Steve buried Saffy this morning. It was quite heart-breaking. She’s in the same patch as Basil.
Unfortunately, by the time I got to my father’s, my brother Al had decided that this was an amusing topic for conversation and asked if she’d done a little wave with her paw before she’d gone out to die. He’s mean. Not only did my dad not stop him, but he joined in a bit.
I miss Saff. I miss her getting under my feet in the kitchen and the way she used to bark at everything, how she’d do giddy little half jumps when she got excited. I miss how she sits down waiting for a treat and how gentle she was. I miss how she took control instinctively and the little bit of joy she got from walks. I feel sad that she didn’t have anyone who loved her as much as I loved Basil. Because it’s not the same when you’ve only known them for two months, no matter how much you want it to be. I miss seeing her under Steve’s duvet in the morning, and how good she was – never even the slightest bit of bother. Even when she died, she did it in the least bothersome way.
This picture is taken perhaps 10 days after we got the two spaniels. She might be behind, but she loved the walks. She’d do her little half jumps when you got her lead out, and both her lead and Tilly’s were chewed through – she chewed them when she was waiting for the door to be open. This walk, she almost had enough – but she kept plodding on, regardless of her size or difficulty moving. I always had to help her into the car. She’d sit on the front seat, with Molly and Tilly in the back, like Driving Miss Daisy.
She loved the walks in the leaves, and I can see her little tennis ball under the TV cabinet, the last place she put it so the others couldn’t get to it. She was only last Sunday pulling a stick from Steve’s hand, like she’d rediscovered the joy of sticks. You could guarantee if she found a stick, or had her ball, she’d keep it until she got home.
And I had such a lovely time with her when Steve and Jake were away.
And our final photo of Saffy, waiting for a treat, taken by Jake. I have to say, I think it’s funny that Tilly’s attention is elsewhere.
What a great dog she was. What a shame she was given up and what a shame what had gone before had interfered so much with her health. I can only hope there was a little joy in those jumps. I know so. Bones, treats, scraps, leftover lamb, bits of crackling are all par for the course in this house. Spoilt our doggies may be, but they can never be with us long enough.