Tuesday 30 September 2014

Remembering Sisko

Sisko.  SISKO!  SISKO!!!!!!!  A commonly heard sound during Sisko's lifetime.  He came to us at somewhere around six months of age - we were told he was younger, but we were never sure about that.  We collected him from the local rescue centre on a November afternoon - well, we went to SEE him, but of course we came home with him.....

He started showing his style that very first afternoon when we got back to the hotel.  Guests had just vacated the sitting room where they had been enjoying tea, shortbread and clootie dumpling.  I went to the kitchen to get a tray to collect the cups and saucers and the goodies that hadn't been eaten.  When I got back to the sitting room, there were no goodies and I assumed a guest had come back to polish off what was left.  Then Sisko shot out from behind a sofa and out the door.

That was the first of many, many thefts.  We learnt not to let him near the guests as he would swipe their food from their plate or hands.  Or he would perform the "starvation" trick by sucking in his stomach and pleading with his brown eyes.  So many people fell for it.

He stole the carrots, the potatoes, the turnips (the aftermath of that was always smelly!), the bird food, the compost heap, the chicken shit garden fertiliser.  He even stole the ashes that had been scattered on our little island by a loving family.

He raided the bin so often that one day I pushed him in and told him if he was so fond of the bin's interior he could stay in there.  We rubbed chili oil around the bin to put him off - he licked it clean.  We put in horrible stuff on the top - he just rummaged down underneath it.  We were advised to put in small firecrackers, but he just thought they were fun.



His most memorable theft however was one night when we were staying at my parents' house.  I can't remember why we were so late, but we only got to the house at about 1.30am and my parents were asleep and so we tried our best to be quiet.  We left the dogs outside to go pee, and then called them in five minutes later.  Laren came in immediately, but there was no sign of Sisko.  Trying to call him in whispered tones is not easy, and I eventually had to go look for him.  I found him in the compost heap and extracted him with the sheer force of my annoyance. 

We had only just turned out the light when we heard the familiar "urgh urgh urgh urrrrrgghhh!" - the light went back on to find that Sisko had just thrown up the contents of the compost heap - right in front of the door, meaning I had to spread it around to get out of the bedroom.

Quietly (trying not to waken parents) I went back to the kitchen, got a bowl of hot water, disinfectant and a cloth, plus a bag to scoop the offering into.  I cleaned up the mess as best I could, then disposed of the dirty water, and the bag of yuck.

When I returned to bed we repeated the whole process several times until finally we put out the light properly at around 2.45am.

When we got up in the morning, my father grumped at me "you left the hall light on"  When I recounted the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime, he didn't believe me - and I couldn't believe they had slept through the whole thing.

Another memorable occasion was when he found some old cooking oil to "clean up".  A few hours later he came to me and placed his head in my lap, wagging his tail, and being generally rather sweet until, without warning, the cooking oil was deposited in my lap.  

One time when Sisko was staying with my parents, my dad made a sandwich, then went to answer the phone.  When he came back to get his sandwich, it wasn't there - he began to think he had imagined making it until he saw Sisko's expression.  Another sandwich that fell from the counter never made the floor.

He didn't just steal, however.  He also loved to pull all the drying laundry off the pulleys or off the line outside.  He loved to play the "You can't catch me" game.  The more frustrated we got, the more he enjoyed it, laughing at us as he ran.  He ripped apart the goatskin pouffe in our neighbour's house.  He loved to sleep in smelly fish boxes, or cardboard boxes.  He rolled in long-dead deer and sheep. He loved to bonk any girlie dog that visited.  He loved to bonk rucksacks, and even better to bonk rucksacks that were on someone's back.



He drove us nuts for most of his life, but he had some shining moments too.

When he first arrived, we still had Leroy who was then 16 years old.  One afternoon in the following spring, Sisko was barking in a way we hadn't heard before - when we looked out, we found that Leroy had fallen in the ditch and couldn't get out.  Sisko was standing by him, shouting for help, and was so pleased when we got there.  And apart from one occasion when he knocked Leroy over, he was always very mindful of where the old boy was and to be careful.

When Laren arrived at the age of six weeks, his first move was to try to bonk her, but a stern "no" stopped him - and he never tried it again.  He loved his little sister dearly and I have many pictures of them playing or curled up together.





One of their favourite games was with a huge cardboard box.  We would put one of them in it to fight their way out, and the other would fight their way in - there was never much left of a box at the end of it.


Or trying to get the ball from a wheelbarrow full of water.



If Laren was the household intellect .... Sisko was the court jester.  One time, Laren was helping us clean up after a decorating session.  We would fill a box with a handle with bits and pieces which she would then carry down the stairs and empty into a designated place, returning upstairs for more.  Sisko seemed to want to help, so we found a small tub for him and filled it with all the loose nuts and bolts etc.  He started off with enthusiasm, but got distracted half way down the stairs, emptying the tub of its contents!

He loved Laren so much, and I will never, ever forget his distress when we had to leave her at the vet that last time.

With the puppies that followed over the years, he was always like a grumpy but kindly grandfather.  He would grumble but never once lost his patience with them.



Rest in Peace old fella - I think it is only now that I am appreciating you for the dog you were.  I wish I could turn the clock back and do it all differently, or have had you from a puppy, but then you wouldn't have taught me all that you did.  Love you old man.

s

Tuesday 23 September 2014

I Love My Dogs - And You Better Believe It!

A conversation with a friend got me thinking about how much my dogs mean to me.  The comment "He's fast asleep, love that little bugger" was so nice to hear as it made me feel a bit more normal.  I know many of my friends love their dogs dearly - but how often do we publicly say how much?  Or do we feel a bit embarrassed to say so unless it is to someone we know will understand?  After all, they are just dogs....

As I child I never had any interest in dolls - but I remember always wanting to have a dog in the house.  As a six year old I stayed awake late into the night waiting for our rescue afghan hound to arrive - I couldn't wait until morning.  And when he died some years later, it wasn't long before I was nattering for another dog.  Along came Tanya, another rescue afghan who saw me through my teenage years.  My brother didn't have any interest in dogs, and to this day, has never had one in his own household - I think he barely tolerates my brood!

In fact, I worked out that in just over 50 years, I have only had a total of perhaps 3 of them without a dog.  And now I cannot imagine life without them - it would be empty, and somehow pointless.

I never wanted to have children - and often wondered if there was something wrong with me.  In my early twenties, I worked in a bank, and whenever a young woman came in with a baby, all the other girls would flock to the counter to ask to hold the baby.  Various maternal noises would be made and I would remain at my desk wondering what the fuss was about.  When anyone came into the bank with a puppy, however, I was out the door to the front office to make a fuss of the pup.

Like human babies bring out the maternal instincts in (most) women, it is puppies that bring it out in me.  I just want to sit down and play with them, and be treated to puppy kisses.  I daresay that many women my age just thought I was odd.

Leroy was my first dog of my own - and he was my companion for almost 17 years, seeing me through the break up of my first marriage and several subsequent relationships before I settled down again - he saw all my ups and downs, heard the laughter and the tears, and just quietly kept life in balance for me by giving me routine and responsibility.  He was an amazing dog, and my only wish is that I had been a little wiser in those days and been a better mum.  Losing him at an old age was hard, but he had a good and full life and it was time for him to go.

Leroy aged four
Sisko the labrador came along in Leroy's last year - an unruly rescue pup who was hell bent on mischief, theiving and driving me round the bend.  He and I actually always had what you might call a difficult relationship - I never really bonded with him like I have with all the others - but it is him I have to thank for teaching me so much and forcing me to learn - about dogs, and about myself.  I just lost him a couple of years ago at almost 14.  Through his lifetime he played the kindly "uncle" to four  puppies, and whilst he grumbled regularly he never lost his temper at any of them. 

Sisko always loved to sleep in boxes
My little collie Laren was the heartbreaker (and the absolute love of Sisko's life) - and it still makes me cry to think about her early death at just six years of age.  I have had to box up those last memories and bury them deep so that the waves of emotion and tears don't come crashing in like a winter storm.  I can think of her life easily enough, and remember how clever she was, how quickly she would learn another trick, and her very cheeky way of demanding attention by gently nudging visitors in the crotch!  Perhaps I should reserve a page for her one of these days.

Laren

Laren and Sisko often chose to cuddle up
Tussock came along just months before we lost Laren.  Then came Talulah, and finally River.  I sit here with River on the sofa beside me, Talulah on the other sofa, and Tussock under the table.  In half an hour they will all have changed places without me noticing the flow of bodies as they take turns to lay beside me.

My dogs are my family, as important and special to me as any human children are to their parents.  I tell them my hopes and dreams, my secrets and my worries. When I watch them sleeping, my heart fills with love and tenderness for them.  In the night, if I wake, I reach out to touch whoever is closest, and just enjoy their warmth and softness.  I don't care if non-dog people think I am odd.  I don't care if they think being kissed by a dog is dirty.  I don't give a flying f**k.

I LOVE MY DOGS!!!!!  And you had better believe it.

Thursday 18 September 2014

A Foreign Affair

I didn't go to Denmark with the intention of falling in love - it just happened.  And to be honest, I thought I was past the days of holiday romances - and I certainly thought I was too much of a cynic nowadays to believe in love at first sight.

I had looked forward to this meeting for some time with a mix of excitement and anxiety.  What if we didn't like each other?  I shouldn't have worried, though, because within minutes of setting eyes on one another, we were laughing, kissing and cuddling and rolling on the ground.

WAIT!!!  I can sense some raised eyebrows around here.  Those of you that know me are probably wondering what is going on.  "She has met someone, and hasn't told us!".  Well, I was hesitant to talk about it because I was unsure if my own feelings were reciprocated, but I have now been told that it is a mutual feeling.

So........... let me describe her...............Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that bit.  I didn't meet a man.  I met a girl - and that was the other reason I hesitated to talk about it - I was unsure how you would all take it.

Anyway -  She is intelligent, loving, full of fun, engaging, attentive and a huge flirt.  She has deep brown eyes full of love and mischief, wonderfully silky black hair, golden brown legs, and a very pretty face.

Although she is Danish, language wasn't a problem - we seemed to find our own unspoken language with which to communicate and I very quickly became besotted with her - and apparently she was crazy about me too.

We spent hours walking and playing on the beach, racing up sand dunes, getting sand in our clothes and water in our (well, my) boots (she had bare feet), cuddling on the sofa, cuddling on the floor,  I was in seventh heaven.  I wasn't sure what my family were going to say about all of this, but at the time, I didn't care - they were at home, and I was in Denmark with my new love.

The time was over too soon and I had to come home - sadly leaving her behind.  I know she will be happy without me - she already has people who love her very much.  And I have family who love me very much too.  But a little bit of my heart has stayed behind in Denmark.

Her name is Tilde.

Running up and down the sand dunes

Enjoying the beach together

Who needs speech to communicate

Playtime

Beautiful girl

Sofa time

Lots of cuddles

About to have dinner 


Pretty Tilde