Heavy Heart

Well today's blog was going to be about me getting back on creative track and having a mad spurt at knitting Owl tea cosies but the best laid plans etc the day has turned into one of sadness.

My 10 yr old Yorkie - Timmy, was admitted to the Vet's again on Tuesday with yet another bout of Pancreatitis. The fact that he was diabetic always makes matters worse and despite him perking up a bit by Thursday he hadn't eaten for 7 days and it was feared something more physical was going wrong with his digestive system. I knew when the Vet phoned me this morning about my daily visit that we had reached the end but you're never quite prepared for it all the same. Thankfully he went peacefully and although I am beside myself with grief I know that he is no longer in pain and no longer suffering from recurring bouts of illness and daily injections for his diabetes. 

Here was a dog I never planned on having but who had such a huge impact on my life that there is a large hole now that can never be filled.

I picked him up from Sheffield as a favour to a dog rescue, the plan being I would take him to a foster home in Hull. The family giving him up seemed grief stricken as they handed him over with a nice dog bed and half a tin of dog food. Things weren't as they seemed though as he wasn't the 'healthy' animal they'd led people to believe. He had dreadful teeth, a huge bald patch on his back and he carried his back leg. I remember sitting in the foster woman's living room while she screeched down the phone to the person who ran the rescue that he was going to cost them a fortune and that no one would want him because he was a large dog. I remember having to utter the line 'I'll adopt him and pay for his vet treatment' several times before I was heard by the over dramatic, silly cow of a fosterer and that was it, he was my dog even though I'd just adopted another one to keep my small elderly Ninja company. He had a lot of teeth out and all of his inoculation's done that week and I then had 3 dogs to get chipped and jabbed in order to get their pet passports so we could bog off around Europe. I'm sure people thought I was mad but I never regretted my decision. He was grumpy, didn't like being bathed brushed or examined by Vet's (many nearly lost fingers). He didn't tolerate being mauled by children, grew anxious when left for any period of time, ate like it was his last meal, didn't know how to walk properly on the lead or how to play. Over the last 3 years he has turned into thee most loyal companion who would follow me from room to room and have to sit by me and sleep by my side of the bed. He enjoyed being groomed and I could touch his legs feet and tail with minimal grumbling. He loved treats, ate a variety of food - all of it better than he was used to. He liked his routine and displayed odd quirks. He loved to sit in the car as long as it wasn't moving; liked to sit outside and watch the world go by; had a keen eye for the lady dogs and he would wait for permission to eat Izzy's dinner. He was learning how to play with toys and in recent months surprised us by starting to give a paw or sit up and beg for treats. As I'm sat here with him for the very last time I just can't imagine a life with him not in it.