RIP TESS


Like us, the entire Pooch Pack are feeling the effects of passing years. All of the dogs have been with us for over twelve years. Annie the Africanis now moves with difficulty, the two Maltese, Gemma and Ni(gel), are not as spry as they used to be, Toby the Border Collie is a bit lopsided from a stroke, and his sister Tess has been wasting away to skin and bone in spite of being hand-fed and given all suitable medication. 

Yesterday I assessed her. I have had to lift and carry her outside to perform, she could barely stand, and she was spending her days simply lying around. Lately she had even given up trying to move between house and cottage. Most significant to me was the fact that this happy, friendly dog was no longer a tail-wagger.  Not even a twitch.

I took her to the vet in the afternoon and she agreed that the time had come. Organs were shutting down, and Tess would simply suffer increasing discomfort from now on.

I stayed alone with her and stroked her and talked to her until that lovely gentle spirit had left.

 

 

 

This is a time when I remember the advice given by a vet in my own Tabika novel: that when one loses an animal friend one should not dwell on the sadness of their leaving, but rather recall the joy they gave during their lives.

TO LIGHTEN UP:

I was upstaged a bit with the humorous poem I had in the paper the day before yesterday. Immediately following it, a local resident, Eric Hodgson, had contributed the following (some modified slightly by me):

The meaning of opaque is unclear.
Ate a clock was time consuming.

I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. I can’t put it down.
The article about Japanese sword fighters is long, but I can Samurais it for you.
It’s not that he couldn’t juggle: he just didn’t have the balls for it.
So what if I don’t know the meaning of ‘apocalypse’? It’s not the end of the world.
When I held the door open for a clown, I thought it was a nice jester.

(Some of my own in this vein –  I avoided throwing in one about a jugular!):
Arrival is someone who comes to regard you as competition.
Cops need to know the difference between arrest and asleep.
One good tern deserves another, or they can’t breed.
A simile is a metaphor you like.
A pro can become a con if caught.

Which ones tickle your funny-bone most?

© December 2018 Colonialist

About colonialist

Active septic geranium who plays with words writing fantasy novels and professionally editing, with notes writing classical music, and with riding a mountain bike, horses and dinghies. Recently Indie Publishing has been added to this list.
This entry was posted in Africa, Dogs, Humour, Wordplay and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to RIP TESS

  1. disperser says:

    The second blogger I know who lost a loved pet within a span of three days. My sympathies for your loss but, as you say, we dwell on the memories rather than the loss.

    ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

    To pun, or not to pun–that is the question:
    Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous groaners
    Or to take arms against a sea of paronomasia
    And by opposing end them.

    Not . . . I kind of like them.

    I once submitted ten puns to a greatest pun contest. I was hoping that one of them would win, but no pun in ten did.

    My favorite, and still the champion in my book:

    There once was an (American) Indian with three wives. Two slept on regular cow hides, and one slept on a hippopotamus hide.

    They all became pregnant and after nine months they all gave birth.

    The two who slept on cow hides each had a son, but the one who slept on the hippopotamus hide gave birth to twin sons.

    Thus proving once again that . . .

    . . . the sons of the squaws of the regular hides equal the sons of the squaw of the hippopotamus hide.

    Like

    • colonialist says:

      We should concentrate on the happy memories, indeed
      I’ve always liked that squaw one — is it still PC to refer to one as such? It is more a spoonerism than a pun, though.
      I loved the one attributed to a British royal family member, but was probably made up — after the collapse of a borer-riddled ceremonial throne in an African village: ‘People who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.’

      Like

  2. So sorry to read about Tess – I hope you have many good memories of her to tide you through. I treasure every day my Angel still wags her tail.

    Like

  3. Sue W says:

    You and the family have my sympathy Les. You are right, remember the good times. Love the humour here.

    Like

  4. kahoon says:

    Such a beautiful beast. Here is one you may not have heard yet:

    THE SIGN OF A FREEMASON

    A Quaker Mason formed one of an indiscriminate company of cowans at an inn, where the landlord was also a Brother. Numerous jokes were cracked at the expense of the Fraternity, and the Quaker was called upon to show them a Mason’s sign.

    One of the company offered to give him a bottle of wine if he would comply with their wishes; and, at length, though with much apparant reluctance, he agreed, on the condition that the wine should be immediately produced, and that the individual consented to receive the communication privately; the Quaker adding: “Friend, if thou does not confess to the company that I have shown thee a Freemason’s sign, I will pay for the wine myself.”

    The proposition was too reasonable to be refused, and the curious candidate for Masonic knowledge retired into another room with his formal friend. When there, the following dialogue took place:

    Quaker: “So friend, thou are desirous of seeing a Freemason’s sign?”

    Cowan: “I am.”

    Quaker: “Canst thou keep a secret?”

    Cowan: “Try me.”

    Quaker: “Good! Thou knowest that our friend Johnson, the innkeeper, is a Mason?”

    Cowan: “I do.”

    Quaker: “Very well.” Then taking him by the arm, he led him to the window, “Dost thou see that ramping lion which swings from yonder upright post?”

    Cowan: “To be sure I do – it is our landlord’s sign.”

    Quaker: “Good! Then friend, our landlord being a Freemason thou art satisfied that I have shown thee a Freemason’s sign, and thy bottle of wine is forfeited. For thy own sake, thou wilt keep the secret.”

    The cowan returned to the room with a look of astonishment, confessed that he had received the desired infromation; and the mystery, which he had purposely observed,tempted others to purchase the secret at the same price. 

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Arkenaten says:

    Heartfelt commiserations, Mister N. One of the hardest decisions to have to make.

    Like

  6. granny1947 says:

    Oh Col. I am SO sorry.
    I still think of Jasmine all the time and remember her with such love.

    Like

You have the right to remain silent - but please don't!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s