On Friday, 5th August, I had a phone call notifying me that my dog had weeks to live. On Tuesday, 9th August, I received the worst phone call of my life - he had to be put down. On Wednesday, 10th August, he was put down.
It was not a distressing experience for him, he simply went to sleep never to wake. I know that it was for the best - at nearly 14 years of age he had lived a long and fruitful life, and had declined recently and rapidly with kidney failure. On the day he was calm and accepting - the old dog which I had known since I was 10 was ready to leave. We took him to the vets, having arrived early we took him to a spot under some trees - sun shining beautifully and dappled under the cover of trees. He stopped, laid down and enjoyed being scratched under his chin and behind his ears. The vet, kindly, came out to us to administer the anaesthetic and that was it.
Monty came into my life several months after a set of tragic circumstances whereby a previous dog was run over. As a West Highland Terrier pup he was a white ball of fluff with black eyes and a black nose who attacked feet playfully - an act that he stopped doing in his last months. He filled a terrible void and loneliness that only dogs ever can.
As he grew up he became a solid teddy bear of a terrier - friendly will all, apart from cats, rabbits, birds and generally anything which he considered food. He quickly gained the nicknames 'Pig' and 'Hoover' as his nose was constantly seeking food to eat. As he got older he was struck by deafness and blindness, but his nose compensated for the lack of his other senses and he was pretty much the same dog as he had always been.
He would bark at animals on the TV and for the last 20 mins of a film, yet he would calmly watch the Rugrats on HIS seat - God help anyone who sat on his seat for he would sit on them and give them filthy looks whilst doing so. He really was a character. A stubborn, miserable, dour, good-natured character - a typical Scot.
Most of all he was a friend and companion. Throughout the bad news and tragedy that life throws at us, he would be there with a nudge from his snout and a lick on the face - of course he would expect to be scratched under the chin, taken for a walk or given some food in return. The first time I came back after going to University he ignored me and stormed off in a huff. About 30 minutes later he had forgiven me for abandoning him and was genuinely pleased to see me whenever I came back from University.
The last 2 years had been particularly bad - he had gotten old over night. No longer a dog you could play fight with or take for long walks. He was very much concerned with sniffing and having cuddles - still very much interested in food though. About 3 months ago he was diagnosed with kidney failure - given a special diet to see him through for another year or so. He would have his moments when he was the young puppy of all those years ago, but most of the time he was an old man who was not quite with it - would lose sight of us on a walk, even though we were within metres of him - that was very distressing.
Admittedly, I am not very good when it comes to the deaths of dogs. I can sit through a funeral without crying, but with a dog's death I am a wreck. My Granddad said: because you own a dog you are responsible for it, it is dependent on you and the attachment between man and dog is perhaps stronger than the bonds between humans. I think he is right - I felt awful all those years ago going off to University, because I was abandoning my dog. For the first time I couldn't take him with me.
On Wednesday I was feeling awful because I knew that I would never see him again, but the glimmer of hope was that I wouldn't see him suffer any more - a very thin, ill dog who would not eat, drink, walk or go the toilet was at the end. With hindsight it becomes apparent that he knew it was the end - but it never makes it easier.
Monty, 1997 - 2011, dog, companion and friend. Forever loved.
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