Farewell, faithful companion

Our faithful companion has left us. Monty was nearly 19 and the toughest dog imaginable.  He was the runt of the litter, but turned out to be the longest survivor – attributable no doubt to the life of luxury and easy living we gave him.

He slept on the bed every night until a few years ago, when weak hind legs prevented him from jumping up, and then had a special cushion and blankets next to it so that he didn’t feel left in the cold. His favourite foods were chicken, cheese and chocolate, in no particular order, and he licked every plate so clean that we could almost have put them straight back in the cupboard, particularly pudding plates.

I called him Houdini, because there was nothing he liked better than to escape from the property and disappear for hours. He always went down to the rocks at the bay, where he could chase rats and birds and have a bit of a swim, while we rushed around like headless chickens looking for our precious dog before someone stole him (always our first thought!) or knocked him over. Being a Maltese terrier type, his adventurous spirit knew no bounds and he definitely knew no discipline. He never once in 19 years came when we called him, and on one classic occasion he ran along the beach from Witsand beach along the rocks to Scarborough, while we drove along the coastal road watching him. Eventually we caught him only because we could drive faster and ran down the cliff to intercept him. He did give us a lot of grief and caused numerous domestic disputes!

He hated all the cats we ever had and chased every one. But his favourite thing to chase was a baboon.  We often had big male baboons in the kitchen and our greatest fear was that he would be disembowelled for barking so fiercely at them and attacking as they ran down the garden. Once I ran after the baboon and the dog, shrieking at Monty to no avail, and the baboon jumped onto the wall, held on with one hand and casually reached down towards Monty snapping at his heels. The decibel level must have changed his mind and he left Monty to bark another day. My nerves were finished!

The last five years have seen him decline into old age, with deafness, partial blindness, a huge hernia operation and dementia taking away his quality of life. But he still loved his food, knew where I was all the time and enjoyed sleeping 20 hours a day, with a few hours bumbling around. So we couldn’t bring ourselves to end his life even though he became like a child, needing to be taken out three times at night (me), fed by hand most of the time, cleaned up after, bathed often, brushed because he couldn’t scratch any more, and constantly rescued from corners of the house and garden when he couldn’t remember why he was there. A monotonous barking was a great source of irritation no doubt to all the neighbours as well, but we still couldn’t say goodbye. He had been at my heel for 19 years and I was his constant carer. It taught me tremendous patience.

The safety barricades have been taken down, the Persian carpets laid down once more. His spirit is now in doggie heaven, with little Susie, who died at 17, and their remains rest under the lemon tree.