Our much-loved family pet died last night.
She had seen 14 summers, a pretty good innings for a dog,
but of course, the longer she lived, the more the attachment grew, so she will
be missed.
She was a birthday present for our youngest daughter, then
aged eight, who chose her from a litter of pups in a pet shop because she was
the ugliest.
My daughter’s eight-year old reasoning went something like
this – “She’s so ugly – no one will buy her, so I will rescue her from being
abandoned”.
My daughter called her the first name that popped into her
head – Janet.
Raised eyebrows at the name choice cut no ice. Her dog – her
naming rights.
Janet was remarkably ugly and eternally confused, but she loved
everyone, with the possible exception of our recently acquired adolescent Heeler
who tried, always unsuccessfully, to play with her.
The Heeler was three times her size, and a fraction of her
age, so it didn’t work.
Janet became part of the daily routines, running into the
backyard barking to chase away any threats when my bride hung out the washing,
and racing into the shed to clear out all the bad genies before I commenced my
daily wood-splitting in winter.
She would disappear into her doghouse in the laundry as soon
as the sun went down, and her reappearance next morning would never happen
until the sun was high enough to warm her up.
On bleak days she hibernated. She did feel the cold.
She never really understood the weather. She’d stand outside
in the rain, getting wet and looking pathetic, despite a plethora of warm
sheltered places available outside. Usually, someone would take pity on her and
let her into her refuge in the laundry.
She loved walks, but never understood the leash, and when
younger and sillier, would almost choke herself. Many attempts to teach her her
to heel were unsuccessful, whereas the Heeler learned in a few trials.
She was a gift, and a as it turned out, my daughter made a
wise choice 14 years ago.
