Nobby’s Dog

…Freddi is dead. His son took her to the vet’s on Friday morning. In a nutshell her lungs had simply stopped working. She was in great pain. Nobby’s son telephoned him from the vet’s and he consented to have her put to sleep. When I spoke to Nobby in the afternoon he could hardly get the words out. ‘How is Freddi?’ I asked.

‘Freddi…put..to…sleep.’

I don’t think those around him understand what this had done to him. He is ninety one. He has lived through a war. He fought in Italy in a Special Services Reconnaissance Commando Unit. He has seen men blown to bits, trapped in tanks, burning to death and yet none of that affected him as much as the demise of ‘a little white dog’. It’s like Freddi was an anchor, tethering him to the earth and now she has gone there is no reason for him to stay. He is broken. There is a wall between us. I don’t know what to say to make it all better. Why are we given things only for them to be snatched away?

When someone asked me if I had had a ‘flutter on the grand national’ I directed them to this link.

High on Coke

Freddi (Nobby’s dog) is ill.  Her breathing is shallow and she is subdued.  She will be taking a trip to the dog doctor tomorrow.  I managed to sooth her by stroking her gently as she lay at my feet.  I have come to love her almost as though she is my own.  Listening to Nelly Fertado’s Why do All Good Things Come to an End? : flames to dust/Lovers to Friends/Why do all good things come to an end?  I ask why things come to an end, maybe it would be more productive to ask when and why things begin.

Diet coke really isn’t a good substitute for food, but then I expect most sensible people knew that already.