Lassie: an unexpected death

The family dog, Lassie, died yesterday. Lassie was a border collie that my father and I had brought back from a house he was doing some work in. She'd been in the family for years, like since I was back in secondary school.

Before my father got taken into hospital, he'd remarked on how the dog's health was deteriorating. She had no energy anymore, and had started a disturbing habit of collapsing when walking through fields.

I guess the upheaval around the homestead had become too much for the dog, because yesterday an aunt phoned to say the dog was dead in the back garden, and my sister's dog was barking at it. Of course, my mother and sister have been more or less living in Belfast for the last few weeks. My other sister was looking after the dogs, but had gone to Belfast herself yesterday morning. A neighbour noticed the dog hadn't moved all day and phoned an aunt to get a message through.

After drawing a blank with the rest of the family, she called me. I managed to track down my brother in law Michael and asked him to race home and check if it was true. After 45 minutes, he called to say yes, the dog was dead. I felt so sorry for the poor old mutt, dying alone on the back doorstep.

The next question was what to do with the body? Michael talked about burying her in the back garden, but I asked him to check with a vet about the best way to dispose of a family pet. They recommended a cremation at around £70.00, so he brought the dog out to them.

As of right now, we haven't broken the news to my father. He's holding up reasonably well in hospital, but I'm worried that the upset of his dog dying might affect his condition. I want to check this out with the medical staff at the hospital, but I'm worried that my mother or one of my sisters will blurt it out anyway. I know that he'd want to know if the dog died, but it's such a critical time in his treatment that I wouldn't want to hurt his chances with such a blow.

It's funny though. The day we brought Lassie home, he grumbled all the way back in the car about not wanting a dog. And for the first few years, he was ambivalent about her. Over time though, he grew fond of the dog, and after I left for university, the two became constant companions.

As for me, I'll remember her as a pup, bounding through the long grass in the fields near my childhood home. She was a fantastic dog: obedient and well trained (I'll take some of the credit for that, thanks) and loved to play fetch. In fact, she was obsessive about fetch. She'd find you a stick to throw for her. More than once she'd drag a massive branch down the road in the hopes that we'd throw it for her.

By my estimation, Lassie was easily between 15 and 17 years old, so she had a relatively long life. It's just sad that she was alone when she died. I know my father wouldn't have wanted that.