So I can't imagine who is reading this blog who doesn't already know this, but I also can't go ahead with the blog without mentioning it, so here goes. Precious died.
Precious had lived with our neighbour for the past two- and-a-bit years. We don't know how old she was then.
When I told Dan I'd met the new dog, he replied 'I suppose I should go see it. What's it called'
When I told him her name, his response was a simple 'ffs'.
I can't speak for Dan, who claims to be cute-immune and have no heart, but I loved this little creature right from the start. She barked the first time I came into the house, but after that first time it was only happy yaps, sneezes and much wiggling. Either Chihuahuas have an unfair reputation, or our neighbour got a really sweet one.
We took her out for walks, went for food (she especially liked cafes that did a little dog portion of sausage) and she spent time round at ours, where she liked to curl up under whatever blanket or dressing gown was handy.
She was understandably nervous around other dogs (being pretty much the smallest one anywhere we went), was fairly aloof about people, but she enjoyed our outings and spending time with us.
Among things that worried her on walks were leaves, sandbags/roadsigns, poo bins (the lids clang), pumpkins, bags, buses (but not cars), and pretty much anything that she wasn't expecting.
On the 21st February she was ill. She generally had a sensitive stomach so we initially weren't too worried, although she seemed more out of sorts than usual. We had her round ours to keep an eye on her.
On 22nd February, as she was still unwell, we rang the emergency vets for advice. We were told it didn't sound like an emergency and were given advice. We were going to ring the vets again in the morning.
I wish we'd not phoned and just turned up. I wish I'd better described how she was. I wish I'd argued. But maybe that wouldn't have been enough. I wish we'd taken her on the Saturday, I could wish back and back but still, this is how it happened.
At about 4am on 23rd February, with Precious in bed with us, I was woken by her breathing. Half asleep, my first thought was that she was having a bad dream. She was by my feet so I moved her up to my side and stroked her gently to calm her. And her breathing calmed.
Then I realised it had calmed too much.
And that was it. At first I just felt stunned, I worried I wasn't feeling enough. I know that's stupid. I worried about having to break the news to our neighbour, and yeah that wasn't fun. I've felt like I failed him, like I failed her. She was a tiny, precious thing and I couldn't help her. I hope she didn't suffer, that she knew I was there at the end, that it helped. I know she loved us.
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| Her "permanently angry little face" |
There's a post box up the road that we used to walk past. She always tried to walk as far from it as possible, since that one day the postman slammed the door of it shut, and it made a noise. It was a scary post box.
On the morning of the 23rd, as we drove to the pet crematorium, we saw that the post box had been vandalised, it's front temporarily covered with a bin bag. Maybe it's silly too think of her angry little soul wreaking a little vengeance as she left the world, but I think she'd have approved.
Going to miss this ridiculous little doggo
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