Tasha - A Tribute

My wonderful dog Tasha is nearing the end of her life. I had planned to wait until she had slipped away before writing this, but if I do it while she's still alive it'll probably be less maudling. Plus you know when you want to talk to someone but you avoid company in case you start welling up...?

I've had dogs all my life, and they've all been wonderful dogs. Two terriers when I was growing up - both called Pip - and two german shepherds - Pippa and Rosie - in my adult life. Maybe it's because I've become an experienced and better owner/companion as I've got older; maybe it's been the things we've been through together; but the "connection" I've enjoyed with Tasha has been like no other and that's why I'm facing the next few days/weeks with such trepidation, because I know I'm going to lose her shortly.

Tasha came into my life between Christmas and New Year 2000, aged 4. My marriage was breaking up, my wife and kids were with her family in Essex for Christmas, and I spent Christmas alone with Rosie, who I'd rescued in 1991. Rosie became distressed while we were out walking in the snow and collapsed when we got back to the house. She had a tumour on the spleen which had haemmoraged and she never recovered.

On the vet's surgery noticeboard, there was a postcard about a german shepherd that needed rehoming. I expected some mistreated dog, but when I went for a look - nothing more - I was confronted by this fabulous looking animal who had been loved and cherished by a family who were not at the time in a position to exercise her. It was love at first sight!

They said that if she was going to go, they would rather she went rather than have a long tearful goodbye, so to cut a very long story short I drove off with her 10 minutes later. Half an hour later, the testing began. She began to play fight with me - this alsation that I'd never even met an hour ago! Anyway, I played back, passed her test, and we've been best friends ever since.

The next day, we went for a walk in the snow. We walked along the banks of the Weaver and I let her off her lead when we were well away from the road. Five minutes later, she was chasing sheep and totally ignoring my frantic calls! But I got her back before any shotgun-toting farmer appeared. Towards the end of the walk, we passed a pond. Tasha jumped straight in, had a swim, then got out and manically ran round and round and round the pond for a good ten minutes or more.

Within weeks my marriage was effectively over. We separated and Tasha came with me, of course. I could afford nothing else, so for the next year I "lived", if that's the correct term, in a storeroom at the back of the gym I owned. Tasha and I shared a sofabed and she kept me warm on freezing winter nights.

Through all the rough times since, Tasha has been an ever present. She probably did more than any person to keep me sane when the pressures I was under were completely intolerable. I don't have to shout at her; I don't have to scold her (well, not very often!). She's such an integral part of my life that it's hard to imagine life without her.

She's totally gentle, puts up with all sorts from the kids next door, and their friends, and has helped me train the four other dogs that now form our pack. More of them in future posts. Yet she's fiercely protective when the need arises and has the wisdom to understand when to be what. Shortly after I got Jasmin from the RSPCA (she was a completely submissive wimp at the time, was Jasmin) she was set upon by two german shepherds. Tasha appeared from round the corner and totally wiped out both of them in a matter of seconds, then started licking Jasmin's wound.

Of course, I told her she was a good girl and praised her. The only problem was, for the next month any dog that even looked at Jasmin got the bared teeth treatment, until she learned to appreciate the difference. But you always felt comfortable and safe with Tasha about - comfortable in that she was a friendly dog who would never show unnecessary aggression; safe because she was utterly protective and loyal.

She's not been well since early September. She had a facial swelling which turned out to be an abscess on a tooth. She had the tooth out and the abscess drained and all seemed to be well. But a few weeks later, she started to get very "snotty", in the literal sense, an infection was diagnosed, and she's been on various antibiotics to no avail.

On Thursday of last week, she went into the vets for an exploratory op and they found a tumour. What really shocked me was the vet asking if I wanted her recuscitated. Of course I did! She had lots of goodbyes to make, lots of walks to go on one last time.

And that's what the last ten days have been - the long goodbye. If any of my friends have found me a bit quiet, aloof, or distant, that's why.

We've done all her favourite walks one last time, said a tearful goodbye to Sharon and Paul that I got her from (and whom I've always kept in touch with) and she's been allowed into the bedroom at night.

I want to be wise enough not to have her put to sleep too soon, but brave enough to do the right thing for her and not keep her alive, in pain, for my benefit. I thought that point had come last night. The swelling is bigger, the breathing is getting more laboured, she looked like a dog who had reached the end of the line.

I had always planned that her last walk would be that first one I took her on, with the rest of the pack in tow. It takes about an hour and a quarter at a slow pace with pauses, with short cuts available if required. But her ears were pricked, she was on her toes, she cruised round the walk and I just looked at her and thought this is not a dog on her last legs. She even went into the pond at the end and had a little swim. (Tali, by the way - one of the pups - replicated Tasha's actions of seven years earlier by plunging in, swimming around and then manically lapping the pond.)

So a hard decision awaits. When she clearly doesn't enjoy her walks any more, or is in clear pain from her swelling, that will be the time for me to act. Until then she gets pampered mercilessly and I treat every day we have together as a bonus.

I've included a couple of pictures of her. Both were taken as she neared her 11th birthday. Apart from this bloody tumour, she's in marvellous shape for her age.

I never realised blogs could be so cathartic.