Outrage

A few weeks ago my dog died.

He was an incredibly smart border collie / golden retriever cross named Outrage-
We adopted him from the Dog's Trust in Shoreham in 1996, when he was around 2 years old. (Back then it was called the less catchy 'National Canine Defense Leauge') .

He was found aimlessly wandering the streets of worthing and taken in to the kennels- A few days later, his owner turned up to claim him. When told that she had to pay for the food and shelter he had recieved, instead of coughing up the reasonable sum of around £30, she announced 'THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!' and stormed off, leaving him there. That's why the kennel staff gave him his unusual name.

I think he saw me as more of a Brother than master- We used to playfight and 'rough'n'tumble' when he was young. He never snapped or intentionally hurt anyone; The only time he ever gave me a growl was when I pretended to be a Zombie, shuffled over to him moaning, and ate his guts. Had I not got the hint and stopped, I suspect he would have just sculked off up to his bed on the landing rather than taking any further action.
In fact, he was such a gentle creature that you could persuade him to keep his mouth open to administer tablets by placing the end of your little finger between his back molars- He wouldn't dare bite down for fear of hurting you.

As his brother, I was always honoured with his most enthusiastic greeting when I visited home; He would yelp and jump, insert his tounge in my mouth with the precision of a bunker buster missile, then scramble off in a crazed 'Chase me! Chase me!' sprint around the house and garden, using our the sofas like a circus stuntbiker on the Wall of Death.

He was diagnosed with Cancer of the Lymphatic system about 5 months ago and put on a course of drugs, with the hope of sending the cancer into remission.

He suddenly grew very poorly and it became apparent that the drugs he was being given were not working and he was experiencing increasing discomfort, unwilling to eat. On the Thursday he was scheduled to be put to sleep the following Monday; It's very sad to have such a brief and definite limit of time to spend with such a beloved little soul.

On Friday the whole family spent the evening together for the first time in quite a while. I went back home after work to find him lying chin flat on the floor in his usual place in the hall, still managing to muster up a little tail wag and face lick to greet me, despite being very thin and very weak.

We had a pleasant evening together, despite trying to accept that Outrage would only be with us for two more, and dreading the final and inevitably brief Sunday evening.
The next afternoon he took himself out to his favorite sunny spot in the garden, laid down and died.

While these things are inevitble, I find them no easier to prepare for. Sometimes you don't have the time to prepare that you think you'll have. I thought I would see my dog again on Sunday, but didn't. I must try to remember that from day to day.

I feel grateful to Outrage for all the years he gave us pleasure, and I feel grateful to him for sparing us the drawn out wait and saving my Father from having to sign his death warrant for the vet. And I am relieved that he went quietly and peacefully and by his own accord.

Good boy.