Born to run

My wife can be a bit impulsive at times. She seems to have no fear of making spur-of-the-moment decisions. In December 2001 we had a pub in Castor, Cambridgeshire and lived there with our ageing Golden Retriever, 'Daisy'. One day she went over to her friend's house and came back with a puppy. Her friend's Parsons Terrier had just had a litter and, when Jane entered the room, one of the puppies clambered out of the bed and stumbled excitedly over towards her. Jane was immediately smitten and, as the puppies were for sale, decided to buy her. We named her 'Doris'. I can't remember exactly why, but it seemed to go well with 'Daisy'.

Daisy was a very patient surrogate mother and never seemed bothered when Doris would grab Daisy's tail in her teeth and swing round in the air as Daisy spun around. I remember the day she arrived, Doris was small enough to sit in the palm of my hand, but it wasn't long before she was big enough to go jogging with me and developed a habit of scampering up me and perching smugly on my shoulder. Her other habits included running off to the village cricket club and returning with long-lost cricket balls that she had found in the bushes. These tough leather balls she then proceeded to rip apart in minutes.

When she was about 6 months old we entered her in the village fête’s terrier race, which, despite being the youngest entrant, she won easily. Then, the next Christmas, she worried us by joining a pack of Fox Hounds as they were just about to start their hunt. She just seemed to get faster and faster. She would run alongside Jane when she was out on her horse and, when I would practice my bowling at cricket, she would start alongside me and still manage to catch the ball before it had bounced twice (although that may be more a reflection of my bowling, rather than Doris' speed).

Even when we bought Daphne, a whippet, as a companion, Doris could (almost) keep up with her. But even more impressive than her outright speed was her stamina; whether it was me riding my bike through Culbin Forest, or Jane riding her horse along the long beaches around Nairn, Doris would continuously run ahead, double back to check that we were keeping up, run ahead again and so on, endlessly running in long loops, so that she must have run at least twice the distance we covered.

Last Christmas, I wrote that the best Christmas present was that, after a week of being ill, Doris recovered. She was soon back out running, and leaping high into the air to catch the water whenever anyone used the hose to water the garden. So it was very worrying when she fell ill again a couple of weeks ago.

Last Wednesday, I was having a good day; three test passes and two new pupils. Then, just before my last lesson, Jane called me to say that Doris had suddenly deteriorated and, the vets not knowing what was wrong, had been put to sleep. Jane brought her home and I had a 90 minute drive home, knowing that I would have to bury her when I got home at 10pm that night.

Apologies if you come here hoping to read about driving instruction in the Highlands. Doubtless you have no interest in my dogs. However, I write this for myself as much as anyone and Doris was such a vital part of my life the last ten years I just wanted to remember her here. We still have Jilly, our black Retriever, and Daphne, the Whippet, and they seem a bit subdued, but there is a big, big void in our house where Doris used to be.

She had a wonderful life and made our life great fun. Doris – The best dog in the world ever (no argument) - R.I.P.