There’s a young lady missing from our columnist’s home this week – a cute, determined little King Charles, who never made it into her teenage years, and has left a major hole to fill in the Timoleague household
• WE’RE a woman down in our household this week. Our loyal canine pal of nearly 13 years, our dog Darcy, has moved on, gone to her eternal reward and we’re all very lonely.
I can vividly remember the day we got her. My now husband, then boyfriend, had arranged it as a surprise – one that I was more than dubious about. I love dogs, but wasn’t convinced I needed a puppy (and all the mayhem they cause) in my life. Anyway, one warm July Sunday afternoon in 2011, we met her owners in Tralee and she was officially ours (and we never again spoke of her being originally a Kerry woman).
• She slept on my lap most of the way home and it was love at first sight. My husband later admitted it was all designed to lure me from the ‘big smoke’ of Cork city, back West and it worked a charm. Cute puppies are harder to resist than boyfriends! And she was very cute. A black and brown King Charles with curly ears, who looked like butter wouldn’t melt, but who was never happier than when out farming or rolling in something unmentionable in the fields.
• She was our original fur baby. When I think back now at how much of a pity I was for her, I’m almost embarrassed. At the time my husband had a bar and worked late, so Darcy, naturally, slept with me. And so she wouldn’t be on her own when we were out during the day, I’d drop her to my parents on route to work (taking a handy detour at 5am), and collect her on the way home. They also loved her, and my mum, the original dog whisperer, can take full credit for training her.
• When our own baby arrived nearly eight years ago, like all new parents ,we were worried how she’d react. Hah! Far better than us! Like everything, she took it all in her little stride and the two of them were the best of pals. We took her to a dog show in Timoleague Festival once, but to be honest it wasn’t her scene. And I’m not just being a poor loser. She was a thoroughbred but a bit of a ruff ‘n’ tumble one!
She was far happier taking part in the fancy dress – sitting in the passenger seat with whoever was driving the float, her head cocked out the window, taking it all in. Probably the only thing that drove me nuts about her was that she was a terror at following us in the car, and her stamina was unreal. I don’t know how many times I thought I had left her behind for dust, only to see her in the village shortly afterwards, trying to sniff us out.
• On one memorable occasion a few years ago, I was on my way back after picking up from playschool, when I noticed a bit of a traffic jam (unusual for my neck of the woods), yes, all caused by Darcy. She had been holding up a line of cars, and a concerned motorist had tempted her into their arms with a donut. It was quite the sight, even if I was absolutely mortified.
In more recent years, her girly cuteness had faded a little (like us all). She had got a little broader (I can identify), and she had all but two of her teeth removed due to gum disease. But we saw past all that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all the rest. Once, though, we were out walking when a woman with two other King Charles’ in their prime, passed us and said loudly: ‘Did you see that awful looking dog?’. Well, I nearly had to be restrained. I was outraged! The cheek of her! Darcy got an extra donut that night.
• This past year, she’d slowed down a lot. Before, she’d leap into the car or onto your lap in a single bound, now the two steps down into the living room had to be taken with great care, but she got there eventually. She’d settle on the rug with a deep exhale and spend hours napping away, snoring loudly. The subtle sound of the fridge door opening, though, would move her every single time. I’d often try and do it quietly so as not to disturb her, but no, up she’d plod and look hopefully at me for some ham or cheese. I’d always oblige. What’s life without cheese?
Darcy as a puppy.
• The past few weeks, though, she stopped coming to the fridge. And when Santa’s treats didn’t really interest her, we got a bit concerned. She was a great girl for her breakfast (something else we had in common) and would tuck in with gusto, sometimes looking for seconds. So when she didn’t touch her dish for two mornings in a row, I got that sinking feeling. She was also strangely taking off down the field, admittedly not getting very far, and having to be helped back home.
• She spent a night in the vets, who did their absolute best for her (thanks to Conor in Riverview, Bandon), and she came home for a final night with us so we could all say goodbye.
• To be honest I think she was freaked out what with all the fussing and rubbing and petting! On her last morning she tried to head off down the field again, her legs going from under her, which apparently is common for dogs who are ready to move on. So, while we weren’t ready to say goodbye to Darcy, I think she was. Her body was giving up on her.
There was only one grandchild in our family that pre-dated her, and looking back at photos this past week, it was a real reminder how long she’s been part of the family. There’s pictures of her with all my nephews at various ages, my own daughter, the other dogs our extended families have had, and my dad who for some unknown reason dubbed her the ‘Black Widow.’
• On occasion she’d head off in his van with him on a job, mostly without my knowing, as I was far too precious, and they had great adventures together, most of which I’m sure I was never told. She was a link to all that past, and it’s emotional to see that broken. Naturally enough, we’re all a bit lonesome in ourselves. I really miss seeing her head appear around the corner as soon as I come into the kitchen in the morning, taking a stretch and looking at me impatiently to be served.
• I never thought I’d say it but I miss her snoring. I miss her scratching the door to be left in and left out. I miss her poking my leg under the table at dinner time. She was a great dog – independent and pretty self-sufficient – who always gave more than she got. Darcy, we’ll miss you girl.
