Laid to rest

Finally, after 4 weeks, we received Jack’s ashes through the post on Friday. We were very impressed with the presentation – the vet had implied we would just receive a cardboard box. However, the ashes came in a fantastic (and very heavy) wooden box, with Jack’s name engraved on a silver plaque stuck to the top.

We talked for a long time about where to scatter the ashes, and finally we decided to scatter them at Southgate, where Jack had his last proper walk. We had spent a happy afternoon there and had remarked on how magical and special the place felt, and Jack had enjoyed running around, splashing in the sea and having a good sniff.

However, our plans were somewhat scuppered as we couldn’t open the box! We could have tried to prise it open, but we were afraid that the contents would fly everywhere and we’d spend months hoovering them up. So we decided we had to change the plans, and it soon became obvious what we should do.

Our front garden has 2 cherry blossom trees. In the last few days of Jack’s life, when he could only use the front garden, he would lie between the trees, enjoying the sun and sniffing the air. So we decided to bury the box between the trees – somewhat fitting as Japanese culture view cherry blossom trees as symbolic of short but beautiful and brave lives.

As we couldn’t take Jack’s ashes to Southgate, we decided to bring Southgate to him. We planted flower bulbs (crocuses, narcissus, snowdrops and tulips) in the ground above the box, and then went to Southgate to collect stones to put round the small flower bed. It was incredibly windy, rainy and wild – just the sort of day Jack loved. We remembered how we watched him run round the last time we were there and how much he loved life, and it just all seemed so appropriate. The Gower seems to do well at providing weather and atmosphere to suit the mood, and today seemed to be all about the elements, and life.

So – we have completed the final task for the Boy. In one way it is closure, but you can never close down the feelings you have in your heart. Today served to make us a little stronger and more able to face life without the Boy, though, and we now can smile more than cry when we remember him.

Sleep well, Boy.

Dogs’ home

Yesterday was the 3 week anniversary of Jack’s ‘passing’. Until yesterday, we hadn’t moved any of his stuff – everything was just where it was when he went down to Bristol.

However, a friend of a friend is collecting for a dogs’ home in the local area. They want blankets, towels, toys, collars, leads, beds, bowls – all the paraphenalia that dogs need, especially dogs that are looking for a home.

Jack came from ‘the orphanage’ (as my dad always called it) and so it seems somehow appropriate that some of his stuff can go to provide comfort and warmth for another little dog that doesn’t yet have a home. There are some things I can’t yet bear to part with, but the things that Jack wasn’t so keen on I feel I could give.

So I started to look through his stuff, and I never realised he had so much! There were half used packs of worming tablets and flea stuff – because Jack was so big he always seemed to need 1.5 packs of tablets. Ear wipes, ear drops, coat conditioning oil, cod liver oil, dry shampoo, wet shampoo (for puppies as Jack was a sensitive boy), 2 types of painkiller… Leads, harnesses, fluorescent coats, fluorescent collars…. Tug toys, ropes, balls, balls on ropes, ropes of sausages (!), bouncy balls, big balls…. Blankets he ripped, blankets he hated, blankets he loved, blankets he tried to hump….

I’ve split his stuff almost in half and have a huge bag of stuff for the dogs’ home. There’s still enough here to remind us of Jack, and some things I couldn’t possibly get rid of, but I think he’d be happy that his stuff will be re-used by a dog who, like Jack once was, is sitting and waiting for someone to love them.

The little things

I’m not going to apologise for the maudlin nature of this blog. It helps me to write things down, to get it out, and while I grieve for the Boy you’ll just have to get over it.

It’s the little things that get me the most. Stupid things, like hearing a song (Cars by Snow Patrol) and realising that the last time I heard it was when I was snuggling down next to the Boy for the night. Getting out of bed and stepping over legs that aren’t there. Having a nap on the sofa and knowing that I wouldn’t have a great big bear clambering up next to me and snuggling down in the crook of my legs. Having a nap in bed and knowing that ade wouldn’t be sending Jack up to wake me up (this never worked anyway as he’d just snuggle up next to me and go to sleep himself).

I ate cheese on toast this morning and saved the corner. I couldn’t bring myself to eat it and had to throw it away. The crust of bread that Jack would usually have had, that neither of us can bring ourselves to throw away. Even having a shower – in this house, unless we have guests, showers are taken with the bathroom door open, and I would often be startled by a great black furry head poking through the shower curtain. I wake at night and realise that I am listening for Jack’s breathing – I always knew exactly where he was in the house at any time.

It does get easier and it will get easier, but when the grief strikes it hits hard and it makes me feel absolutely desolate. At times I’ve wondered how the hell I can carry on, but I do, and then I can smile and remember the good times. It just proves that Jack wasn’t just a dog, he was a huge force and a huge presence in our lives – in the lives of lots of people, not just mine and ade’s.

Dream

Yesterday I said that I’d see the Boy in my dreams. This morning, just before I woke up, I dreamed that I saw the Boy lying on the bed in the spare room, curled up with his head on the pillow in his favourite bed sleeping position. He would often sneak into that room and sleep on the bed when we didn’t give him enough room on our bed! In my dream, I looked through the door and saw him, and he raised his head and looked at me before snuggling back down in comfort. I feel that it’s his way of telling me that he’s comfortable now, and that he’s only really in another room. Clever boy.

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.

Wobblydog

Poor Jack. He’s going to see a specialist at a veterinary University on Wednesday, which is good – hopefully they will be able to diagnose the problem and do something that will ‘cure’ him (at a cost of ££££ unfortunately – but money’s no object when it comes to the Boy).

Meanwhile, we just have to try to cope as best we can with him. He can no longer stand, or walk properly, unaided or for any length of time. He can’t go up or down steps or inclines. Unfortunately he’s also lost control of his bladder and bowels to a certain extent (he’s leaving us little presents around the house). We’re having to sleep downstairs with him as he can’t make it upstairs to bed and will be distressed if we go up without him.

Last Sunday we took him for a walk in Southgate and he was fine – running around, coped going up and down the cliff fine – basically was just normal Jack. Now, a week later, he can’t even walk out into the garden without falling over. What’s happened to my boy I don’t know, but it’s breaking my heart.

Thanks to all of you for the kind messages you’ve left – Jack sends big sniffs and licks to you all. Hopefully I’ll be able to tell you some better news on Wednesday.

Duvet day

Poor Jack

Originally uploaded by prrincess purrplechick.

Today I’ve taken a ‘duvet day’ to be with Jack (a day of leave that hasn’t been pre-arranged). Poor Jack’s legs are failing him and we’re off to the vet for the billionth time later on this afternoon.

To keep his hips warm, I’ve tucked a blanket round them, and he has his head on one sofa and his body on another. Lots of fuss on tap and the window blinds are open so he can keep an eye on His Domain as he dozes. So he’s as happy as he can be.

Let’s just hope that the vet can help as he can’t walk properly at the moment and fell on the stairs last night

“What was that, Boy?”

It’s great having Jack around. He says all the things that you’re thinking, but are too polite to say. Of course, you have to translate for him sometimes.

“What was that, Boy? It’s Ade’s turn to wash up? I think you’re right, you know.”

“What was that you said, Boy? Steve’s a drama queen? Surely not, boy!”

“What was that, Boy? No one reads my blog?! Humph!”

Update on The Boy

Thanks for all the phone calls and emails. We now have news.

The Boy is home and is now a floppy dog as he recovers from the anaesthetic. He’s got very sad eyes and is crying a lot We’re nasty bad people for putting him through it.

The vet showed us Jack’s X-rays – it was rather weird seeing the inside of our dog. The major cause of everything is the fact that his discs (that all vertebrates have between the pieces of their spines) have worn away. This means that the nerves which carry signals to and from those areas of his spine can’t do their job properly. hence, his tail doesn’t wag properly, and he can’t tell when he’s stopped peeing.

The blood in his urine was probably caused by an infection, which in turn has been caused by the fact that he doesn’t empty his bladder properly due to the nerves failing to tell him that the job’s not done yet. So the bit of wee that’s left is slowly getting infected. He’s got antibiotics to help clear that up.

So the good news is, we know what the problem is. the bad news is, there isn’t a cure. There is apparently a specialist place in Bristol (about 100 miles away) that could do some reconstructive surgery on the discs but we have to bear in mind the slim chance of success for that operation versus jack’s age and general well-being. I think that putting him through that would be detrimental at this stage.

poor boy.

The Boy

The Boy is at the vet today for X-rays. I dropped him off there about an hour and a half ago. He’s likely to have 2 X-rays (at a ballpark cost of £200). He had a blood test first to check liver and kidneys were OK before having the sedative; unfortunately he peed on the floor while they were doing it (probably because he was scared) and there was blood in the urine So they’re also going to check his bladder.

The house feels so empty without him in it, and I’m really worried. I’m sure tests will go OK, but I’m worried that they still can’t find what’s wrong with him and he’ll have to keep on suffering for another few months.

I did laugh last night though as I was hanging washing on the line; Jack came out to see me and the woman next door was standing talking to a friend in the garden. She explained to her friend that Jack wasn’t well (including the symptoms) and the friend asked ‘It’s not cystitis is it?’ I don’t know how I kept a straight face!