Teddy's Gotcha

Usually the story of Teddy's 'gotcha' is told by..well...Teddy, but on this, the sixth anniversary, I'm going to add a different perspective... mine!

One of the many reasons that I love owning dogs is because I enjoy walking them, so when Rolo, our first Border Terrier, got too old to go far, I applied to The Cinnammon Trust to become a volunteer dog walker for those owners too elderly or ill to take their dog out for walks themselves. I was assigned to a lovely, elderly lady in the next town, who owned four Shelties, so that was my walking quota fulfilled, or so I thought...

I had been out, and Brian had received a phone call from the Cinnammon Trust who were urgently in need of a dog walker for a lady who had just come out of hospital. He told them he thought it was unlikely I could help, as I had four Shelties to exercise, but that he would pass the message on, which he duly did. I agreed with his conclusion but casually asked what breed the dog was. It was a Border Terrier, Teddy, how could I possibly resist!

Teddy's owner, Sandra, had just come out of hospital after cancer surgery. It had not gone well. What should have been a short hospital stay became six weeks. Teddy had been placed, by the Cinnamon Trust, with foster carers, but he had cried continuously for a number of nights, so, reluctantly, Teddy had been placed in kennels. He had barked so much during his stay that when I first met him, he had lost his voice.

Teddy and Sandra were everything to each other. They lived in a rented, isolated, rural cottage. She was a housekeeper and took Teddy to work with her so Teddy was used to being with Sandra all the time. Sandra didn't have much money, but Teddy had the best of everythig. After the trauma of kennels, Sandra's on-going treatment meant that Teddy was left by himself at times. He barked when she was out and, due to stress, often had accidents which Sandra had to clear up when she got home.

I did my best to help. To begin with, Teddy was reluctant to leave Sandra for a walk, but I coxed him, and he eventually came. After a while, he got used to me and was pleased to see me when I arrived. When we got back, I used to have a cup of tea with Sandra, served in an Emma Bridgewater Border Terrier mug, and a chat. Her treatment wasn't going well and eventually it stopped because it wasn't working. They got her a hospital bed for her lounge, so she didn't have to manage the steep stairs. Sandra often commented on how much Teddy liked me, and I clearly reciprocated his affections, so one day she asked me, if anything happened to her, would I take him on.

The answer wasn't a simple yes. I had an elderly Rolo to consider and I also knew that Teddy had some significant issues. In addition to accute seperation anxiety, he didn't like children and his relations with other dogs outside the home were patchy. I thought about it, talked to Brian, and thought some more. No decison to get a dog should ever be made on impulse, in my view, no matter how pressing the circumstances. I went back to Sandra. The answer was a conditional yes, but I needed to know that Teddy would get on with Rolo. We introduced them to each other, walked them together, and eventually, when Sandra was taken into hospital for 48 hours, Teddy stayed over. Rolo was fine. Inspite of his age, he made it clear who was in charge, and Teddy accepted it happily - he was too anxious to want to be the boss anyway!

During the snow storm knicknamed 'The Beast from the East', I got a phone call to say that Sandra had gone back into hospital and could I please take Teddy. As I couldn't get to her house in my Mini, a friend of Sandra, with a 4x4, drove Teddy over. She couldn't get up our drive due to the snow, so I collected Teddy, on foot, from the village hall car park, with his belongings. I took him home and one of the first things he did was to cock his leg in the hall! He was a confused, unhappy dog. He cried during the nights, got really upset if I left the room let alone went out, and refused to eat. In desperation, I fed him out of my hand. 

Gradually, however, with routine, firm kindness and support from The Cinnamon Trust who did absolutely everything they could to help, things slowly improved for Teddy. Not so for Sandra. It gradually became clear that she would not be coming home. I offered to take Teddy to see her in hospital, but she refused, saying that she thought it would be too upsetting for both her and Teddy. Instead, I took photos and videos on my phone, sending them to her on a daily basis. I hadn't realised how important these were to her until one busy day, I forgot. She told me she lived for those little updates. I didn't forget again.

The weeks went by and Sandra was clearly deteriorating. One day I got a phone call from a friend to say that Sandra only had a few days left and was asking to see Teddy. I was due in London the next day, and although I was assured Sandra wasn't expected to die imminently, I decided to go straight away. I did get Sandra's friend to check with the hospital, as they were an hour's drive away. I didn't want to get there to find that they wouldn't let Teddy in. I was assured that they had checked with the other patients on the ward, and they were fine with it. A good friend of mine offered to come with me for moral support, so we drove over.

It felt rather odd, taking a dog into a hospital and we got some stange looks as Teddy pattered along the shiny corridors and went up in the lift. When we got to the ward, Sandra was barely conscious, but I placed Teddy on her bed, which is where he would have been at home, and she rallied. It took Teddy a split second before he realised it was her, but his greeting couldn't have been more enthusiastic, licking her arms and wagging furiously. Sandra was was equally pleased to see him and she asked me if I had got all Teddy's things, and if there was anything he needed. She started to tell me about Teddy's faults, obviously anxious that I hadn't discovered them yet and that when I did, I might change my mind, but I reassured her that we were managing fine, that we were used to Borders - after all, we had Rolo! - and that we had everything we needed. I promised her, firmly, that I would look after Teddy and that we would give him the best life. After our short conversation, she slipped back into semi-consciouness, so we left. The next morning I got the phone call to say she had passed. It felt like she had waited to say goodbye to Teddy.

So Teddy's gotcha day is always an emmotional one. We remember Sandra and her love for Teddy. We offer our gratitude to The Cinnammon Trust for their on-going support, and we reflect on everything that Teddy has brought to us. There are many ways dogs come into our lives, but Teddy's was particularly special, just as he is. Many dogs that end up needing rehoming, haven't done anything wrong, they are victims of circumstances, as are the owners, sometimes, who have to let them go. Every dog deserves a second chance at happiness and we are so pleased to have been able to give Teddy his. He deserves it.

Teddy when we first met

Teddy on one of our early walks

When Teddy met Rolo

Teddy and Rolo at our home together

Six years later, a different house and a different companion!

In Memoriam

 As most of you will know, myself and the apprentice belong to a Twitter group called the BT Posse. They are as fine a bunch of furs as you'll ever meet, and, through daily contact on Twitter, we become very fond of individual members, so fond, that we go out of our way to meet in real life. One such member was Hamish, a Glaswegian Border Terrier and stalwart of the BT Posse. Hamish and I met up for our own mini tweet-up a few years ago, a meeting memorable for Hamish's ‘take no nonsense’ attitude to swans, and the capacity of 'Her Indoors' and Hamish's lovely humum, Lynne, to talk for England and Scotland respectively. It was a memorable day.

Very sadly, our pal Hamish, went over the rainbow bridge a few days ago, and we were asked to compose a poem in his honour as part of a BT Posse tribute. We share it here, with thanks and admiration to Oscar's humum, Paula, for making the moving visual accompaniment to the poem, and to Flora's humum, Cara, for reading it out. We are not sure who had the hardist job. Anyway, Hamish Pal, I hope we've done you proud and much love to your humum. We know the emotional impact loosing a fur has, and we stand with you in your loss. We share the poem with love.

Ode to Hamish

Now every fur is special,

Our hupeeps know we’re best,

But occasionally a single dog

Stands out amongst the rest.

 

Not every fur can rock a cone,

Or start a stumping fashion,

Call out the truth on bourbons,

Add Irn Bru to the ration.

 

Can challenge Scotties on the tin,

Take Olympic sports by storm,

Throw the gauntlet down to fearsome swans,

And launch the Brunicorn.

 

It takes a fur of stature brave,

To measure public favour,

On topics controversial

Where a lesser dog would waver.

 

It needs a fashion icon

To strut a woolly sweater,

In hues and patterns dazzling,

No fur could do it better.

 

To show up for security

And see planes safely land,

Reassuring nervous passengers,

At patrolling he was grand.

 

But even reaching ripe old age,

Our tenure here is brief,

We leave a trove of memories,

But our hupeeps sharpest grief.

 

The rainbow bridge calls for all of us,

Its colours glowing bright,

And Marley gently beckons,

To sun puddle in the light.

 

No fur is ever left behind,

And no fur stands alone,

‘Cause every fur is running free,

To their forever home.

 

So we raise a glass of Irn Bru,

To Hamish, to a friend,

As finer fur, we’ll ever meet,

A BT Posse legend.