Most of us have had pets that have meant the world to us. Unfortunately there comes a time when we have to say goodbye to our faithful friends. This is a letter I wrote to the first dog I ever owned, a year after she passed away. She was special – as are all pets in their own way – and what made Zippy so special is not only was she my first dog, but she was the first dog me and my husband got together. It was always the three of us, until the family came along…….
Hey Zips….
It’s been a year without you now, one whole year without seeing your old furry face staring hopefully up at me in the kitchen. That’s the last picture of you that I have imprinted in my mind, you’d been wandering around the kitchen when the vet arrived….I often wonder if you knew….
Making that call to the vet was the hardest thing that I ever had to do, I should probably have made it sooner, but I didn’t have the strength. You’d had a good long life, I knew that, but still that didn’t make it any easier.
I can still remember vividly, collecting you from the rescue center in Humansdorp over nineteen years ago, you were a scrawny, tatty little puppy and all you wanted was to be loved. Finding a name that suited you was a nightmare, it started off as Tinkie or something similarly unsuitable, but as you grew we had to change it, it just wasn’t you. You loved nothing more than running circles around the neighbours dogs, so we changed your name to Zippy….Now that was you!!
At night we left you in the living room to sleep, but after three nights of you whining pitifully we gave in and let you sleep in the bedroom – but not on the bed. Of course it wasn’t long before we were finding you curled up nose to tail at the bottom of the bed when we woke up. You were certainly as crafty as you were pathetic!!
At first your fur was so sparse that we worried about the African sun burning your pink skin, you never seemed to get burned although I’m sure that it was the sun that caused your skin cancer when you were older. You loved nothing better than lying in it, a furry little sun worshiper!
Remember at Kromme how you would disappear to play with the Rottweiler a few doors up? The first time I saw you scampering along the river edge with the Rottie charging after you, my blood ran cold…But you were only playing together….Thank goodness….
When we decided that we wanted to move to Greece to take over the bar, there were many people who would have taken you in, but there was no chance of that, you were part of our family and our responsibility. You stayed with Neal’s parents until we were settled and sorted and four months later they popped you on a plane to Greece. The day you were due to arrive was the day we were due to open the bar, so we decided that Neal would take the six hour bus journey to collect you straight from the airport and return hopefully in time to open the bar with me. It didn’t happen quite like that though and I ended up opening the bar on my own.
On the coach dogs usually travel in the underside where the luggage goes…So wrong!!…Neal was having none of it and you traveled back on his lap to the amusement of the other passengers.
When I first saw you again after four months, you were so much smaller than I remembered, in my head you were as big as the Rottie you used to play with. I was so happy when you obviously remembered me, you were my first dog and I underestimated your loyalty. It didn’t take long for you to settle down, but it did take you three days to start eating dog food again. You’d been given pork from a souvlaki stick on the coach journey back and I’d given you chicken when you arrived here, so in your mind there was no way you were going back to the doggy stuff. A battle of the wills started, but that time we won!!
You were a proper hit with the tourists in the summer, back in those days dogs weren’t in abundance here like they are now and many people would come into the bar because they were missing their dogs at home. You’d sit on the wall and let people take photographs. We did have to ask people not to feed you as you did get a bit porky, but did people listen?…No…And it wasn’t as if you looked like you were in need of food, you were cute that was all!!…It didn’t do you any harm though, not many dogs see nineteen years!
We didn’t have a car back then either, so we cycled everywhere with you in a basket on the front of my bicycle, you seemed to love it with your ears flapping in the breeze….It was fun….
When I was heavily pregnant with Greg’s and we would walk you around the field or along the beach – well it was more of a waddle for me – the locals thought we were barmy and that I should be resting at home with my feet up. So many people thought we should have gotten rid of you or stuck you in a kennel outside when Greg’s was born – to them you were just a dog, they didn’t understand that you were our pet.
We were careful with you and him though, and never left you alone together, but there was no need to worry. I’m not saying you were over the moon with new arrival, because you weren’t, you proper sulked and of course things weren’t the same as before, after he was born. At first we managed to cycle with you on Neal’s bike and Greg’s on mine, but after the arrival of Catherine we splashed out on a car. Times had changed. We got another dog to keep you company, you loved being top dog to a bigger dog!
The years passed and you got older and slower, when you were fifteen you had a lump in your throat that the vet really didn’t want to remove because of your age, it was a nasty lump that would have eventually closed your throat, not a nice way to end your days, so I decided to take the risk and insisted that the vet remove it. I stayed with you whilst you went under the anesthetic, that was horrible, you fought it for a few minutes before it finally beat you. The op was a success and you went on for another four years.
In your final weeks, you weren’t happy, we would find you in the garden staring at the wall, seemingly unaware of where you were, you were losing weight and you started whining at night, although we were sure that you were losing your mind, you still knew where the kitchen was, your survival instinct was something else and that is part of what made it so difficult to make that last call to the vet. When you slept I secretly hoped that you would pass away in your sleep, but you didn’t. It made me feel awful thinking like that.
Many tears were shed before making that final call to Marion, she was brilliant and came to the house. As I said, in my mind I can still see you stood in the kitchen looking for food, you looked back at us as we watched you. I picked you up to let Marion examine you, she confirmed what we already knew, that it would be kinder to put you to sleep. We all held you, we had explained to the children that you were old and that it may be kinder to put you to sleep. They wanted to stay with you until the end too. I held you in my lap as Marion put you into a deep sleep before giving you the injection to stop your heart. It took a while to work and we sat quietly talking – reminiscing…And then you were gone….Knowing that we were doing the right thing for you didn’t make it any easier, but I suppose that’s why love hurts.
We buried you wrapped in your blanket and with your collar by your side, we wanted to let you run free where ever you were going. We placed you in a box that was far too big for you and buried you beside Lucky in Mum and Dads garden. We didn’t want to bury you in the garden here as it isn’t ours.
We still have what we describe as Zippy moments, where we will get that familiar, just got to check on Zippy moment. Bitter, sweet moments that catch us unaware. The other dogs missed you for a while.
You had a good long life, Zips, and if I could have you back and do it all over again I would. You were my first dog and for that you will always have a special place in my heart….
If There Is A Doggy Heaven….
Copyright © 2014 Debbie Roberts© 2014 – 2020, Debbie. All rights reserved.
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