By

Kevin Webster

A little over 10 years ago, I fulfilled a standing promise to my children that, if we moved to a house in an area with the right kind of facilities, I would let them have a dog.

So, in the late summer of 1995, our family of six became one of seven, with the addition of Snowy, a three-year-old Collie/Golden Retriever crossbreed. His original owner, a young woman with a toddler was expecting her second child and couldn't manage a large dog as well.

It was only a short walk from his former home to our new house and he trotted along on the lead without any sign of anxiety. We wondered if he would settle with us, but he soon proved to be just as much at home with us as any pet could be.

Close by our home was an area of rough woodland, to the rear of a disused Army barracks. Huge sycamore and horse chestnut trees provided homes for a host of grey squirrels, and Snowy quickly decided they were good for chasing. To the side of the woodland was a large, well-kept cricket pitch, just perfect for running when there were no games in progress.

Snowy was fast. Boy, was he ever fast. With his great feathery tail pointed high in the air, he would bound across that cricket pitch like an express train. The children used to try and keep up with him, but they never stood a chance. Once he was off that lead, he was away in milliseconds. You'd have thought that the squirrels would be easy prey for him, but the crafty little rodents were just always one step ahead. Snowy's attempts to climb the trees to get after them were comical to watch. He refused to be daunted and never gave up trying.

One day I took him in the car to a nearby beauty spot up on the Lincolnshire Wolds. After I'd parked, he sprang out of the back of the car and immediately noticed something moving in the undergrowth to his left. Quick as a flash, he dashed off and then we heard his jaws snap. Held tightly between them was a mole. “Must be some sort of hunting instinct”, I thought to myself.

Snowy always tried to get along with the other dogs that he met on our local walks, but they weren't always as friendly as he was. He was patient, but if attacked would defend himself resolutely. Most however did like to join him on his cross-cricket pitch runs and few could run faster.

At home he was the ever-present watchdog. He could sense if someone was coming to our house and would give out a warning bark before the person had even reached the garden gate! If one of us was due to return home, he would lie down in the hallway by the front door, so he could be first to greet the returnee.

Being a very hairy dog, Snowy's golden/cream fluff would get all over our carpets. Several vacuum cleaners couldn't handle the job of picking it up at the times of year when his coat was moulting. Sometimes, my wife would look disapprovingly at him, and he'd just lift his head, as if to say “sorry Mum – can't help it!” That dog hair used to get EVERYWHERE, especially on our clothing and onto the seats of the car, even if he hadn't been in it.

Bathtime was always a great tussle with our Snowy. On warm summer days, the kids would get out the shampoo and hosepipe and he'd soon be a very bedraggled doggie indeed. When he shook his heavy coat to dry himself off, anyone standing within 10 feet of him would get splattered!

Being a large dog in a fairly small house, you just couldn't miss him. I've lost count of the number of times one of us fell over him. His favourite spot to lie down was, of course, in front of the TV and video, where his great hairy bulk would stop the remote control signals getting to the equipment. Whenever the cry went up “Snowy, MOVE” he would oblige and find another spot to lie down. Eventually, my daughter and her husband bought him a pet bed, placed some distance from the telly, but you could be sure he'd soon find an excuse to block those remote control signals once more!

He was always obedient to a fault. Never went upstairs, even if the children tried to coax him up, because he'd been told by their Mum that the upper floor of the house was a “no-go area” for him. He did love the garden though and over the years dug a VERY large hole in one corner of it. He also had a habit of playing with my carpet slippers, so that I always had to hunt around for them. He never touched anyone else's footwear – just mine!

Feeding him was easy. He insisted on one type of moist dog food, beef and cheese flavour. We tried umpteen different varieties, but he would turn his nose up at them all. He wasn't above snaffling up leftovers from our table though and especially loved to demolish the remnants of a leg of lamb, sometimes depositing the remains in his hole in the garden. He was also particularly fond of cheese of all descriptions, as well as pizza.

Our pal was rarely ill, and on the odd occasion if he had eaten something that disagreed with him, would make every effort to get outside before he had to throw up. A few times he was sick on the tiled kitchen floor, but on one occasion I remember made a concerted effort to get into the downstairs loo to be sick into the toilet. A very clean dog, Snowy used his long tongue to good effect, washing himself and anyone who happened to be nearby if they held out a hand to him.

And so it went on year after year. However, about a year ago, property developers began building new homes on his beloved wild woodland. Soon, his walks became truncated and trips to the cricket pitch became fewer, as the access paths to it were often blocked by the builders. The great trees where the squirrels hid came crashing down and modern apartments and tidy little homes began to take their place.

He took it all in his stride, but eventually we noticed that he was getting slower and his energy levels began to subside. Well, he was now well into old age, even though he was born in the same year as our youngest son. We saw him begin to deteriorate and we knew that eventually we would have to face losing him. He was becoming deaf, and eventually only touching him would serve to get him up for a walk or to feed.

Three weeks ago, there was a sudden development. He had taken to lying in his bed for most of the day and night and had stopped eating. We tried to coax him into accepting food, but he just didn't want to know. He was losing weight fast. If he did manage to eat anything, he'd just throw it back up within minutes. Time to get him along to the vet.

Snowy managed to avoid the vet for most of his life – in the ten years we had him, he only needed a handful of visits, usually if the fleas were giving him a problem. This time though, the news was a lot worse. He'd developed Addison's Disease, which, added to his advancing years, gave him little chance of a continuing decent life. The veterinarian treating him told me that the kindest action would be to put him to sleep. That came as a major shock to my system, and came less than 24 hours prior to my writing this account.

When I was told the news, I wept unashamedly like a baby. Snowy was almost like one of my own children. Men are not supposed to show their emotions like that, but all the staff at the veterinary hospital were marvellously understanding.

I reported back to my wife and children and gave them the sad news. All were aware that he was very unwell, yet I don't think that any of us really took it in at first. Still a decision had to be made.

I am a Christian and I turned to God for help and guidance. It soon became clear that we would have to do the deed as quickly as possible so as to ensure our beloved Snowy's suffering could be ended. Fortunately, our married daughter was visiting us from her home in Southern England, so the whole family were together.

We cried and we hugged one another. The question was which one of us would stay with him when the final deed had to be performed. Our youngest, 13-year-old Mark said that he wanted to be there and so did his sister. I booked the appointment. Now we had just a couple of hours left with him.

We all fussed over him, cuddled and stroked him. He was having a hard time even lifting up his head. He did manage to get up and walk to the car for the short drive to the hospital. When we opened the door to let him out, he remained still for a few moments, then bravely jumped out and was led inside.

Everyone there was so kind, both to our pet and to ourselves. “Will he feel any pain?” asked my wife, through a veil of tears. The vet reassured her that he would just quietly fall asleep. The vet gave us a few last moments together and she told us she'd be outside the door when we were ready.

Snowy lay quietly on the examining table while we all bade him our farewells. I knocked on the door and the vet and her nurse came in. It took just a few seconds for our beloved Snowy to fall into a deep sleep from which he would not wake. Eventually the vet told us “he's gone now”.

The vet and the nurse, tears in their eyes too, offered their condolences and led us out of the building by the staff entrance. It was over.

In tribute to our wonderful friend, I penned this poem later that evening:

RUN FREE, SNOWY

By

Kevin Webster

Run free my Snowy, run free
Where you'll have no need of leash or chain
Living life as a puppy once again
Where no walls confine
No “Forbidden” sign
Will restrict a bold canine

Run free my Snowy, run free
You have done your best
And passed every test
Of Faith, Love and Loyalty
Asking nothing returned
Your freedom's well earned

So run free my Snowy, run free
Run free my Snowy, run free
To just anywhere, with your tail in the air
And just follow your nose
Wherever it goes
Chase rainbows or dreams
Or dancing sunbeams

Run free my Snowy, run free
 Run free my Snowy, run free
 Till the end of Eternity

By

Kevin Webster