The loss of George leaves a massive hole in the lives of the Pages.
OPINION
After close to 45 years of making a living stringing together phrases and sentences for people to read, you’d think I’d have no trouble finding the right words each week, wouldn’t you?
Not today. Today I’m struggling.
In fact, the only words that leap to mind are “gut-wrenching” and “heartbroken”.
The former because of an awful decision we’ve just had to make and the latter as a result of that decision.
You see, a couple of days ago Mrs P and I had to have our 12-and-a-half-year-old dog George put to sleep.
As I say, a gut-wrenching decision that has left us both heartbroken.
By the time you read this, the massive hole in our lives will have been there for a full week.
It has been a very long one. Lots of tears. Lots of second-guessing as to whether we made the right decision. Lots of trying to cope.
It bloody sucks.
Anyway. Let me tell you about how great our little man was.
George entered our lives not long after Mrs P began to have some health issues.
The kids decided a dog would be ideal to help mum with her recuperation, which was supposed to involve a fair bit of walking.
So off we went to find a puppy.
I say we went to find him. The reality was he selected us. From the second he met Mrs P he was hooked. Wouldn’t leave her alone, in spite of the efforts of many of his brothers and sisters to get in on the action.
It was no surprise then that he got the nod and came to live with us.
He took over our lives. We were useless. Maybe a bit too soft in some respects but there you go. That’s just us.
In the end we didn’t do anything without George. He would howl like a wolf if we left him alone.
He was our constant companion and Mrs P’s saviour when her illness got really bad. Always there.
He would jump up on the bed and thud right into her. He’d stay with her for hours.
Amazingly, he did the same thing to the Boomerang Child when she became seriously ill.
Literally lying on her in bed as she slept. They say dogs know, don’t they?
As for me, well, George and I ended up doing most of the aforementioned required walking, particularly when the girls weren’t well.
He became my great little mate. I would, and did, put myself in harm’s way for him – once when he was attacked by a big German Shepherd and the other time, not that long ago, when a pitbull rolled the old boy on to his back and pounced on him.
On both occasions I was but a couple of yards away and wearing sturdy footwear which I put to good use in protecting him, if you know what I mean.
By the time of the last attack, George was down to three legs, one having been amputated after an accident, and his eyesight was failing.
He became increasingly anxious and didn’t really want to venture too far from our caravan or us. Then it quickly became shuttling back and forth from the caravan to the back seat of the car where he seemed to find most comfort and security.
Walking was a challenge on three legs but he still gave it a go for a while.
Then that stopped and he was content to just be pushed around in the little buggy we got for him.
But by then the writing was well and truly on the wall.
He still wanted cuddles and attention but everything was becoming more and more difficult for him.
I called our amazing vet for a chat. It was time.
We had four days with George before he went to sleep.
Most of that time we just sat with him and stroked his head and scratched the back of his ears like we had done thousands of times before.
We let him eat whatever he wanted – chicken, rice and eggs were among his favourites – though the tin of salmon he also devoured had some interesting consequences.
That night, as he lay on the bed with us, his snoring was punctuated by the smelliest of farts imaginable. At least that made us laugh. I think he would have enjoyed that.
When the time finally arrived, he was in the back seat of the car with Mrs P and me. We stroked the back of his head and told him we loved him as he died.
It was quick and peaceful. He looked totally free of the pain and anxiety that had been his constant companions this last little while.
That’s how we want to remember him.
Running at full speed with a happy smile on his face just like he used to.
So long, little man. Until we meet again.