IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:A fitting farewell to a faithful old family friend, writes Adam Brophy
AS I WRITE this the dog is at my ankles. She sits there nibbling on a toy. I ignore her. If my head inclines even a fraction towards her, I get the, well, puppy dog eyes I suppose.
I want to be mad at her because she chews my shoes, sometimes while she's defecating in them. But I can't. Her appeal wanes when she dirties her bib with such behaviour but she's still insanely cute.
She doesn't ask for much, bar a bit of a runabout and a friendly hand. She is the dog version of Harry Enfield's old character Tim Nice But Dim, so even the fact that she can't quite get a handle on where the toilet is, ie anywhere outside, is forgivable. Just.
There is no guarantee she will remain in my affections though. Neither my wife nor I are pet people - if pushed too far we would see her go without losing a night's sleep.
Were it not for the kids she might already be on the transfer market. They adore her in the way kids do, as another fully fledged member of the family.
They assume she has the same rights as they do and they are all too aware that no matter how hard they push, we can't flog them - physically or for profit. They realise we are pretty much at their disposal and can't understand why the same dispensation would not apply to the dog.
The dog's pardon list is long but finite. Theirs, unfortunately, is not and they know it.
They see the dog as here forever. So when last week their grandparents' dog died I expected a huge outcry, existential debate and humanistic angst to pervade.
The poor old mutt was knocked down and killed instantly. One minute here, the next chasing rabbits in the sky. She was in the process of becoming a grand old canine dame. Having been one of those pups that continues to scramble up your leg for attention until she was about 40 in dog years, she had settled and chilled.
A self-contained, elegant lady of her own manor. She was a guard dog and a companion, an ever-present in the family for more than 10 years without being overpowering or demanding. You could come and go without noticing her but were always gently taken when she sought you out for a little attention.
Then, bang, she's gone, thankfully without any pain, and the family has to shrug it off and get on with things, She was, after all, only a pet.
But kids love pets so there's bound to be an outcry, right? Wrong. Grandad and the brother-in-law dig a hole and we have the obligatory send off. (What my late granda, a Mayo sheep farmer, would have made of us all standing round a hole extolling on our memories of the dear departed doggie, I do not know.)
It's nice. The dog gets to rest in an idyllic spot beneath the apple trees and everyone has an opportunity to mark her passing. But it's the adults who are crying, each remembering their own personal adventures with the deceased.
Well, we men are standing around being manly before grabbing shovels to manfully fill the hole before masculinely patting each other on the backs for our efforts.
The aunties and granny are comfortable enough to dab at their eyes and speak of the afterlife; we nod stoically and understand that this is a necessary ceremony even if being as manly as possible is the only way to mask a slight discomfort.
The kids (mine and their cousins - it was a pretty big dog funeral) climb down from the trees to peer at our faces and throw some dirt into the hole. They've asked the questions and been assured, in the usual vague way, that the dog is now in a better place, somewhere alternating between floating around us invisibly and lolling in a steak and sausage fuelled paradise.
They miss the dog but they're more intrigued by the reactions of their parents and grandparents to what's happened. But not that intrigued. They have a look, take an active part, say goodbye and return to chasing each other round the garden.
I want to say she was just a dog so no big deal. As ours is just a dog, nice to have around but nothing to get worked up about. I want to say that she's dead as dead and any talk of her being anywhere but in the ground is fantastic nonsense.
I want to say these things but I don't, because I don't know. I want to say these things because a dog's demise doesn't bother me, but it might the children. Except, apparently, it doesn't.
abrophy@irish-times.ie