The Autumn Years
Posted 13-08-2005 at 17:11 by West Ender
It was 16 years ago that Sally gave birth. It was twins, both girls. One had jet black hair and the other was a silvery grey. They were both beautiful. Jet, the black one, came to live with us. Nobody wanted her and we, being soft hearted, decided to give her a home. She was a little bundle of mischief and fun and we soon grew to love her.
Within a year she was quite large. Her hair had become quite long and wiry and that on her head turned silver. She developed a silver beard. She wasn't the best looking bitch in the world but her brown eyes were full of intelligence and love. She learned fast. She soon knew how to sit, stay, lie down, roll over, speak, shake paws, beg and she would sit at the kerb-edge and wait to be told to cross the road. She could fetch a stick, find it if it got lost, catch a ball in the air and dribble a football. She was faithful, loving, a joy to have around.
Every Sunday morning she went with The Boss to the paper shop for the Sunday paper. She always knew it was Sunday and she would bark and run to the door, insisting he went for that paper before he had breakfast. When he worked away from home, as he often did, she would run to the front window a good 10 minutes before his car pulled on to the drive; the old 6th sense telling her he was on his way. Jet was 6 when The Boss died suddenly. It was mid-Summer and, for weeks, she went into the garden every Sunday morning and lay on the lawn with her chin between her paws. We grieved together.
She saw grandson Peter, who she romped with, grow into a young man and she saw granddaughter Laura arrive in the world and become a small school girl. All the while she was fit, clever and much loved by all the neighbourhood as she lay on the drive meeting and greeting her human friends but never straying.
Well, she's 16 now. She's still faithful, still loving, but her old bones creak and she's stone deaf. Incontinence has overtaken her and we have to cover the floors with training pads when we go out. She can't lie on her drive all day now because she wanders and crosses the road without a thought. She still likes her walk in the fields but she doesn't hare around any more and after 10 minutes she's tired and walks slowly. We know the day is approaching when she won't be here any more and it's something we can hardly bear to contemplate but, until then, she has her food, her bed, her pats and strokes and our gratitude for being such a splendid companion.
Good girl, Jet.
Within a year she was quite large. Her hair had become quite long and wiry and that on her head turned silver. She developed a silver beard. She wasn't the best looking bitch in the world but her brown eyes were full of intelligence and love. She learned fast. She soon knew how to sit, stay, lie down, roll over, speak, shake paws, beg and she would sit at the kerb-edge and wait to be told to cross the road. She could fetch a stick, find it if it got lost, catch a ball in the air and dribble a football. She was faithful, loving, a joy to have around.
Every Sunday morning she went with The Boss to the paper shop for the Sunday paper. She always knew it was Sunday and she would bark and run to the door, insisting he went for that paper before he had breakfast. When he worked away from home, as he often did, she would run to the front window a good 10 minutes before his car pulled on to the drive; the old 6th sense telling her he was on his way. Jet was 6 when The Boss died suddenly. It was mid-Summer and, for weeks, she went into the garden every Sunday morning and lay on the lawn with her chin between her paws. We grieved together.
She saw grandson Peter, who she romped with, grow into a young man and she saw granddaughter Laura arrive in the world and become a small school girl. All the while she was fit, clever and much loved by all the neighbourhood as she lay on the drive meeting and greeting her human friends but never straying.
Well, she's 16 now. She's still faithful, still loving, but her old bones creak and she's stone deaf. Incontinence has overtaken her and we have to cover the floors with training pads when we go out. She can't lie on her drive all day now because she wanders and crosses the road without a thought. She still likes her walk in the fields but she doesn't hare around any more and after 10 minutes she's tired and walks slowly. We know the day is approaching when she won't be here any more and it's something we can hardly bear to contemplate but, until then, she has her food, her bed, her pats and strokes and our gratitude for being such a splendid companion.
Good girl, Jet.
Total Comments 8
Comments
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Posted 13-08-2005 at 18:10 by Margaret Pilkington -
Posted 13-08-2005 at 19:38 by West Ender -
Posted 13-08-2005 at 19:41 by garinda -
Re: The Autumn Years
Oohhh West Ender ......... please just give me one moment while I get myself together .......... that was so moving to read I can't see the screen properly for the tears ........... I had my dog Kim for 12 years sadly she's passed over but not a day goes by I don't think about her she was my best mate! ooohhh I need a tissue .....Posted 13-08-2005 at 20:01 by Tinkerbelle -
Posted 14-08-2005 at 07:13 by lettie -
Posted 14-08-2005 at 17:37 by West Ender -
Posted 15-08-2005 at 10:44 by slinky