It’s beyond me why people say:
It’s a dog’s life.
Most of the pet dogs I see are spoilt rotten and pampered by their owners and everyone who sees the dog, wanting to stroke it, cuddle it, tickle it, etc, etc.
Let me introduce you to Titch, born August 1983, “crossed Rainbow Bridge” August 1997. Here he is, aged 8 or 9.
Mother: Jack Russell, Father: German shepherd.
- Much more Jack Russell than German Shepherd.
- Very affectionate, especially if you had sweets, or indeed any food on you.
- Very sweet-toothed: even if you were talking about buying a three-piece suite, he would come running to you from wherever he was, in the hope of having a chomp of a boiled sweet or jelly baby.
- He would often come up to you, place his chin on your lap, paw at you and beg for a good fuss.
- Very playful, always after a belly rub, tummy tickle or stroke, or even the mention of those words.
- He loved being tickled under his “armpits.” Stop suddenly, and you’d get a growl of reproval from the dog.
- He loved play-fighting. The rougher the better, especially wrestling on the sand of Redcar beach.
- He loved being bounced up and down on your knee.
- He loved his walk in the local hills, especially chasing after the pheasants hiding in the ferns. “Come on, chaps, I only want to play with you, not eat you.”
Titch caught parvovirus at the end of August 1997. Till then, he had been fit and healthy all his life. Within a day he was crossing Rainbow Bridge.
The sad thing is, I cried more on the day he went than the day Sunray passed away. I guess it’s all to do with untimely death. Sunray had had enough. He was fed-up. Titch was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, would jump out of his basket every morning, wanting to go for a walk and a wee-wee.
Have a canine day, won’t you!