Sym

Yesterday was the first anniversary of my boy Sym's crossing of the Bridge!

 

He is sorely missed still.

 

However, he is still with me and I talk to him every day!

 

I know, I know ... he was only a dog ... is that what you're thinking?

 

Well, he may have been a dog, but there was no 'only' about it.

 

He was family!

 

He was ... is ... my best friend!

 

Every walk I take with Clover, he walks with us. I'm sure Clover feels his presence too.

 

Our bond has not been broken and my love for my best friend is still strong!

 

Run ahead Sym!

 

I'll catch you up!

Don't Fall With Your Mouth Open revisited

Oh, the temptation!

It got the better of me and I paid the price.

And learnt a valuable lesson too.

It happened thus ...

Sym, my border collie (deceased and still sorely missed) of whom I was the daddy, was only a youngster of 8 or 9 months.
Sox, his big sister, had not yet been rescued from the pound, and poor Clover, unbeknown to us, was still suffering at the hands of a puppy farm breeder.

On this particular day I decided that my boy and I would go to the Wennalt, a hilly, wooded area just outside Cardiff.

At this time I hadn't yet learnt of Sym's passion for romping and wallowing in the green slime that covered most of the ground in the hollows on the lower slopes.

The green slime ... the smelly green slime ... would become on of his favourite play things.

Anyway, on this day, after several hours of walking up and down muddy hillsides and fighting our way through brambles, we headed exhausted back towards the car park and home.

As we walked down the final slope, Sym dragging a small tree with him, I noticed just off to my right a rope hanging from a tree.

Someone had made a rope swing!

Now, I have a reputation as a serious professional person to protect and, as such, could not be seen, as it were, having childish fun ... but there was no one around!

No one would see me! No one would ever know!

So, having checked and re-checked that no one was around, I made a bee-line for the rope, determined spend a few minutes dangling childishly over the abyss (a crater filled with slime).

Experimental tugs on the rope seemed to prove that it was safe so, after another quick glance around the woods, I ran clutching the rope firmly and leaped out over the abyss.

Sym barked and ran through the slime in the crater.

I soared! I most probably screamed GERONIMO although, I'm not sure why. There is no record of Geronimo ever swinging on a rope dangling from a tree.

I landed on the other side, exhilarated; my blood pumping; I was full of the joy's of life.

I was having fun!

I turned, laughing now, and leaped again.

And learnt a very important lesson; one which I think needs to be shared with the world for the sake of safety.

CRACK said the branch to which the rope was attached.

SPLAT said yours truly as his body hit the slime.

WOOF  said Sym as he leapt to safety.

That lesson, dear friends, as you have already read in the title of this little piece, is this ...

     Don't Fall With You Mouth Open!

Because Wales tastes bloody awful!

We went home taking that vile and disgusting smell of the slime with us.

The Dog-walk Chronicles (Part two)

Biggles Flies Again or Hotrod's Pleasure ... Take Your Pick!

Today I was privileged to meet a little brown and white Jack Russell terrier called Biggles.

Biggles is a two year old cutie belonging to an elderly couple that I met whilst out and about in the town of Cowbridge.

He was named after James Bigglesworth (a pilot and adventurer, who was the title character and main hero of the Biggles series of youth-oriented adventure books written by W. E. Johns) because of the brown markings that covered his head and eyes and resembled old fashioned flying goggles and helmet.

As I watched Biggles interacting with two other dogs, I noticed that he was very, very keen to 'mount' them ... the dirty boy!

As I approached, the old man said "Watch it! He'll have your leg."

He was right too!  I had barely reached them when Biggles made break for it and tried to hump my leg!  After shrugging off his amorous advances, he turned his attention to a shopping bag, my client’s leg then his owner’s legs and finally, as the excitement grew too much for him, to thin air.

Passers by were in fits of laughter as poor old Biggles dry-humped himself to satisfaction.

His very embarrassed owners hastily explained that they were taking him to the vet as they were at a loss as to why he always did such a thing, especially as he had long ago lost his 'baubles'.

"My son thinks it's funny when he does it" said the old man.  "He's doesn't call him Biggles anymore".

"What does he call him now then?" I asked.

"Hotrod!", came the reply.

Poor Hotrod had to be carried back to their car!  

He was exhausted! 

Bless him ... the randy little sod!

…

Walking the Dogs in the Rain

All dogs need exercise and a dedicated and responsible owner will  always ensure that their pet gets it, every day, rain or shine.

I love my pups and I take them out every day, whatever Mother Nature throws at us.

Recently though, dog walking has been very much an 'under water' event, requiring waterproofs and wellingtons.

Of course I'm no stranger to adverse weather and my dogs ... well, to be blunt ... they couldn't give a hoot!  They just love being out.

But yesterday ... oh dear, oh dear ... I made a amateurish mistake.

I had the right outfit ...

Waterproof hat ... check
Waterproof jacket ... check
Waterproof trousers ... check
Wellingtons ... check

... but I tucked my waterproof trousers into my wellingtons ... where rainwater collected in the folds at the point they entered my boots!!!

Half way around the park the folds, having collected a significant amount of water, moved allowing rainwater to gush into my boots.

I squelched my way around the park with cold, wet feet and, for some reason it never occurred to me to pull my trousers out of my boots, so the rain kept on running down my legs.

At the end of the walk I had enough water in my wellingtons to make at least two cups of tea.

Anyone fancy a cuppa?

…

Cold Weather and the Light Speed Snot

Tissues are essential when you go out in the freezing cold to walk the dogs.

I mean, I have a moustache and, believe it or not, there is nothing worse than a 'tasche' full of snot.

Oh yes, you can sniff your way around the park, each sniff requiring more effort than the last and seemingly drawing less and less back into the snot sanctuary, otherwise known as your nose.

The trouble with sniffing ... I mean, the danger of sniffing ... well, it's micro-fractures to the inside of you skull, isn't it!

If you are a sniffer, then you will have experience of at least one, if not more, of those high velocity, quick release, double density snots.

You know the ones!

They are the ones that with every sniff move inside the nostril but only just enough to cause a modicum of irritation, not enough to release them from their anchorage.

Then, when you have given up all hope of ridding yourself of the unwelcome nasal guest, the 'quick release' is activated as you try to sniff your top lip free of dribble.

There is an audible 'THWUCK' as it releases, followed a fraction of a second later by a very quiet 'TOK' as the snot, travelling by this time at the very high speed, seems to make contact with the inside of the base of you skull. The micro-fracture!

OK!  So the irritation is gone, but you are then faced with that awful feeling as you realise that the snot has nowhere to go but down.

There is a gulp, a grimace and, perhaps, then a few seconds of nausea, as you try to come to terms with the latest addition to your diet.

They say "Shit happens" but, my friends, so does the 'bullet' snot!

Any sniffer will tell you  ... it really is worth checking your pockets for tissues before you go out in the cold!

The Dog-walk Chronicles (Part one)

Kamikaze attack in Hailey Park

It was warm.


It was Sunny.

There was no breeze to speak of and all seemed well with the world.
I was walking the dogs around the park as usual ... throwing a ball for Sym, encouraging Clover to keep up and calling to Sox in order to stop her running back home.

It was an absolutely perfect day and for an hour or more we enjoyed the sunshine and quiet (very few people out that day) of the park.

It was as we were about to cross the rugby field, by the changing rooms, when the incident happened.

I had just thrown the ball for Sym and he'd charged after it in his usual, bullish manner; Sox was halfway across the field looking at me just in case I changed direction; Clover was at my heels.

As I waited for Sym to bring his ball back and exchange it for a piece of cheese when I noticed what appeared to be swarm of light coloured flies coming towards me. The little buggers were flying fast and before I knew it, the swine started pinging off my glasses and face. It all happened in just a few seconds ... then they were gone. But not ALL of them had made it past me ... my glasses were covered in dead flies, as was my face!
I counted at least five dead flies squished on the lenses of my spec's and when I got back to the car and looked in the mirror there were at least another six or more flattened on my forehead and cheeks.

I've had many a dead fly on the windscreen of my car after a fast drive, but I've never suffered such an 'attack' whilst standing still.

It was disgusting! All those bugs using my face as a means of killing themselves!

It reminded me of that old joke;-

What's the last thing to go through a fly's mind when it hits the windscreen?


It's arse!

...

My boy and his ball

I am beginning to realise that my boy Sym has a closer relationship with his ball than he does with me.

If his ball goes into the long grass or bushes on a walk he will spend ages looking for it, but if I hide from him he tends to wait until Clover and Sox locate me first before he comes for a look.

The good thing about him searching for his ball (and nearly always finding it) is that it saves me money on tennis balls! On the negative side, when it's raining, he won't leave until he has found it or is dragged away.

I have noticed though that when another dog is near, he will forget his ball all together and leave it somewhere out of sight in order to go and sniff around the other dog. Then, when 'sniffs' have been exchanged, get back into a "throw the ball for me" position totally forgetting that the ball is still where he dumped it.... and he nearly always dumps it in long grass.

This morning’s early walk was no different. When we met a group of four women and their pooches, he dropped his ball and went to exchange pleasantries.

Sniffing over, I called him back to where he'd last had his ball and told him to find it. He sniffed and snorted through the grass for about five minutes, unearthing not one, not two, but three tennis balls before turning to me in triumph with a fourth (his own) ball stuck in his mouth.

Now that deserved a bit of cheese and he knew it!

I know lots of people have dogs that are clever and do all sorts of tricks but I think my boy Sym, although he doesn't do all the doggy-dancing or party trick stuff, is pretty smart too.

...

The Last Laugh; It's a Dog's Life

In the vain hope that the weather will brighten up, I have just hung out
the laundry. Sym, our Border Collie, went into "guard" mode as I struggled to get the king-size duvet covers and the rest of the laundry onto the line.

I really did feel safe in our back garden.

My boy Sym

Sym has a growl and a bark which make him seem larger and more aggressive than he actually is and has scared the be-jeezus out of any amount of postmen and those annoying people that keep putting fliers through our letter box.


He really is a big soppy wuss though and loves attention from any quarter ... except tall men wearing black, for some reason. They send him into "don't touch me or I'll kill you" mode, although I hasten to add that he has never actually killed, or even bitten, anyone.

I think this aversion to tall people dressed in black dates back to an incident in the woods around Cardiff when he was about one year old. Someone, who was obviously not dog friendly, gave him a kick and he has never forgotten about it.

Anyway, I didn't log-in this morning to prattle on about my laundry or my dog ... well, not just one dog anyway.

'Her Ladyship' Sox

The story I would like to tell you all occurred two days ago when I was walking Sym, Sox (Border Collie X) and Clover (Lab X) in Hailey Park.

As you can probably imagine, this involved much ball throwing and the dispensing of cheddar cheese treats.

We were on our first lap of the park heading, as we always do, towards the old railway bridge that crosses the river Taff.

And there is a hole at the side of the path. As far as I can recollect, this hole ... not deep, but well hidden by long grass ... has been there for at least 5 years. It was probably the work of a dog, rabbit or badger, but it was never completed ... that is to say, no rabbit or badger ever lived in it and no dog buried a bone in it.

As I mentioned, it was over grown and hard to see, but we knew it was there ...somewhere.

As we strolled along the path towards the bridge, Sox took up 'point' and lead the way as she always does. Sym hid himself at the tree line and waited for his ball to be thrown and Clover (bless her) stayed at her 'daddies' heels and kept him company.

I lobbed yet another ball into the skies and Sym took off, intending to intercept it further along its trajectory, thus causing startled Sox to spring sideways and off the path into the long grass.

As I looked, Sox's head and front legs disappeared downwards and her hind legs and tail went straight up into the air.

She had found 'the hole'!

For two or three panicked seconds, she flailed about until she could get some purchase and pull herself out. As she did so, she looked left and then right in an "I hope nobody saw that" sort of way, then looked back directly at me.

I was laughing!

Sox did not look very pleased and walked off in disgust.

Later, on our second lap of the park, we were walking as a fairly tight little group across the area known to some as 'the conservation area', but known to me as 'the place where very few people pick up their dog's doo-doo', when Sox had her revenge.

For some inexplicable reason, someone had taken a grass sod out of the path. It wasn't as if it was good quality grass suitable for a lawn or anything, but it was gone and it left a hole!

Sym was once again restless and eager to be off chasing his ball, so I sent it hurtling along the path in our direction of march. Sox strayed a few yards ahead of me and Clover was ... well, was where she always is ... at my heels.

Clover

As I walked, I bent down to give Clover a pat and some encouragement (she has had a difficult past prior to living with us), when suddenly my left foot hit a spot that should have been solid ground, but turned out to be air.

I had walked into the hole left by the grass-sod thief!

Now, to be fair, my reactions were pretty damned good and,

although I stumbled, I never hit the ground!

I did a "Sox" and checked that there was no one around to see me looking stupid.

There was no on in sight ... just Sox!

She was staring straight at me with her wide, Jack-Nicholson's-Joker-like grin and her tail wagging.
I could tell she was thinking "That'll teach you to laugh at me, you ba$t&rd!".

She then went on her way along the path in such a jaunty, bouncy manner that it would have been very hard for anyone watching to believe that she is, in fact, and very old lady.

As we completed our walk, Sym went to chase the squirrels, Clover decided to follow her 'bro', but both Sox and I continued across the fields checking the ground before us very, very carefully indeed.

...

Doggy Report and the Hailey Park Thick Ear

Those of you that have had the pleasure of meeting Clover when she first came to us would remember a timid and very scared little lady that was afraid of her own shadow. Now she is a confident (to a degree) dog that actually looks forward to outings in the park.

She has come on in leaps and bounds (literally) over the last year and a bit and is now confident enough to go towards people for a little fuss and attention. She no longer has her extraordinary fear of cars and vans and no longer attempts to run into every drive way in order to hide or get into someone else's house. She will run after Sym, or Sox, and has been known to go on her own little explorations into the wilderness. She always keeps her daddy in sight, though, and comes straight back when she hears a whistle.

I am very proud of her achievements.

Sox, on the other hand, is her usual cantankerous old self. She always keeps an eye on us when we go out, but likes to be a little way ahead at all times and, although she knows our route well, always manages to look surprised and somewhat annoyed when we change direction and she has to run to catch up.

Sym, of whom I am the daddy in name only, runs around the trees looking for squirrels to aggravate. After his initial 'scare the buggers to death' charge, which never seems to result in a squirrel snack, he positions himself some distance from me and strikes the typical collie '"I'm waiting" pose. This is my cue to throw his tennis ball as far as possible for him to chase after. This routine, minus the squirrel part, is repeated again and again on out circumnavigations of the park and is only interrupted by the discovery of a puddle, new smell or poo-time (yes! I pick 'em up!).

Today's walk was no different and we were about to set off on our third circuit when I decided to do something I normally wouldn't do ... throw his ball over the bushes to let him search for it (which he would successfully do).

On this occasion I threw the ball and he took off after it. As I stepped off to follow him, something heavy struck my shoulder then bounced up and dinged me in the left ear! I nearly sh....had an accident!

At the same time my ear was being dinged, a voice from behind the bushes said "Oi! Watch what you're doing"!

Still hearing the ringing of many bells in my poor old ear, I set off to investigate, taking with me the object that struck me: a solid rubber, multi-coloured ball.

On the other side of the bushes, I found not only Sym (ball in mouth), but also an elderly couple with a golden retriever.

"Was that your ball?" demanded the man.

"Yes" I replied. "Didn't hit you, did I"?

"No, but was damned close." came the vexed reply.

I showed the man the hard rubber ball and asked "Is this one yours?"

"Yes. Thanks" he said, now slightly sheepishly.

My ear was still smarting as I said "I wasn't so lucky and I copped it right in the lug-hole, mate. Ta very much"!

We parted at that point.

The rest of our walk was, thankfully, painless and uneventful.

My Dream

I have made no bones about missing my dogs Sym and Sox.

In fact, I may have bored you all rigid with my tales of their exploits over the last few weeks. There is more to tell, but I'm going to wait for a little while before renewing my trip down doggy memory lane.

After this...

Last night I had a dream.

It was a strange dream but it was very vivid and seemed very real. I remembered it all, which is very unusual as normally I only remember fragments that leave me sometimes frustrated, but mostly curious.

This dream took place in a grassy area, which I took to be the fields of Hailey Park where I often took the dogs for their walks.

I was surrounded by a wall of fog some twenty yards away from me in every direction.

I heard no sounds.

As I stood there, the fog began to swirl and two dark figures walked out of it into the clearing carrying something between them..

One, obviously male, was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and dark tie. The other, obviously female, wore a dark waist length jacket, white blouse, dark gaucho-style trousers and black knee length boots.

Nothing particularly strange there, until I realised that both figures had dog's heads.

As they drew nearer I say that the male had the head of Sym and the female the head of Sox. 

They stopped directly in front of me and I then saw that the object they carried was a babies carry-cot.
They put it on the ground and stepped forward and began to hug me and lick my face, all the time making 'wrowowow' and whining sounds.  

As they made those sounds ... and this bit is weird ... white subtitles appeared before my eyes.

"We have missed you so much!" they said. "We are doing well and taking care of each other. And we've been watching you".

I told  them how much I was missing them too and as I did so, the subtitles changed to series or written growls, yelps and barks.

They turned away from me and pick up the carry-cot indicating as they did so that I should look inside.

The Sym figure pulled back a small blue blanket and the Sox figure said "This is Leo".

I looked inside the carry-cot and saw a black, grey and white dappled puppy lying fast asleep on his back. 

"He is going to be yours one day and you are to look after him as you looked after us" the Sox figure said.

When I asked when that would be, they just said "You will know when 'Leo' comes alone, but you won't have to wait very long."

With that they said their goodbye's, there were more hugs and lick, and the took the carry-cot with the sleeping Leo back into the fog.

I woke up just after 5am.

Everything was fresh in my mind and my face was wet.

I'm not a great believer in dreams as pre-cursors for coming events, and the wet face ... well, I sweat at nights ... but to be able to remember the entire dream? That is strange.

I know one day I will have another dog!

I think I know he'll be called Leo.

But will he resemble the puppy of my dream?

Sym: The Beginning of the Posse

Of course we couldn’t just stop at two dogs.

No, no, no!

My wife, Julie, had always wanted a Greyhound.

So we discussed it ...many times ... mulling over the pro’s and con’s of an extended doggy side of the family until one day ... and I’m still not quite sure how it happened ... Nippa, a beautiful and gentle brindle Greyhound girl became the third canine member of our ‘posse’.

She immediately settled and bonded with Sym but was wary of Sox who, in her own bossy way, let it be known with the occasional bark that she was in charge.

Sym and Nippa became great friends and often played the 'come with me' game in the living room.
It was a simple game that Sym devised and it usually involved waking up Nippa from her slumbers as
he would wander up to her, take her collar in his mouth and try to drag her outside. Nippa never complained and quite often she reached the back door in a lying position before giving in to Sym's demands.

We had been warned not to let Nippa off the lead in the park until she was used to her surroundings but due to her bond with Sym and natural desire to run, we ignored this and let her run to her hearts delight. Sym would storm off after his ball and Nippa would thunder after him, scaring the living daylights out of him as bounded past.

She was quick!

Sym had to abandon his sheep dog hate of straight lines and adopt a more direct approach in order to keep up. As Nippa took off in a wide arcing run, Sym would make a few mental calculations and take then take off in a straight line intercept course.

They both loved to run and they both loved running with each other.

For almost a year all three dogs lived and played in perfect harmony but that was all about to end.

As Nippa stepped passed Sox, as she had done a thousand times before, Sox decided that she was to close and was invading her space.

She delivered a warning bark and lunge from a lying position to which Nippa reacted.

It was a short but violent tussle which I was able breakup quickly, but lines had been drawn and blood had been spilled.

Sox received a bite to the chest which Nippa, true to her Greyhound instincts, shook violently. It resulted in a deep wound that required several stitches and cost several hundred pounds in vet bills. But it also caused something even worse; it created a dominance issue between the two dogs that we could not break.

Nippa would take every opportunity to let Sox know that she was the weaker dog. They could no longer be left alone as Nippa would often deliberately approach Sox in a challenging manner, forcing her away from food or from her sleeping place of choice.

We had all grown to love Nippa, but Sox had to be protected from further harm (mostly, it has to be said, from her own stupidity).

It was a hard decision and it broke our hearts, but Nippa was returned to The Greyhound Rescue organisation from which we adopted her. They assured us that they would place her in a good home.

The house seemed empty without her. Walks in the park were not the same without the sound of her thundering over the fields.

Thankfully, after only a few short weeks, we were informed that Nippa had been re-homed with a Greyhound loving family in England.

She was enjoying life with a new Greyhound ‘brother’!

Nippa, despite only having been with us for a year, was sorely missed and she is still spoken off fondly and considered to be a member of our family.

Sym: Companions

Training progressed in a stop/start, smoochy and cuddly sort of way.

It was playtime.

Every day!

But there was something missing and it took us quite a while to work out exactly what it was ... almost a year ... but it finally dawned.

Sym needed a companion.

So, on a sunny Saturday morning, we all piled into the car and headed towards Cardiff dog pound to find Sym a new friend.

Even before we entered the building we could hear the plaintive whines and desperate barking of the dogs inside and, although we were all rather excited at the prospect of finding a new family pet, we were a little apprehensive about seeing all the poor homeless and unwanted dogs, only one of which would be lucky enough to walk out with us.

A visit to the pound by a dog-loving person can be a heart breaking experience.

We spent quite a while looking around all the cages and, if I’m honest, I wanted to take them all home. There were scared dogs, troubled dogs ... dogs with all kinds of issues ... and there was Sox.

A beautiful black and white Border Collie cross stood in her cage and just looked at us. She was calm and displayed only a passing interest in the people ...us ... looking at her. We managed to coax her to the bars and managed to pat and stroke her. She didn’t become excited at receiving some fuss, as most of the other dogs had, and only a moderate wagging of her tail indicated a change in her demeanour.

It was, due to her gentle nature, a group decision that this little lady should meet Sym.

A lead was hastily sought and we headed off to complete the introduction.

At first, Sym was hesitant and Sox (to be) was cautious.

Noses were touched and bottoms sniffed. Sym seemed quite happy in Sox’s (to be) presence and Sox (to be) remained calm and impassive. At first we thought there would be no interaction between the two, but with Sym bustling around her, Sox (to be) began to slowly show more interest.

After about forty five minutes a decision was reached and Sox (no longer ‘to be’ because we had named her already) joined our pack.

Details were finalised and a fee was paid.

Then we took our dog’s home.

All went well and, after Sox had completed a cursory inspection of her new home (followed by Sym), she laid down the law!

Don’t forget that Sym was only one year old and up to that point had been socialised through puppy training classes and meetings with other dogs in the park. He had never had another dog in his home.

It began with a badly timed sniff.

And it ended with Sym having a respect for Sox that would ALWAYS guarantee that Sox was Top Dog in within our four walls.

She snapped at him as he tried to sniff her backside and he jumped out of his skin. It was the first time he had ever been put in his place by another dog and it gave him quite a shock.

For a long time after that he wouldn’t even attempt to walk past her, seeking instead an alternative route to get to wherever he wanted to be or, which was more often the case, looking at us imploringly for help.

But outside it was different.

In the park Sym would occasionally fall foul of a bad tempered older dog and receive a nip or two only to have Sox immediately step in and return the favour on Sym’s behalf.

She may have set herself up as Top Dog, but she had also adopted Sym as part of her pack.

Over the years they became inseparable, and would follow each other on walks and stand up for each other in times of need.

When one of them was ill, the other always showed concern. When one of them was absent (e.g. at the vet’s), the other would fret and pace until they returned.

Although they had vastly different personalities, they complimented each other perfectly.

They were our pups!

They were part of our family!

Sym: Discipline

If you have ever observed a female dog with her pups, then you will have noticed just how tolerant they can be when the little buggers get too boisterous.

But there are boundaries.

And when those boundaries are crossed, the mother uses teeth and paws to instil discipline and restore a modicum of order.

When Sym was a youngster, which I suppose for a dog, is anything up to two years old, he was a little terror. His herding instincts came through at an early age and the member of our family became his flock.

Walking through the living room, kitchen or hallway became a major challenge.

Sym would follow in a low Border Collie crouch, waiting for any deviance to the route that he thought you should take. A nip to the heels or calf would be the reward for any attempt at deviation.

And during play, his razor sharp puppy teeth would often be employed as a tool to gain the upper hand.

Julie, Christopher and Gabriele would often fall victim to those teeth ... but I was never, ever nipped or bitten.

But I did bite!

Puppies, when they are trying to assert themselves, will often do that mouthing thing, where they face each other with open jaws and try to get as much of the other pup’s head in their mouth as possible.

Some experts say they are trying to assert themselves over their siblings and establish dominance.
I don’t know if they are right, but this form of ‘play’ certainly established me as Sym’s boss.

We would engage in mouthing games when he was only a few months old. I would never bite him unless he bit me first. If he over stepped the mark, I would bite him!

When I say ‘bite’, I mean ‘hold’.

I would just take a chunk of him in my mouth and hold on so that he wouldn’t move. There was no reason for pressure.

And it worked perfectly!

Just as he would heed a warning nip from his mother, he heeded me.

The only drawback with this method of discipline was the mouthful of fur I would always end up with.

I would not recommend ‘mouthing’ to anyone as an aid to bringing up and training a puppy, but I believe that it helped to bring us closer together and aided the bonding process. It taught us respect for one another ... in a doggy sort of way.

We would continue the ‘mouthing’ for many years. It became a game that I firmly believe he looked forward to and it would always end in a play fight followed by licks and hugs.

Generally, mouthing would occur as follows;

We would go nose to nose.

Sym would turn his head to the side, look at me out of the corner of his eye, and open his mouth and growl.

I would open my mouth and growl back at him.

He would lunge at me but stop short of biting.

I would then do the same thing to him.

At that point, with both of us open mouthed and growling, a nasal pushing and shoving match would ensue for one or two minutes before Sym would throw himself onto his back.

At this point the play fight would begin.

There would be more growling, some leaping and thrashing about, then a licks and cuddles.

And there would be a lot of tail wagging! Afterwards he would take up his usual upside down position on my lap and sleep.

Sym: Training

We began Sym’s training almost immediately.

We taught him how to deal with a multitude of cuddles, hugs and snogs and I taught him how to fall asleep upside down on my chest as I lay in the sofa ... something he never forgot or grew too old for.

Of course, there was a serious side to Sym’s early training regime, such as the ‘prevention of a pee-and-poo-stained-carpet’ program. Basically this involved observation, patience, quick reflexes and the ability to point a peeing puppy in the right direction (away from you) to avoid a soaking.

Within a week, in which many a stain was created and painstakingly removed, we had a puppy that would willingly use training pads to relieve himself. Pee’s and poo’s could then be wrapped up in the pad and safely disposed of with a minimum of fuss and no carpet scrubbing.

Having achieved that milestone, it was simply a case of reducing the number of puppy pads until there was only one left, then moving it nearer and nearer towards the backdoor and the garden.

Of course, during this time he would pee and poo outdoors, but only if we were with him.

We expected his training progress to be slow but Sym proved to be a willing and able student.

Sit, paw and stay were learned within a few a few short weeks of his arrival and we, in turn, learned that puppies prefer garlic sausages to regular puppy training treats. After receiving his second puppy inoculation, this discovery proved to be very useful in his further outdoor training.

Recall was so easy with garlic sausages!

Later in life his preferences would change and cheddar cheese would become the love-treat of his life.

He would do anything, and quite often everything, to get a cube of cheese.

In the park ... Hailey Park ... we played games; ran with him, hid from him, chased him and practiced his re-call to perfection ... almost.

In the park ... still Hailey Park ... we started to play the game he loved most: chasing tennis balls!

In the park ... yes, the Hailey one ... I found the peace and pleasure that comes with walking a dog.

And he discovered squirrels which he would fruitlessly chase through the copse, barking incessantly at tree trunks every time they managed to escape.

...

When you have a puppy in the house you learn things.

You learn, for instance, that everyone else knows how to train a puppy far better than you do!

Advice comes thick and fast and variety of training techniques are brought to your attention. And suddenly, as if by magic, every TV channel seems to be showing the latest Victoria Stilwell or Cesar Milan shows. And, whichever one’s training methods you choose, you will end up being in the wrong camp and being told off by someone ... Stilwell is wishy-washy; Milan’s techniques are cruel.

Anyway, we bought books! We bought lots of books. And we read them ... ignored them mostly, but we read them.

We decided to use common sense whilst training Sym and used the kindness and reward method.

As it turned out, and on reflection, whereas I thought we were using the Barbara Woodhouse method of training, we actually ended up using a combination of the Stilwell and Milan methods, or at least variations thereof.

Still ... my handsome boy turned out alright, didn’t he?

Sym: Early Days

We chose June as the time to search for a dog because the kids would not be home. 

Christopher and Gabriele, children from Julie’s previous marriage, would be on holiday with their father and grandparents. It was meant, partly, to be a surprise for them when they returned, but mostly it was to prevent them coming up with any silly or ridiculous names for the puppy. They had already given our cats the names Blossom and Zak.

OK, I could live with Zak ... but Blossom?

Anyway, I wanted to name the new member of our family!

You see, in my mind, the puppy had in fact already been named.

Even before I began my campaign to overcome my wife’s ‘dog-in-the-house’ objections I knew what I wanted to call him.

He would be called Sym.

Many years before, when I was about 8 or 9 years old, my cousin Gavin arrived at our front door. Stuffed inside his jacket was a twelve week old fluffy bundle of black and tan puppy.

He had brought us, against my parent’s express wishes, Sym Mk I.

The Mk I was a gorgeous Border Collie/German Shepherd cross and from the moment he took his first steps on our living room carpet and wagged his tail all parental disapproval evaporated.

I shared many an adventure with him as a child and he has always had his own very special place in my heart. To this day, if I close my eyes, I can still see him.

I can still easily recall how we used to run through the corn fields close to our home or how we would run along the shore with him attacking the waves as they crashed onto the beach.

With vivid memories of Sym Mk I, I desperately hoped that Sym Mk II would achieve the same high standards.

There was no objection from Julie as to the selected name.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it means anything, really. It’s just short and snappy and not as common as something like Sam” I explained.

...

So we arrived home that day with our beautiful puppy and, as he explored his new home, I named him Sym.

As Sym wandered around the house sniffing and, yes, peeing, he was observed by Blossom!

From her vantage point on the back of the sofa, she watched as the interloper sniffed his way around the furniture. The expression on her face was not one of joy!

As Sym disappeared through the door to the hallway, Blossom, already in stealth mode, followed.
She peered after him as his he made his way towards the open back door, her tail swishing this way and that, and there was definitely an air of the hunter about her.

Unexpectedly, Sym turned, just as Blossom made her move to follow him.

He saw her! 

She saw that she had been seen. 

His tail wagged. 

So did hers!

She waited. 

He watched. 

His intention was play. 

Her was murder!

Sym barrelled through the hall on a direct line to Blossom. She did that cat thing and made herself big. Sym yapped his pleasure at having found a friend to play with. Blossom raised a paw and gave Sym such a slap that he rolled sideways and yelped.

Blossom had just established herself as top of the pecking order in this house!

As she strutted away, confident that the interloper now knew his place, Sym cautiously followed.

From that moment on, Sym, although still seemingly desperate to play with her, had a respect for Blossom which would never dwindle!

Clover

This is the little lady I now take to the park on her own.

She still looks for Sym.

When she doesn't find him, she falls in behind me
and follows me around the park.

I think maybe she needs doggy company so I shall soon begin to 

whine and wheedle until my wife gives in and lets me have another pup!

Sym: How the Bond Was Forged

One day in late June of 2005, after several months of wheedling and moaning, my wife finally gave in to my request for a dog.

Not just any dog, either. I wanted a Border Collie!

Needless to say, within moments of her resistance crumbling and giving me the go-ahead, I was trawling the internet looking for someone selling puppies.

Most available Border Collie puppies were in distant regions of Wales or in England; too far to drive easily, so I turned my attention to the local newspaper small ads. Almost immediately an ad leapt out at me: ‘Border Collie puppies to good homes. £100’

Of course, I was straight on the phone. The excitement of a schoolboy awaiting the start of the school summer holidays was rising inside of me and I’m pretty sure that I made a very poor job of concealing it as I made an appointment to see the puppies.

The farmer (for they were farm puppies) on the other end of the phone must have immediately known he had already made a sale.

So, two days later, we went to Merthyr Tydfil to see, and hopefully select, a puppy.

The farm was located in the valley below the Merthyr Tydfil Mountain Railway. On the drive up there I managed to keep my boyish enthusiasm under control but, as we drove down the county lane and approached the farm, I felt me excitement resurface and had the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I felt as I once did as a child on the eve of my birthday! I just know I was going home with a dog!

I have to admit that Julie, my wife, was taking this all rather well. She was all “let’s wait and see” and “Let’s be sensible about this” but I could tell she was a little excited too. She was hiding it well, but she was excited. I know it!

As we pulled into the farmyard we could see a Spaniel and a Border collie lying by a barn door, but no puppies.

The farmer came out to greet us and after some brief introductions, he led us to the barn and opened the half door.

Out came mum and her six puppies. There were two typical black and white pups and four grey and white. All of the grey and white pups had parallel white spots running down their backs making them look like plump, fluffy dominoes. One of them had a pink nose!

The farmer left us for a while to play with the puppies and to make a selection.

We knew what was supposed to happen now ... the right puppy would choose us, and not we the puppy.

So we let them mill around our feet and stroked and patted. They engaged in puppy rough and tumble and for the most part ignored us. Mum, having found us unworthy of interest, took herself off to a tractor in one of the out buildings and lay underneath it next to a bulldog that we had previously not noticed.

One by one the puppies left us to follow mum until we were left alone in the farmyard.

Or so we thought.

Behind us the puppy with the pink nose sat calmly and looked us up and down.

Julie bent down and offered a hand for him to sniff.

He sniffed.

He came closer and sat at our feet looking up, his tail was wagging.

He was not the biggest of the puppies, but he certainly wasn’t the smallest. His flanks were grey, his chest white and down his back a thin black stripe and the white domino spots.

His nose was almost entirely pink.

His beautiful brown eyes our gaze and we knew there and then that we had just been selected to be his new family!

A short time later ‘puppy’ (for he had not yet become Sym) sat in a cardboard box on my lap as Julie drove us towards the A470 and home.

Most of the journey was spent with ‘puppy’ resting his front paws on the lip of the box and looking out of the window wagging his tail. Every so often he turned his attention to me, climbing out of his box and giving me a lick on the chin.

This was all so new to him; new people, a car journey and someone to lick!

His head became heavy, his eyes closed and he slept in my arms until we arrived home.

As Julie parked the car he awoke. He looked me square in the face then leapt.

His front paws landed on my shoulders and his tongue assaulted my face.

At that moment I knew that I loved that puppy.

At that moment he became ‘my dog’.

At that moment the unbreakable bond between us was forged.

Sym

Yesterday we made the decision to ease Sym over the bridge.

He had begun to experience severe breathing difficulties and was only 
able to sleep for short periods.

Julie and I held him as he fell asleep.

He is with his sister, Sox, now and is free from pain and discomfort.

Just Not In The Mood Right Now

I am too restless to write anything.

I have so little time anyway.

I have 'best friend' to care for.

.
.
.

Be patient for, like Schwarzenegger, I will be back!

Seeking Advice From My Best Friend

You see Sym, people just don't understand me...

... they think I'm crazy!

I trust you. What do you think? 

Sym And His Ball

He may be ill, but he still loves his ball. So much so that it's a problem getting it back sometimes.

Minutes after this was filmed, Sym took off to the river, splashed in and promptly 

dropped his ball.

We watched helplessly as it floated down river.

(my batteries were flat by then)

If you look closely, you might just see the swelling of his throat (his right side)
caused by his cancer.

TWANG!!!

There are times ... hard times ... when I feel stressed.

You would never know when one of these 'times' was upon me ... unless you were very, very unlucky ... as I have become very adept at keeping it all bottled up.

But it seems that sometimes life and all it's horrors (that creep up on me like a very quietly charging bull elephant) are out to get me!

These are the times that my elasticated sanity is stretched almost to snapping point only to be thankfully twanged back into some semblance of normality, leaving me with a huge feeling of relief, in very much the same way as a first time bungee jumper will feel relieved when they realise that the bungee cord IS going to hold them after all.

Today is one of those days!

But I'm still waiting for the TWANG !

My dog has cancer!  My car is once again off the road!  Money is scarce!

And I don't have many friends (not everyone likes my sense of humour)!

And I just hate everybody and everything!

......

Ok! So I've just taken a short break from writing. I've had a coffee and trawled the internet for more pictures that I can add captions to,  and ... TWANG!!! ... I'm feeling a little bit better!

My problems are not gone, but I do feel a little bit more capable of dealing with them.

Common sense tells me I should now delete this post and keep my little secret but logic tells me that I wouldn't feel a little bit more able to cope if I hadn't actually started to write it all down.

So it's here to stay.

Of course, it could be all just down to watching all those women giving themselves wedgies whilst running in the final leg of the Triathlon on TV that cheered me up.

Happier Times

Sox is sadly no longer with us and Sym's Lymphoma 

has once again reared it's ugly head, but here is 

a reminder of happier times.

It Never Rains, But It Pours

Sym, Sox and Clover

Within the space of a few months Sox has become old!

It began with her food.  At times, she couldn't, or wouldn't, eat what was put before her ... even her favourite meal of tripe. 

Over the last six to eight weeks she has lost a lot of weight ... down from 20 kilos to12.5 ... and her back legs have become stiff with arthritis.  She can no longer sit, as she once did, to receive a treat. She spends her days walking slowly after me wherever I go or sleeping.

Now things are moving from bad to worse.

She is becoming increasingly more confused and, at times, seems to forget where she is or what it was she was about to do. At other times she seems to be her usual self, albeit stiffer.

Last night, for short periods, she seemed to lose a little control over her back legs and was very unstable. At 2.50 am we heard her cries of distress. I went downstairs and found her sprawled on the floor in a puddle of her own pee. I helped her back to her feet and cleaned both her and the floor up. From that moment on, she seemed fine and even took a turn around the garden. This morning, there are no signs of the instability that she displayed last night, but I fear that it will return. Soon, maybe very soon, we will have to make that sad decision help her 'over the Bridge'.

Sym, as I have written about before, has Lymphoma. He has had two courses of treatment over the last year and a half and, as I have also previously reported, only achieved partial remission after his last treatment .

At the moment, his lymph nodes are swollen but his condition is being held in check be a course of steroids.

It seems that there is nothing we can do now but give him the best possible care until the day comes when we have to make a decision to end his suffering too.

Clover ... a sweet and sensitive dog ... will then be alone.

And I worry greatly about that!

Clover, no longer a young dog ... we think she was about 8 or 9 years old when we got her in 2009 ... spent most of her early years locked in the kennels of a puppy breeder in God knows what kind of conditions, and when she arrived here as a foster dog, was accompanied by a whole host of problems. She was afraid of the outdoors. She was scared of parked cars and terrified by moving ones. White vans would make her stop as if paralysed. She would be sick at the very notion of actually getting into a vehicle. Sudden movements or the raising of an arm would make her cringe.

It became very quickly apparent that she was not the kind of dog that most people would want to adopt. 

So, as she seemed to like Sox and Sym, we kept her.

She has always taken her lead from Sox and treats her as ... excuse the expression, dog lovers ... as the Alpha female. She is also devoted to Sym and will follow him anywhere and everywhere. Through both Sym and Sox she has gained a confidence that allows her now to look forward to short car journeys, a walk, a visit to the park and a cuddle with her 'daddy' on the sofa.

She will follow them around the house and settle close to where they settle; always seeking their company; always seeking the comfort they provide.

And I worry about how she will cope when they are no longer around.

How I will cope? 

I know we will both find it hard!

Sym

My boy Sym's cancer has returned!