Thankful loyalty

Just the odd, stolen biscuit

Photo by Kinshuk Bose on Unsplash

Early trauma

After Cammie’s mauling by a greyhound, she hated other dogs near her. Our older dog Suzie and her fought often, usually because one dared to get too close to the other. It was horrible seeing their baring teeth , a snarling, writhing mass of fur when they were particularly in the zone of hatred for one another. I used to run into my bedroom and hide underneath my eiderdown. The sound of dogs fighting to this day sends me into a shaking wreak, with a very strong urge to run in the opposite direction rather than get involved.

One sunny, summer afternoon, my sister and I took Suzie and Cammie to the local park. It was hot and we decided to play hide and seek. We noticed after a while that Suzie wasn’t following us. We shouted her name, but couldn’t find her. We thought she had run away, back home. Entering the final field before leaving the park, we noticed her lying underneath a tree. When we got up to her, she was dead. She must have had a heart attack. She was the first thing I had ever seen dead. At around nine years of age, it was quite a shock. We didn’t know what to do, so we just stood next to her body and repeatedly screamed HELP. Eventually a kind person came to our rescue. He carried our dead dog to our front door, us crying behind them. What an amazing thing to do for us. I have never forgotten his compassion.

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New beginnings

For the next two years, Cammie and me lived our best lives with each other. Then, one day, whilst my mum was walking her she was reluctant to move. She kept stopping and looking behind her. Mum got quite cross with her as she was running late for an appointment. When she looked behind to see what was stopping Cammie moving, she noticed a dog following them. When their eyes met, mum reported that the dog bowed his head and tried to conceal himself in the shadows. Mum knew something was wrong so turned towards him and went to investigate.

The dog stood still as she approached, Cammie did not react to him either, which was most unusual. Maybe she knew he couldn’t possibly be a threat as the dog before them what so malnourished, weak and not far from death. Every bone was prominent -ribs, hip bones, skull bones. His front legs seemed to just hang from his neck region, no chest muscles existed. He had sores on his paws, his fur was falling out and his eyes looked weary. What a sorry sight he was. My mum led him into our home, and gave him some water which he took willingly. She gave him a small amount of food, not wanting to over feed him. He was ravenous. And then he fell asleep, curled up by the fire and probably relieved to finally be able to rest.

Mum was adamant that we would look after him rather than him be handed over to the council pound. We went to the local vet who advised us how and what we should feed him. There were no microchips or social media in those days so we had to try and find out where he belonged by other means. We contacted the police and dog shelters to say we had found him. We put a notice in the newsagents and he even got a mention on the local radio. Nobody came forward for him. And so, the scrawny, starving, cross-Alsatian dog began his new life with us. We called him Dooby, as he looked and walked a bit like Scooby-doo. My mum and him had the most amazing bond, which at times I was quite jealous of. His needs came high up in the family. He was given a second chance which he accepted with open paws.

The road to his recovery was not straightforward. He started to put on weight and then revealed his true character. His behaviour was quite challenging. He was a blatant thief where any food was concerned. We would be eating a biscuit and he would snatch it from our hands. If we were having our meal on trays on our knees he would sidle up to us and, quick as a starving dog, would turn his head and try to gobble up the contents. He would try to finish his food so quickly so he could have a go at Cammie’s. She would let him, the exchange occurring so silently that the deed was almost complete before we realised what was happening. The first time we left him and Cammie on their own, he managed to break into a food cupboard and ate a whole box of trifle sponges (box and all, except for a few bits of the cardboard lid). His starvation period must have been so traumatic for him that he was always on red alert for his next meal, behaviour which eventually got him into some significant trouble.

Dooby with Cammie

One day, he did his pinching of food off a plate trick whilst my dad was having lunch on his day off. Dad was absolutely furious and threw him out onto the streets. When my mum came home from work he told her what the thief had done and he was not to come back into the house. My mum was even more furious, got her coat on and went to look for him. She found him in a back alley, head in a bin. She led him back and hid him in our garden. When my dad went to bed, the dog was brought into the house. In the morning my dad just said “He’s back then?” Mum said, “Yes he is and he is staying or I am going”…which gave us all an indication, including Dooby, that dogs came first no matter what. The dog stayed. My mum had saved him twice.

The bond that was never broken

Dooby followed my mum everywhere, and she adored him. He was constantly by her side and loved to get onto the settee where she was sitting to cuddle up to her. The way they looked at each other was true love. He did love the other members of his household especially Cammie, his pal who knew he needed saving. He was kind to her, gave her licks despite her being a bit grumpy. But it was mum who he loved with all his heart. When she was dying he would climb up onto the bed to be near her. She would lay her hand over his shoulder whist she slept. On the night she died, he wouldn’t get down off the bed when the nurse came to give her morphine. She had to do it with Dooby watching over her. Maybe he knew. He mourned her like the rest, his demeanor was quieter after her passing and he didn’t steal anymore. His lust for survival diminished. Life, for him and the rest of us, was never the same again.

I am curious:

Has an animal ever chosen you?

What depth does your bond go with your animal?

How important is animal rescue to you?

Want to read Cammie’s story?