Four Legs Good - Cassie and Crombie

We’d had cats, hamsters and gerbils when the children were small. What they really wanted was a dog. When the last of the gerbils passed away, the pleas began again.  It wouldn’t be a problem, after all, I was a stay-at-home mum. Well, that’s how it looked because I was home when they were. The five days a week I spent working in the infants’ school had clearly gone over their heads. A dog. A responsibility. Another family member. My husband and I thought about it.

A lot had been going on in our family. The children had been faced with both parents having serious illnesses which had turned their lives inside out and upside down for the best part of a year. I was convinced that we weren’t both going to make it – we did, there we were and here we still are. The experience changed my attitude about some things. Should I become ill again and not survive, didn’t want the children to have a lasting memory of me, a mean mother never letting them have a dog. There were conditions, discussed between ourselves before involving the children. Firstly, no puppies. We would find a rescue dog. The chosen one had to suit everybody because it would be a family pet and looked after by all. Everyone had to feel comfortable taking it out for a walk. We studied the traits and behaviours of likely breeds and decided to approach Spring Spaniel Rescue. Before going ahead, we involved the children.

We sat round the table at tea time. Everyone had a small piece of paper, placed face down. Stay with me on this, I don’t need to explain how (daft) we are sometimes. It’s just family stuff. With much giddiness between the four of us, it was time to reveal our ‘words’, starting with the children. I had the last turn. Child 1 ‘We’, Child 2 ‘Are’, Dad ‘Getting’, Mum ‘A Dog’. Delighted, excited children.

Cassie was the perfect dog for us at that time. She was an old lady of a Springer Spaniel, thought to be ten years old, taken in by Springer Spaniel Rescue after her time as a breeding bitch ceased. They couldn’t tell us much, except she had been in sad, neglectful circumstances. The rescue centre had looked after her, restored her health and ready to be rehomed, she was ours. Love was all she needed and we had an endless supply. She was too old and infirm to chase balls or do much running about, but she loved her daily walks. Four legs nearly good. We know we gave her the best we could in her twilight years. It was heart-breaking for all of us when despite the efforts of our vet and our constant care, Cassie couldn’t recover from what we believe was a stroke and we had to say goodbye.

The level of grief was enormous. No more dogs.

The ‘no more dogs’ didn’t last very long. Our son helped a friend out by having her dog stay with us for a few days. She wanted to rehome him, but unfortunately he wasn’t a dog for us. Having him around showed me what we were missing. A compromise. We couldn’t keep this dog as he was too big and strong for me to handle, but if everyone agreed, we would approach Springer Spaniel Rescue again.

Crombie joined us as if he’d always been part of our family. Four years old and full of beans, he spun me round and round in the kennels car park before leaping into the hatchback, eager to get strapped in and make the journey to his new home. Bursting with energy and always raring to go, this was a springer behaving like a springer. Cassie had paved the way, building our confidence, preparing us for Crombie. He was a perfect dog for us, as Cassie had been, but in a different way. Springers are intelligent dogs, needing lots of exercise and challenges. Crombie, trained to Kennel Club Gold standard was exceptionally good company. Our children and later, grandchildren adored him. He must have covered every blade of grass on the field close to our house every day. He learnt his way round Dumfries and Galloway, instantly recognising where he was when we turned off the main road and followed the lane to the lodges where we like to stay. He wasn’t best friends with the vet in Kirkcudbright, but he knew he needed help and was respectful. We both whimpered with seasickness on the long journey to the Isle of Barra, but soon recovered to run on the beach. Part of the family he really was and we took him everywhere. Four legs good. Old age and infirmity began to compromise him. We knew what was coming. I couldn’t face up to it until we really had no choice.

Three years on and we still miss him, but I really mean it when I say ‘No more dogs’.

I found this,

The Power of the Dog

“There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie –
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To rick your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns
Then you will find – it’s your own affair –
But, you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still)!
When the spent that answered your every mood
Is gone – whenever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more we do grieve.

For when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long.
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?”

Rudyard Kipling 1865 – 1936

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Goldfish - All the Fun at the Fair

I remember the goldfish. It probably had the shortest life of any pet. We already had the dog, the ever-pregnant cat, so we also had a couple of kittens; a budgie and now a goldfish. I was thrilled to win it at a fairground attraction though I’ve completely forgotten what skills won me the prize. I carried it tightly in the water-filled plastic bag and took extra care in the back of my friend’s father’s car where at least four of us were jammed in for the journey home. No restrictions in the good old days. It was the beginning of the summer holidays. Our primary education was over and the prospect of going to secondary school was a million light years away and certainly not worth mentioning.  We’d had a great day out. I’d eaten parched peas for the first time and we’d all had a hotdog and a toffee apple. We were hot, tired and squashed and we soon got bored of thinking of a name for my goldfish. It became Goldie. In spite of all the wriggling and shoving on the back seat, not a drop of water was spilt and I got Goldie home in one piece.

No, of course we don’t have a goldfish bowl or a fish tank, and no, Mummy, I hadn’t considered any of the points you’re making right now…and I was having a lovely day. Was.

Goldie was temporarily housed in a crystal punch bowl, which was part of a set and apparently my Nanna would go mad if she knew about it. Despite having such a posh home and the best food from the local pet shop, Goldie only lived for two days.

I thought it was just resting, I’d never seen a dead goldfish before. It was floating on its side at the top of the bowl. My mother was full of sympathy and explained that from her own experience, goldfish from fairs didn’t always last very long and that was why she had bought it food but not a proper container. I could have another one from the pet shop if I wanted. I didn’t bother.

 Goldie was a living memory of the wonderful day I’d spent at the fair with friends and the generosity of someone else’s parents. We were moving on into different schools, staying friends, but there would be changes ahead. Another goldfish wouldn’t mean the same.

The punch bowl was returned to the sideboard and as far as I know, Nanna never found out.

I couldn’t choose between these two poems, so here they both are.

Privacy  Oh you who are shy of the popular eye, (Though most of us seek to survive it) Just think of the goldfish who wanted to die Because she could never be private.   There are pebbles and reeds for aquarium needs Of eel and of pike who are bold fish; But who gives a thought to a sheltering spot For the sensitive soul of a goldfish?   So the poor little thing swam around in a ring, In a globe of a crystalline crudity; Swam round and swam round, but no refuge she found From the public display of her nudity; No weedy retreat for a cloister discreet, From the eye of the mob to exempt her; Can you wonder she paled, and her appetite failed, Till even a fly couldn't tempt her?   I watched with dismay as she faded away; Each day she grew slimmer and slimmer.   From an amber hat burned, to a silver she turned Then swiftly was dimmer and dimmer.   No longer she gleamed, like a spectre she seemed, One morning I anxiously sought her: I only could stare - she no longer was there .  .  .     She'd simply dissolved in the water.   So when you behold bright fishes of gold, In globes of immaculate purity; Just think how they'd be more contented and free If you gave them a little obscurity.   And you who make laws, get busy because You can brighten the lives of untold fish, If its sadness you note, and a measure promote To Ensure Private Life For The Goldfish.

By Robert William Service

White Ash

 

 THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door.

Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice … but these are some of her thoughts:

The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron.

The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke.

The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame.

And there is a love … one in a thousand … burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash.
…

 And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

by Carl Sandburg

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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My Family of Familiars

My Family of Familiars

So Mouse said it is fine,

And Cat agreed the line.

Yet Dog was not so keen,

For Rabbit to make a scene.

So Frog made for the road,

While the others all blamed Toad.

And Hamster chewed her seeds,

Sitting on Chicken's knee.

As Newt gave all the eye,

The large Raven flew on by.

Leaving Snake upon the ground,

With the Spiders running round.

“STOP!” cried the Witch,

“For I've had enough of this”

And she put the Spiders in their web,

Picked up Snake by his head.

Called Raven to it's perch,

Placed Newt on a bookshelf verge.

Took Chicken out to the Coop,

Put Hamster with her group.

Told Toad not to roam,

Then made Frog go back home.

She pushed Rabbit into her hutch,

Sent Dog to bed with slightest touch.

Insisted that Cat slept by the broom,

Ordered Mouse back to her room.

“That's better” said the Witch, looking in the mirror,

“Good night to everyone of you, my trust familiars”

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