Morning:
8°c
Jack, my little whippet bitch, is dead — words that embody an overwhelming weight of grief.
She was with me only for a short quinquennium, yet the gap she leaves is as large as any left by Mop and Nusch, Hecate and Schubert, Titian and a dozen others. She was a foundling: taken to the Mayhew Animal Home in a state of starvation so close to death that they thought she'd not survive, more than a month passed before she was released, still skeletal, still transparent, into my care.
An unresponsive fearful little creature into whose mind I could not penetrate, I named her Jack, thinking its short sharp clarity useful as a command for what should be a running dog. In affectionate fondling moments (of which there were many) I whispered “little one”, and to that too she eventually responded.
She was, I think, so damaged by experience that she had forgotten how to be a dog and did not run. Lord knows what cruelties she had endured in her first five years or so, and I am certain that she had never been part of any domestic society, human or canine. She did not respond to my other dogs. She was not house-trained. She could not master the mechanics of climbing stairs. She slept where she stood and would not spring onto my bed. She would not play with man or beast or toy. She did nothing that makes a companion of a dog.
Slowly, over the whole of the first year, she responded to the normalities of man-and-dog relationship — the hint of interest in my returning home, an increasing willingness to be touched and stroked, joining in the anticipation of a walk, dinner or a treat — and then, one day, I found her curled up on my bed, resting her head on the comfortable rump of Winck, who had always been motherly towards her.
It was the beginning of great change. She found her voice, a funny little smoker's bark, and joined the clamour at the door last thing at night when I let them into the garden to empty their bladders and see off marauding foxes. She responded to the bell and visitors. She discovered the delights of chocolate and nuts (neither of them good for dogs), of cheese and yoghurt, her demand for bananas quite insatiable. To my great pleasure she learned to break all the rules of etiquette, and nothing pleased me more than her standing with trembling forepaws on the table, shaking it, insistently demanding some titbit from my plate.
With those same paws she learned to pull the duvet from my shoulders in the middle of a winter's night, and it was then for me to learn that in bed no dog is more selfish than a whippet stretched full length with all four legs rigid in their push against my chest or back. When my bed was made she took to rolling on it, mad as a maenad, an ecstatic, stretching, wriggling wildness informing spine and limb, the back arching, head and neck thrashing from side to side, and then she'd haul the cover back and make a bird's nest of my pillows.
But still she did not run. Her chosen place was close at heel, and if occasionally she followed Nusch to the edge of the undergrowth, she was never out of sight and, overcome by caution, she'd suddenly scamper back. When Nusch and Winck raced for sticks or balls, Jack just stood still.
And then, one day in her third summer with me, she joined in, not racing them but asking for a stick of her own. I threw it and she ran — and ran, and ran — in ever-lengthening bounds and widening circles until out of breath. It was as though in discovering her ancient heritage and purpose as a running dog, some instinctive joy had been released and the game became our ritual.
But I feared for her fragility: when she stood against the light I could see the intricate structure of her frail and slender bones as clearly as in one of Leonardo's engineering studies, and I constantly imagined the calamity of collision with another dog. And then, last autumn, I had to fear no longer, for she simply would not run.
I became disconcertingly aware that Jack was slowing down, sleeping much more and needing to empty her bladder in the night. Her vet diagnosed problems with her heart and kidneys and opined that she had only months to go. In spite of pills administered in scrambled egg, her slow decline accelerated and evidence of cancer too became apparent.
I knew that soon the cancer would cause pain, knew what would have to be done to end it, but, remembering Nusch's scream as the needle went into her vein, I wanted to put Jack down myself and asked for lethal tablets. These do not exist, and if they do, they are not to be had by ordinary mortals.
I cannot understand why no lethal sedative is available to the loving master of a dying dog. I can think of no greater gesture of affection for any animal than to see that it has a comfortable death at the hands of those in whom it placed its trust.
I loved Jack, my little one. I wanted her to live with her small pleasures to the last moment free of pain, and then to let sleep in my arms gently turn to death. I wanted her death to be serene, without the alarm and commotion of strangers in the room, but it was not quite to be. Death came to her on my lap and in my arms, and free of pain I'm sure, but Jack was aware of strangers and disturbance, and our parting was not just for us, alone.
Reader views (33)
A beautiful eulogy Mr Sewell, thankyou. I have always had Whippets and the devotion they give is total. It is surprising how much pressure a 10kg Whippet can exert with her paws!!
- Kevin Hurley, Newbury, 20/12/2010 21:09
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..my sympathy to you - tears came reading your article.
- Ken Standing, hove sussex, 04/10/2009 22:53
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Another wet Standard - flooded by tears of pain at the vulnerability of pets" owned" by the sadistic (whether overt or otherwise), but more so, by tears of joy that people exist who have the sensitivity, patience, and love to be able to overcome that cruel influence.
More tears of frustration that we aren't allowed, as obviously responsible and loving companions, control over the means of our pet's death, where continued life would itself be a cruelty. I dread the possibility of any of my loved ones (including myself) getting so gravely ill, knowing that I will have little control over how to have the relief of a peaceful and serene death with dignity and without fear.
- Alison Oliphant, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I am so sorry for your loss - but thank you for verbalising so articulately the passing of a beloved pet. We had to let go our 13 year old rescue dog on 14th July - we are heartbroken. We were a family of six and the five that remain could not grieve more.
Diane
- Diane, london, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Brian I am with you all the way it's heartbreaking to let them go,they are so faithful and thankful for all you do but cannot utter a word.
Their loyalty and companionship cannot compare with man
such a pity that many are badly treated and abused through sheer ignorance .
At least you were holding Jack so she had your smell to comfort her on her way to a better place .
- Yvonne Clement, bromley uk, 04/10/2009 21:53
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M, London - Over the past thirty years I've lost three beautiful dogs, and I still miss them - yeah, enough words there, wouldn't you say?
- Ted, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Hear Hear, Douglas!
Ted - there is nothing wrong with Brian using so many words to remember his canine friend!
A very moving piece.
- M, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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A wonderful piece showing the joy that a loving owner can bring to a dog rescued from a fantastic organisation. His sadness is honest and painfully true. We wish you all the best Brian
- Chris, London, UK, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Long ago you wrote of waking to find all your past pets on your bed and knowing you'd died and gone to heaven.
Your love for your companions and your loss of Jack is profoundly moving and may your gift of touching unknown hearts ensure it's a long, long time before you meet up with Jack.
Oh - and you owe me 50p! The rest of the newspaper was so wet with painful, cleansing tears it was unreadable.
- Michael Ellison, london, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Thank you for this wonderful piece. I always enjoy reading your work and I too understand the magical bond between a man and his dog. They provide us with pure joy and love during their lives. The loss of one is as deep a grief as we can experience during ours.
- Howard Towl, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Hello Brian,
This is Nikki, one of the nurses that work at the Mayhew. I remember Jack when she came into the home. I remeber working night shifts at the time and taking her to bed with me, she looked so peaceful as she relaxed. She had a heart of gold and all she wanted was to be loved. I am so sorry to hear that she has passed away. My thoughts are with you both.
- Nikki Lee, Wembley, 04/10/2009 21:53
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That piece has brought back all the anquish of losing a much loved pet. I have two rescue greyhounds and like Jack they have issues from their previous lives. Man has a lot to answer for with regards to the suffering of animals.Thank God for people like yourself. Take care
Edwina Hayes
- Edwina Blake-Will, Hayes Middx, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I so long to have a whippet and this article was passed on to me to read - what a sad and beautiful piece - I am so sorry for your loss of Jack.
- Jane, Hampshire, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I feel so sorry for that poor dumb creature!! But enough about Ted!!
Best wishes Brian and sorry for you're loss, and Im sure old Jack will be tearing up the fields wherever she is....
- J Trigger Taylor, bangor, n.ireland, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Brian, a beautiful piece,that shows that special understanding of that silent understanding and love between man and another creature.Rarely can prose move me to tears, but this did. It reminded me of the epitaph inscribed on the tomb of Byrons's dog Boatswain.
- James, London, England, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I myself have a greyhound and completely sympathise with Brian.
Those who are not dog owners will never fully understand the bond.
- M, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I'm so sorry for your loss Brian. Losing an animal is losing a friend, and no one should belittle your feelings of sadness.
- Jack, Surrey, 04/10/2009 21:53
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No Brian, stay in and write more moving testimony to mans best friend, and keep using the longest words available, best evoking your love for this fragile and grateful benefactor. Long words used to such moving effect requires a Brain, Brian. It also demands a patient heart (size and willingness being sometimes insufficient) to steady ones gaze long enough to read the subtle clues to recovery this poor creature must have unwittingly emitted through the mess of its infliction.
Its fashionable to dismiss the love of animals, people that do so think it somehow implies their own sympathies and charitable passions are too prioritized for human need and suffering, and they couldn't possible spare the distraction. But I think it actually implies the opposite. If you don't have the capacity to feel for the lowly animal in need, you'll probably lack the heart to lift a finger for your fellow man when it counts.
The words appeared to be chosen with great care and were legitimate in their use, I think you'll find, Ted.
- Douglas Montgomery, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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What a beautiful piece about a beautiful dog. I'm so glad she found you.
- Chris, Surrey, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Poor inadequate empty-hearted Ted, whoever he may be. And well replied to Douglas Montgomery. How the sad the lives of the Dog-less must be.
- Libby Hall, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Thank you so much for sharing your grief. Your love for dogs reminds me of the late
Elsie Crombie who we both knew. A wonderful women whom I have never forgotten.
- Roger Muirhead, Winchelsea, East Sussex, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Dear Brian.
It was a beautiful piece. Anything from your pen is
always interesting - bring back the Life of Brian on fridays! We all hope you will thrive.
- Ben Whitrow, london england, 04/10/2009 21:53
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a wonderful article brian that had me smiling & giggling yet nearly in tears on the train home this evening...
i would imagine anyone who owns a dog especially a rescue dog will feel the same as i did reading you article..
thank you.
- Mr Ivan O'Kane, stevenage england, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Your wonderful article left me in tears. Jack brought back memories of family pets who we rescued and who became beloved members of our family. These recollections go back more than 30 years, but we still miss the cats and dog we treasured, and an empty place will always remain at the foot of our bed. Thank you Brian, in a world filled with cruelty and greed, it was good to read your lovely words.
- Anne Wotana Kaye, London, England, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Love is the wanting, and willing the best for another. Others hold to limit and control.
The Loved always see, and already understand.
Thank you for letting me in, a ittle.
- Helen, Reading, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Oh get out more, Brian - and for Pete's sake stop using so many words!
- Ted, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Mr Sewell
Quite the most beautiful piece of prose ever to have poured
from your pen.
My deep sympathy for your loss.
- Carl, London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Such beautiful and sad artcile, I am sorry for you loss Brian
All the best and please keep writing!
- Katia De Siqueira, Wimbledon London, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I first saw this story when I was in London in early August. I was, as a rescued Greyhound owner, was appaled with how some idiots treat their dogs/pets! I am sure, that poor old Jack, would have loved you until the end, unreservedly! You must miss him so much...
To help raise awareness, and to help in as much as I can, I wanted to scan this and post it to my blog when I returned, as many of my friends are also dog lovers. I have instead, done a complete blog post about it, so I hope you do not mind... I have refrenced back to this story, and used the 'Block Quote' tag to ensure the rightful owner of the original story...
Again, I hope you do not mind!
- Aussiepomm (Bernie), Sydney, Australia, 04/10/2009 21:53
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It is never easy to lose one. It is wonderful when sad and neglected animals like Jack finally reach someone like Brian. It is a sad reflection on humans that there are too many Jacks in the world and not enough Brians.
- Paulette, Prince George, BC, Canada, 04/10/2009 21:53
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Thank you for your moving and wonderful piece. How fortunate Jack was to have been rescued by you and therefore to have experienced love and the pleasures of life before dying. Like you, when my old dog died last year I wanted her to die in my arms,at home, in private - something I nearly achieved. Best wishes to you.
- Juliet, Cambridge, 04/10/2009 21:53
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The loss of a much-loved pet is akin to losing a member of your human family. I refuse to feel ashamed of loving my pets as unconditionally as they love me. When my beloved greyhound passes I know the pain of grief that I will feel will indeed be hard to bear. My thoughts and sympathies are with you, but console yourself with the knowledge that through you - she knew love.
- Debbie C, Chandlers Ford, Hampshire, 04/10/2009 21:53
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I found your article purely by chance today, and was bouleversée by your words, if I may say so, so typical of you. I agree wholeheartedly with your last paragraphs too.
Thank you for writing this article - though doing so would evidently be very painful - because I hope it will encourage your readers, some of whom having written here of their own experiences, to give serious thought to re-engaging and committing some time to the rescue of more dogs. Those of you who have done it before have the right attitudes to be able to do it again. And there are always so many sad dogs out there...
Dean Marsh's painting is exquisite, thanks for showing us that.
- Patricia, France, Vaylats, France, 04/10/2009 21:53
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