20 June 2013 / leggypeggy

Another heartbreaking loss

Agador Spartacus, Aggie, Arj, Belgian Bouvier, Chiyo, Ciarns terrier, dogs, Lake Burley Griffin, Louie, Mount Ainslie, Portuguese Waterdog, Rosedale, schnauzers, walks

Chiyo at Rosedale Beach

It came out of the blue and ended in floods of tears.

Sunday Chiyo was galloping across the school oval chasing birds and Arj, a Portguese water dog we were minding. Monday he was at the vet’s fighting for his life. And the little devil lost that battle.

That’s two dogs in less than two years. Aggie—Agador Spartacus—went in November 2011.

Aggie squished into Chiyo’s bed

No, we aren’t bad pet parents. On the contrary, we’ve had many dogs make it to 15 and a cat who made it to 20.

They get long walks, trips to the beach and homemade food—I’ve cooked for them for ages—but that doesn’t keep them from conking out in their twilight years.

Chiyo came to us as a rescue dog in November 2003. Barney, the boxer cross, had died the previous month, at age 15. He’d been a lot of company for Poor John’s Aunt Esther who lived with us. In his late arthritic years, he especially loved the fact her floor was heated.

Aggie, who’d come to us as another rescue dog in 2002, was certainly no companion dog for a 93-year-old woman, so Esther started hinting for a replacement Barney.

Chiyo came for a ‘test drive’ and conquered. While he never entirely got over leaving the odd piddle inside, he made up for it by being cute in trumps. He loved cuddles and Esther’s lap. After she went into demented aged care in 2008, he loved anyone else’s lap. He honeyed up to all the exchange students and will be missed by people all over the world.

His laziness, enthusiasm, mischievous behaviour and attitude (and Esther’s failing memory) meant he answered to a lot of names—Dance Shoe, Devil Dog, the Black Prince, the Slug, Super Ted and Adventure Dog. He played it tough. He lunged at any dog (except his friends) within striking distance, but only when he was on the lead. He wasn’t afraid of thunder, lightning or fireworks. But drop a saucepan on the kitchen floor or clap your hands anywhere near him, and he skedaddled in seconds.

Chiyo and Aggie were great mates too. It was very much an annoying-little-brother and tolerant-big-brother relationship. Chiyo regularly pinched Aggie’s larger bed and made a great game of ‘dragging’ Aggie around by his lead.

Named after a sumo wrestler, Chiyo was suitably bow-legged and did his best to throw his solid 9 kilos around. His short legs didn’t stop him from walking 5–6 kilometres up and down Mount Ainslie or around Lake Burley Griffin with a Belgian bouvier, a golden retriever and a beagle. They walked, he trotted.

This sudden loss—the vet thinks a tumour may have ruptured in his lungs or heart—is going to create an enormous hole in our lives. Not so much for Poor John and me right now, because we’re off travelling again. But Graeme, who’s minded the animals and house in our absence, is especially going to miss that furry lump on the edge of the bed and the cold, wet nose used as an alarm clock.

He had a great way of convincing you to bring him up on the bed in the morning. He’d jiggle the mattress until you woke up.He was pretty good on night duty too. A couple of days ago and in the middle of the night, Arj decided he could no longer fit through the dog door. He barked and whimpered outside, but neither Poor John nor I woke up. So Chiyo got out of his bed and barked at us until we responded. At which time, he put himself back to bed.

Chiyo’s been buried in the backyard and Aggie’s ashes have finally been scattered with him. The two buddies are together—romping on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.