Category: Needs photo

When cutting up meat on the chopping board – be that tenderising beef, dicing anything, or chopping Timothy’s own lamb heart, Tim would always get the job of licking the wooden chopping board.

If there were chunks of meat, he’d of course take those first, but he’d then lick every bit of the board that had any meat on it.

He’d take full charge of and control of the board – sometimes standing on it with one paw to stop it escaping, and sometimes he’d stand on it with all four feed – he’d look like he was on a raft!

He took it seriously though – he was completely focused on his job.  He never returned to the chopping board – he always finished it properly, first time.

Timothy loved a bit of meat.  When cooking something with diced or minced beef from a plastic supermarket tray, he’d expect a cut for himself.

We’d squash a bit of mince into the corner of the plastic film and drop a couple of bits of meat into the tray.  He’d push the tray around the kitchen floor while fishing everything out.

Most importantly though, AFTER that meat, no matter the nice smells coming from the cooker, he’d leave us to it: he knew that was his bit, so he wouldn’t pester for more.

As much as Timothy loved being with us, and as cosy as he liked to be with blankets, he didn’t THAT often actually want to sit on our laps.

When he was younger, as we all sat in the living room he’d only properly settle if I was there too – but even then, very rarely sat on or with me.  He would regularly sit on Annette’s lap, but not mine.

As he got older and more comfortable and confident, he’d nearly always sit on a chair on his own.  A different one each time, no set chair, unless there was a blanket on one chair and no other – then he’d pick that one.

Towards the end of his life, he’d have the WHOLE three-seater sofa to himself with a blanket at one end, his bed in the middle, and the bare leather seat at the other end.  He’d move between all three in an evening.

If either of us were in the “wrong” seat, most often Annette, he’d pace around looking at the crap seats and turf us out of the way.  Regularly – nearly every time in fact – if we got up for something, he’d be in OUR seat when we got back.  We never minded of course, we just wanted him to be comfortable and happy.

Dogs are allowed on the underground.  The Underground goes to Heathrow Airport… but dogs are NOT allowed in the airport.  We’d been to meet people before, and left Timothy at home, but (and not just when he was getting old) we liked to take him with us as much as we could: because HE loved to go with us whenever he could.

So we took him on the Underground to Heathrow one day.  It was before his “dog in a bag” days, but we had already by then snuck him into a couple of places in a bag.  He didn’t have a specific bag at the time, just whichever bag we had available that was about the right size for him.

While at Heathrow, I kept him in a bag of course, hiding him on the other side of my legs whenever we were near anyone.  A BA-uniformed lady approached us beside a glass balcony wall somewhere by a lift or escalator.  We thought we were in trouble… but no!  It was the charm of Timothy: she stopped us to ask if she could take a photo because she loved what she saw!

We floated around the airport after that.  He went back to Heathrow a couple of times after that, the same way, too.  Whenever he got to go somewhere like that – where there are lots of people and no other dogs, he’d always make the most of it: twisting and turning his head to see everything and to make sure he took it all in.  He never tried to get out – I’m sure because he knew that the bag was the safest, and only, way to stay there.

In the week after Tim died, I started going for a walk on my own.  I remember taking Timothy on longer “Saturday walks” down Torrington Road, past Ruislip Gardens, South Ruislip station, and back via Victoria Road.  He always wanted a carry after Ruislip Gardens and then again somewhere along Station Approach. It wasn’t because he couldn’t walk, but either his heart was racing or he got disappointed that we didn’t go into the station to catch a train.

Another route we took was through the Torrington Road width restriction and up towards Ruislip – either passing the station and vets, or longer via the War Memorial at the duck pond.  We went that way a lot in the ice around Christmas when Annette went to Singapore one year.

Everytime I walk through the width restriction and turn right towards Ruislip I always remember Tim in the ice with me in my massive duffle coat: he was so eager to keep going, and had a much better grip than I did.

It snowed and was very cold in the week after Timothy died.  I went out into the garden as usual to clear the snow for the hens and to give them water in place of their ice.

It was one of the sad times to see something without Timothy for the first time: we’d normally either go outside together, or he’d go outside first and I’d follow.  It was the first time for years that I had to break into the snow: normally I’d be following his paw prints.

He didn’t mind snow, he didn’t seem to have much opinion at all on it really.  He never refused to go out in it, even as much as he would for heavy rain.  He did, though, want a biscuit after having his feet wiped when coming in.  Probably as much for the wipe down as the biscuit – he liked being dried with his back against me as I wiped each paw and scrubbed his underneath dry.

Three of my favourite photos of Tim are not necessarily the best we have of him, nor of the best times, but thet are the ones I like even when he was still around – so I treasure them even more now that he’s not.

Outside the bakery

He was often tied up to the old red metal bench (since removed) outside the baker’s while I went in – he could always see me, and I could always see him: the doors were usually open, but were glass anyway.  It had been snowing, and he waited in the snow.  When I came back out, he wanted to get walking ASAP so gave a bark  The photo caught a bit of his breath against the cold air.  Later I edited out his lead so the picture has just him in it.

Weymouth harbour bridge

It was so sunny that he had his eyes closed, but he had already surveyed his surroundings from the elevated spot.  The photo shows him sunbathing – it shows his “superior royal” pose.

Tongue out playing on the lawn

He played so rarely, but really had a good run and enjoyed that afternoon on a sunny day.  He’d chased up and down the garden a lot, after multiple squeaky toys.  The photo captures his big smile that he had every time he was that hot and so happy.

Soon after Timothy first moved in with us, I took him back to Selby to see my mum twice in a couple of months – and both times we went via Hull Trains from Kings Cross direct to Selby.

The first time on the Hull Train was THE first time Timothy had been back to Selby – so it was a bit like a “test” to make sure that we had not done anything wrong or that he’d put on too much weight etc.  A member of the train crew said hello to Tim and asked where we were going.  I told her about feeling a bit like we were being checked up on, and she said Timothy looked nice and happy so she was sure we’d be fine.

The next time, a couple of months later, the same train crew lady recognised us, and remembered why we were travelling.  She said hello again and said she was pleased to see we were doing well.

She must’ve been on hundreds of train journeys since the first time she saw us, but she still remembered Timothy.

Parks and the countryside bored Timothy.  He was not bothered with walking along a canal or around a lake.  He would, but only as a favour to us.  When I’d take him on the bus to Ruislip Lido, he enjoyed the bus ride WAY more than the walk around the lake.

Once he even tried to get back on the bus as we passed it: we were not on the way home, only walking past a bus which was waiting at a bus stop: the door was open, so he got on!

He MUCH preferred city walks in busy placed – the smells there must be much more interesting.  Station concourses like Kings Cross, I’m positive, were his favourite places.  He loved going on trains – he’d get to look out of the window AND stay with me for hours at a time – but even walking through a busy station, he’d enjoy that.

With his orange hi-viz harness on, and sniffing at bags and trolleys, people must have thought that he was working as a drugs sniffer dog.  no: just being nosey.