This picture of Jess was taken the first day she went to live with my parents. She looks a bit unsure of herself.
I were looking through a box of old photographs, mostly of dogs. I
turned up a snap of Mum’s dog Jess from when she was a puppy and
asked Bert,
Do you remember
Jess?
Jess? The Pup
that came from Sammy Grey’s. How long was she around?
At least ten
years. Mum got up one morning and found her dead. She was their last
dog. They never had another.
Your dad wasn’t
that keen on dogs, was he?
I don’t know
about that.
So I told him about
the second Danny and the first Judy.
Both dogs came from
the same mother, a wee spaniel that belonged to a friend of a friend.
Danny was the first of them. At that time I had little need of a dog
but allowed myself to be persuaded. He was such a gorgeous pup and I
named him Danny after a dog we’d had at home. He was probably only
about six weeks old when I got him, far too young to be separated
from his mother but that was common then to take a pup away at that
age. I’d been advised by a neighbour to get him his inoculation
soon as distemper was rife in our area. But I’d little spare money
then and didn’t get round to it.
It’s a horrible
thing to watch a tiny puppy die of distemper. Thanks be it is almost
a thing of the past now. He became ill and declined fast. After one
horrible night of fitting I took him to the vet but it was too late.
Allowing little Danny to die is a huge regret.
About a year later
Beryl’s friend’s bitch had a second litter. At first I was
reluctant to have another pup but went to see them. Always a mistake.
I chose a sweet little bitch and named her Judy. This time I made
sure she got her inoculations. That done I could pat myself on the
back and consider myself a good dog mum. But I wasn’t.
Judy spent a lot of
time in the street outside our house. Drumtara was a newly built
estate and there were a lot of children and dogs around. When Zoe was
outdoors playing with her group of friends Judy was always with them.
There was one young boy who tormented the girls and he had been
kicking Judy. Understandably, Judy snapped at him and this caused a
big problem. His mother came to my door and threatened to call the
police. I asked my parents if they would take her off my hands and,
slightly reluctantly, they agreed.
Judy adapted well to
country life. She decided that my father was her hero and followed
him everywhere. If he was at the farmyard she would be with him. If
he went to the moss (which he often did) she’d go too, trotting
beside his tractor until they arrived at the turf banks.
She was always
well-behaved when she was with Daddy until the day when one of the
fellow turf cutters brought his dog along and which excited Judy so
much that she did not mind herself around Daddy’s tractor and was
killed under its wheels. He buried her there and then in the bog that
she and my father loved so much then returned home alone. Mammy knew
the moment he came in that something was wrong. He went to his
customary place at the kitchen table, sat down, folded his arms in
front of him, laid down his head and wept.
Not long after these photographs were taken Judy and Katy set off on an adventure. Whether it was Judy's idea or Katy's we'll never know but they both left my mother's house and turned up at the next door neighbour's house which was a good fifteen minute walk for a toddler and a terrier. Both were returned safely and we were advised that one of them might need a nappy change.
.png)
