Bizet, my faithful companion of 16 years, has died. He has been the most wonderful dog: perpetually scruffy, always friendly, ever wilful. He was as mad as a mongoose, and always seemed to go deaf once he had his nose on a scent.
His breed standard calls for “a good voice, freely used”, and Bizet had that in spades. From the other side of a door or fence he could sound like the hound of the Baskervilles, but while his voice might put off any unwanted visitors his wagging tail and eager expression would always welcome friends and family.
On Christmas Day, his strength seemed to fail him and Boxing Day he could barely stand. I’d intended to take him to the vet today, but he saved us both that awful final decision. He died peacefully in his sleep with our two other dogs curled up beside him.
Good bye, old man. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be seeing you again.