Our lovely boy

Yesterday, it was discovered that our boy had a tumour in his lower spine/pelvic region. There was nothing that could be done for him. We had to make the decision to let him go and he died in our arms, peacefully. It was the hardest decision we’ve ever had to make but at the same time it was the easiest. We couldn’t let our boy suffer any more, he was a dignified dog and the rapid deterioration meant he was losing his dignity and to keep going would have been selfish on our part.

He was my big strong boy right up to the end. Even when he couldn’t walk, and his claws were bleeding from being scraped on the ground as he dragged his legs along, he still barked at passing dogs, bikes, people. He escaped from the garden and was halfway down the street after another dog, ade had to chase after him – it was like he forgot he was ill.

He was such a good housedog, so clean and loving. He was my protector, and I his. He was more than *just* a dog – anyone who knew him knew what a huge character he was. Complete strangers would stop in the street, bowled over by his noble good looks and size. You always knew where he was, and his presence was always strangely comforting.

He loved the good things in life, which he got from us. Everything we bought, from cars to food, was with the Boy in mind. He liked his place on the sofa, his comfy basket (2 duvets for the Boy), his crust of fresh baked bread every night, cheese, his daily pig ear and lots of fuss and hugs. He would snuggle in, smacking his lips in bliss, and move you around until he was absolutely comfy. He snored louder than anyone I know, and his farts could be used as chemical warfare.

Our lives were dictated by the Boy. From the moment I opened my eyes in the morning to the time I closed them to sleep, his needs were paramount. Whenever we left him for an extended period I cried as I missed him so much – the 3.5 weeks we spent in Australia last year were hell without him. We never left him alone more than 4 hours. As we opened the door he’d always come running to greet us, even when he could barely walk.

He wasn’t always good – he had a strong, stubborn wilful streak and no cat, squirrel or bird was safe – he always wanted to chase them. Horses, cows and motorbikes had a good barking at. He loved swimming and running and would develop sleective deafness when it was time to be put on the lead. He loved his twice daily walks and if we ever missed one he let us know. He used to complain when the alarm went off and we had to get up, much preferring weekends when he could lie on the bed with us and hav cuddles and fuss for hours.

Everyone he met loved him. The amount of people who have emailed, sent us messages, called round or came to see us in the last few days has been phenomenal – we never realised how much of an impression he made on people. Every one of them has shared a little of our grief but no one could ever have loved him or miss him as much as me and ade. Our home is like an empty shell without him now.

He structured our lives completely and that’s what makes it harder now. He brought so much to my life – I am really honoured to have been able to call myself his owner. If I could be half the person as he was a dog I’d be happy. He taught me so much in his gentle, loving way. He was my big teddy bear, my wolf, my floppy dog, my ever faithful companion and my world.

I know that I cry for me, not for him. I miss him so much but he is better off where he is, with all the cheesy squirrels he could ever want. I know that whenever we walk along a beach he’ll be running along beside us. Every night when I go to bed he’ll be lying under my side of the bed where he always did, and in the cold hours of the early morning he’ll jump up and put his head on my ankles like he always used to. I know that as the tears roll down my face as I write this he’s lying beside me, sniffing my tears away and laying his big furry head on my lap so I can bend down and smell his ears (always smelt like chocolate) and feel better. I know he’ll always be with me in spirit, and that one day I’ll see him again, and until then I’ll have to make do with seeing him in my dreams.

I love you, Boy.