and affectionate and, for such a big shaggy bear of a dog, very gentle. For those of us privileged to share our domestic lives with animals of any kind we know the extra level of humanity that this brings out in us. The loss of a much-loved pet involves real grief, real sorrow. But the benefits of sharing our lives with them far outweighs that. In an age of trivia, uncertainty, duplicity, inequality and anxiety, Nigel represented a basic decency that we all crave. In the garden, at home with loved ones, he was a symbol of the goodness that we all know is there and which matters more than any amount of wealth or worldly success. He reminded us of our better selves.
Turn the page for our Nigel gallery