This has been a bad week.
Just over two years ago, Mrs. Beard, who works for the North West Ambulance Service, received a phone call at work from a Paramedic who had gone to deal with an elderly lady who'd collapsed. While there, she realised there was a small black dog in the house and there weren't any neighbours who could take it. When making the call, the Paramedic asked if my wife if, seeing we'd recently "lost" our last dog, she'd look after this one while the old lady was in Hospital. She said "Yes" and that's how Gi-Gi as she was called came to us; for a couple of weeks.
Before the two weeks were up, the old dear had died and the dog had worked her way into our affections. Now, you can't live in Denton and have a tiny dog called Gi-Gi unless, a) you're rock hard, or b) very comfortable in your own sexuality. I couldn't answer yes to both questions, so Gi-Gi became Smidgin.
When we realised we were going to keep her, a visit to the Vets was in order and the diagnosis wasn't great. She had a partial cataract in one eye, rotten teeth and, worst of all, a heart murmer. It was decided that, in light of the heart problem, an operation was deemed to be more of a risk than her teeth and cataracts.
The cataract got worse and then one started in the other eye. Her general health got worse, but still she'd run around as fast as her little legs would carry her. Getting out into the back garden was like jumping a 6' fence for you or I, yet out she'd go.
Over the last 6 months her vision got worse and her hearing started to go, but still she wanted her food and loved to ride in the car; what she could see, I've no idea, but she'd stand up on my wife's knees and look out of the window. For the last couple of months she'd been almost completely blind, but still, she didn't seem to moan like a human.
Mrs. Beard went to Whitby with her mum and sister yesterday, and tonight, a couple from over the road popped round at about 8pm. Smidgin had been asleep on my lap until then and I put her in her bed and she looked up at me and went back to sleep. After the neighbours had gone at about 10, I picked her up, only to find she'd died.
So good-bye Smidge, the pigeons will miss you in the morning as they always fly off when you go outside; and so will we.
Almost the worst of it is that I haven't told my wife yet. She'll be devastated.
Just over two years ago, Mrs. Beard, who works for the North West Ambulance Service, received a phone call at work from a Paramedic who had gone to deal with an elderly lady who'd collapsed. While there, she realised there was a small black dog in the house and there weren't any neighbours who could take it. When making the call, the Paramedic asked if my wife if, seeing we'd recently "lost" our last dog, she'd look after this one while the old lady was in Hospital. She said "Yes" and that's how Gi-Gi as she was called came to us; for a couple of weeks.
Before the two weeks were up, the old dear had died and the dog had worked her way into our affections. Now, you can't live in Denton and have a tiny dog called Gi-Gi unless, a) you're rock hard, or b) very comfortable in your own sexuality. I couldn't answer yes to both questions, so Gi-Gi became Smidgin.
When we realised we were going to keep her, a visit to the Vets was in order and the diagnosis wasn't great. She had a partial cataract in one eye, rotten teeth and, worst of all, a heart murmer. It was decided that, in light of the heart problem, an operation was deemed to be more of a risk than her teeth and cataracts.
The cataract got worse and then one started in the other eye. Her general health got worse, but still she'd run around as fast as her little legs would carry her. Getting out into the back garden was like jumping a 6' fence for you or I, yet out she'd go.
Over the last 6 months her vision got worse and her hearing started to go, but still she wanted her food and loved to ride in the car; what she could see, I've no idea, but she'd stand up on my wife's knees and look out of the window. For the last couple of months she'd been almost completely blind, but still, she didn't seem to moan like a human.
Mrs. Beard went to Whitby with her mum and sister yesterday, and tonight, a couple from over the road popped round at about 8pm. Smidgin had been asleep on my lap until then and I put her in her bed and she looked up at me and went back to sleep. After the neighbours had gone at about 10, I picked her up, only to find she'd died.
So good-bye Smidge, the pigeons will miss you in the morning as they always fly off when you go outside; and so will we.
Almost the worst of it is that I haven't told my wife yet. She'll be devastated.
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