Category: Memories

We sometimes go to Rayners Lane to buy a big 10 kilo sack of rice, some vegetables for making curry, and then to the Medina Butcher for a kilo of diced lamb.

When buying meat from the butcher we’d ask for “a bone for the dog” and they would wrap up a couple in a blue carrier bag.

Timothy KNEW that the bag was for him.  he knew what going to that butcher’s meant.  After a few times, he even knew how to GET to the butchers from outside Rayners Lane tube station.

Rayners Lane is a busy and dirty dump of a place really, but Timothy loved it – not just for the butcher – but also the smells all along the rest of the street.

Once his bones and our meat were in a carrier bag, he’d walk more quickly, keep his nose on the bag, and if Annette was carrying the bag, he’d stick right bit it all the way home.  He’d pull on his lead down out street, race inside, and wait in the kitchen, barking, asking for his bone.  He’d done his shopping, got it home, and wanted to get stuck in.

Starting about five years before he died, people took photos of their dogs outside polling stations and posted them on Twitter with the hastag #dogsatpollingstations.  Timothy, of course, joined in.

We have photos from at least two elections – outside the Ruislip Manor library with the “Polling Station” signs.  We used the photos on his calendars for the May page, too.

We of course never left him in his bag unattended, and but for a couple of seconds if walking somewhere tricky, would never even break eye contact with him while he was hung somewhere.  he liked the reassurance that we were still looking out for him while he was hanging.

His polling station photos had him in his bag, but two of us went together to the polling station we only ever went to actually vote one at a time – we’d never have left Timothy unattended in his bag.

One of the great Timothy photos is of him RUNNING like a greyhound down a station platform to catch a train.  I don’t remember where we were going, but we were all together for the whole day: one of Timothy’s favourite things.

He was so game and eager to get on the train that when we started to run, he immediately picked up the pace and ran flat out.  I’m so glad that I took those photos – even though it was tricky to capture: he really did love trains

Two times, the only two I ever recall, Timothy did actually steal something that he shouldn’t have had, and KNEW it.  They were both when he was young, and hadn’t been with us for ages and ages.

Once we’d bought some fresh croissants from the baker’s.  There was one left, so we put it back in its paper bag, and put THAT in a clear plastic sandwich bag.

We went out, leaving the croissant on the dining table.  When we got home, there was a soggy paper bag in shreds on the floor of the living room, and croissant crumbs all over.  Timothy had eaten the WHOLE thing!

We didn’t tell him off, knowing he’d not understand why, but also, we were a bit proud of him for not just having got to the croissant, but for having opened the plastic bag, got through the paper bag, and eaten the whole croissant – on the carpet, where it was comfy.

The second time was similar, but it was a half-pound block of chilli seeded cheese.  That’s when we learned that Timothy didn’t mind a bit of chilli – he ate the WHOLE BLOCK of cheese.  The only evidence was the few chilli seeds that had fallen out and got stuck in the carpet.  That night, as with the croissant night, he STILL asked for his dinner as normal.  How can you not br proud of that?!

Timothy had a “Come on England” t-shirt for the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Even though he loved wearing clothes and knows nothing about football, you can tell from the look on his face, he knows that cheering on England is a complete waste of time.

This is one of his “For fuck’s sake!” faces. He had many.

Written January 2011

Maverick and Meatball came to stay yesterday morning.

Lucy drove down from Liverpool and left them both here while she took the tube into London for an interview.  I took Meatball and Timothy out on a walk to the tube station with her, and then round the block: they didn’t much mind each other… Meatball didn’t really want to be out but was just walking so that she could get back inside and Timothy was out as normal and ignored her completely.

Meatball never asked to stop for a sniff, but sniffed whenever we stopped.  Timothy was as normal, from side to side sniffing everything he wanted to.  He complained only once, while we were stopped outside the tube station he was sniffing a bit of wall and Meatball dared sniff the same bit – so he wanted me to know he got to the wall first.  Other than that, I might as well have only had one dog with me.

After we got home, they were both loose in the living room and still ignoring each other.  Meatball decided to either play rough or to give Timothy a piece of her mind, so they tumbled and barked in a blur.  Timothy wouldn’t go near Meatball again after that, he didn’t even want his ball while she was around, and wouldn’t come into the office with me while she was (in her cage) under my desk.  She busted out of the cage (breaking three cable ties!) so after that was left in the conservatory.

By then, Timothy had Poorly Eye.

Lucy came back around 7pm and Meatball went with her.

First thing this morning, Timothy came downstairs with me and would only go into the conservatory with me, but while I had his back, he approached the empty cage and checked there was nothing in it.  He’d not go too close though, and had all of his weight on his back legs so he could escape if he needed to.

Happy that there was no-one in it, mid-morning he went and ate the biscuits near the cage.

Maverick is here until Saturday evening, and is better behaved than Meatball, and also better behaved than he was last time he was here.

When we went somewhere Timothy couldn’t go, we left him with a few people he knew or who he had met before.  My mum (his mum, originally) obviously, but also our neighbours Barbara and Janet, our ex-post lady Marian, and my friends/customers Tony and his daughter Ann.

Most recently he also stayed for a day with Jody when we were going to go to Silverstone for WEC – we didn’t actually go in the end, but she was so looking forward to Timothy’s visit that he went over anyway.

That was the first endurance race that I’d watched without Timothy – and the first of any race including F1 for a long, long time that I’d not watched with him.  He liked watching racing because it was a time that I’d sit still with him for hours on end.  He preferred that people sit still and didn’t keep escaping his watch.  During that race, I ended up following it on the radio and painting the fence in the front garden: he’d complain that I wasn’t inside, not settle well in a bed in the garden, and keep asking to come in and out otherwise.

After Timothy had his teeth cleaned at the vets in Borehamwood, we followed the lady vet’s advice and got Timothy to “clean his teeth” with raw chicken wings.

It was a chore that he didn’t mind doing at all.  Sometimes we bought a bag or box of wings, but usually just gave him the wings from a whole chicken.  We’d but a chicken to chop up and cook with, or to roast, and took the wings from that for him.

He KNEW when we’d bought a chicken, and would press his nose against the bottom drawer of the fridge whenever we opened it, reminding us of his share – making it hard to close the fridge door.

Chopping each wing into halves, he’d have a bit of wing each day for four days from each chicken.  He had his last wing at lunchtime on his last full day: I “dropped” it on the kitchen floor.  He sniffed it, yawned, and looked up at me to check that taking it was OK.  I told him that he was good, he asked no questions, picked it up, and skipped into the living room.  Once finished; he’d always follow it with a big drink of water.

When we chopped any meat on the chopping board, Timothy would expect to be able to help by “cleaning” it.  We’d leave as much blood and as many well-spread-out scraps of meat as we could.

If he was getting particularly stuck in, he’d stand ON the chopping board to make sure that it didn’t get away.

He’d lick the board rather than it his dinner, given the choice, so we made sure never to confuse matters by offering both at the same time: if his dinner went soggy because the biscuits had absorbed the stock or jelly, he’d often reject it – holding out for a fresh serving.  And he’d get one.