Eric's Online Diary: My beautiful dog is dead

We had to have Gravel put down on Monday evening. It was the right thing to do, but it was still a very hard decision to take.

In this life, you’re lucky to be able to spend time with maybe half a dozen dogs. I came to dog ownership quite late (I was 41 when we got Jack) and I sometimes wish we’d had a dog earlier. They are wonderful creatures with so many great qualities and Gravel was one of the best.

We got him soon after Jack died. I missed having a dog so badly that I was keen to have another as soon as possible. I looked at a border collie rescue website but we couldn’t get one, I went to Wood Green but there was nothing suitable and then I saw a Springer Spaniel at a dog pound in Wisbech (Whizzy) and wanted him.

By the time Margaret had said yes (a couple of days) Whizzy had been rehomed, but I had decided we should have a Springer and I found one called Gravel on a rescue site. Gravel wasn’t getting on with another dog and his owner wanted to be rid of him. She lived in Weston-super-Mare in Somerset and it would have been a couple of weeks before I could get down there to collect him.

She wouldn’t wait that long, so I offered to meet her halfway and I first saw Gravel at Birmingham South service area on the M42. I’d driven down in Margaret’s car (a Ford Focus) and because I didn’t know what I was getting, I’d taken a cage and put Gravs in that to bring him home.

The woman I got him from had also rescued him. He was called George when she got him but she’d had a daughter called Georgina (George for short) so there was some confusion. George the dog was renamed Gravel, but the owner worked full time and I don’t think he was getting the exercise or attention that he needed and wasn’t happy. They got a second dog because they thought that two dogs would be company for each other, but of course, they were twice the trouble and I think they conspired to destroy the house and fight.

He went into my car as good as gold and sat there without a whimper all the way home. When we got him home, he ran all round the kitchen and lounge sniffing everything, drank a bowl of water and slopped it everywhere and then ran up and down the garden like a complete looney! We wondered what we had taken on.

Gravel arrived with few possessions - a hard rubber ball and a plastic rugby ball. We soon found out why. Jack used to treat his squeaky toys with much love, Gravel just tore his to pieces and ate them. It didn’t take him long to find toys that Jack had hidden around the garden and it was a battle to get to them and throw them away before Gravel added them to his diet.

It was clear that Gravel was a lovely natured dog, but looking back, he was quite nervous in his new surroundings and there was a little odd behaviour; in particular, sitting on the table. We’d go out with him sitting happily in his basket and come back to find him sitting on the kitchen table. He jumped down immediately when told, but it was a really odd thing to do and (thankfully) he soon stopped getting onto the kitchen table, although until he died, he liked nothing more than to lie on the table on the patio.

After a muddy walk across the fen, a hosing down is needed

Gravel showed no aggression towards other dogs whatsoever and (unlike Jack) he loved people. He greeted everyone with a waggy tail, he expected everyone to love him, which they generally did. His waggy tail was hilarious. Like many Springers, his tail had been docked but he wagged it with a vigour that took over his whole body. This was a dog that shook his booty! When he heard someone coming, it would twitch a couple of times, then wag and stop before it went up to full speed. It was very expressive.

Gravel was a show-type Springer, a little larger than a working Springers and a bigger dog than Jack, who was Border Collie/Labrador cross. Despite his size, he was a lapdog at heart and loved to sit on your knee or on the chair leaning against you.

Max was at Nottingham university when we got Gravel. He had come with me when we had to have Jack put down and it was a pretty traumatic experience for the both of us; so when we got a new dog, he was very keen to see it and came home with new girlfriend Inna (now his wife, of course). Gravel and Max bonded immediately - we said it was because they were both daft youths. Gravel got a mention in Max’s wedding speech, which shows what a big part of the family he was.

There are a few things about Springer Spaniels that everyone should be warned about before getting one.

They love to swim, especially in dirty, muddy water.
They don’t always come back when you want them to. They generally come back in the end (but not always).
They will chase, catch (if they can) and eat anything with feathers on. Rabbits are also fair game.
They are always hungry and will eat anything.

I don’t think Gravel had been exercised very much. When we got him his pads were pink and after our first long walk, he came back and was twitching his paws - I think his pads were humming. They soon hardened to a dusty, crusty grey. He didn’t need any swimming lessons. If he saw water, he’d be straight in and he was a really strong swimmer. If the water was clear, he’d put his head under to have a look at the bottom (I’d never seen a dog do that before).

He’s plunged into fast-flowing rivers and into deep lakes. On one walk in Rutland, he set off after some swans across this large lake and only gave up and came back after much frantic recall whistling. He must have been 150 yards into the lake (and it was freezing).

If the water was not deep enough, he was happy to plunge and paddle. Muddy dirty dykes in the fens were a speciality and he’d often choose to paddle along the bottom of the dyke, while I walked alongside. He never worried about the cold, it was heat that he disliked, and he was quite happy to run along a dyke cracking the ice with each step.

Spaniels have webbed toes like wolves, who have the adaptation to stop them sinking into snow. For Spaniels, it means they effectively have little flippers when they swim, so they can crack along at a fair pace.

Recall seems to be a problem with all Springers. It seems to me that their nose is the dominant sensory organ and once they get an interesting scent, they focus on that to the extent that all other thoughts go out of their head. Gravel never got lost, but there were times when I didn’t know where he was and when my walks lasted longer than anticipated. More often, we’d walk him on an extended lead with a horse’s lunge line to make it even longer, so he could have a good run. I worked hard at recall training in the early years, but we got him when he was three years old and I think the bad habits were too ingrained. Whistles and treats often worked, but not always. We tried dog training classes, which were good fun, but ineffective as far as recall was concerned. One day I went into the gun shop in Whittlesey to look for some new wellies and I saw a DVD on how to train your Springer Spaniel. It was £28 and I was weighing up whether it would be worthwhile when another customer saw me. He asked if I had a Springer and I said I did. He nodded sympathetically and said I should have got a labrador. “You know the old saying,” he said. “Labradors are born half-trained, Springer Spaniels die half-trained.”

Our walks were generally across fenland and, depending on nesting birds (skylarks and lapwings) I’d give him a run. We also let him off by the seaside where he would chase seagulls all day and generally also find a dead seal washed up on the beach.

The worse problem with recall was if he’d caught something. Gravel would have been top of Springer Spaniel school for springing game, but bottom when it came to retrieval. Sometimes he’d catch something, generally a pigeon, but also the odd rabbit and once (infamously) a chicken from the farm at Toneham. He’d get the unfortunate quarry and not want to give it up (or come back to you in case you took it off him). In later years, I was able to train him to stay and therefore get back to him and put him on the lead.

One of the first times I walked him, I let him off in the cow field (no cows) and he caught a dozy rabbit. He was very pleased with himself but wouldn’t come back to me. I could get to 20 feet from him as he settled down to dismember the creature, but then he upped and ran off. I tried everything - calling him back, walking away, ignoring him and finally, in frustration, chased him around the field, through the hedge and into the next field before he was caught. I think it was only because it was getting dark and he wanted his dinner that he gave up.

Another time, Margaret and I were in the park and there were a few pigeons around on the grass. Gravel set off after one and it took off immediately. We both said “stupid dog thinks it can catch a pigeon”. Gravel knew better - the pigeon flew low and settled in a conifer with Gravel in pursuit; he charged into the tree, shook the pigeon off its perch and it dropped pretty much straight into his open mouth. That was great amusement, but then followed a replay of the rabbit incident. This time we got him back when I threw his lead at him, he dropped he pigeon and ran off and I managed to get to the pigeon before he did. Once I had the pigeon, the rest was easy!

I will say nothing about the chicken incident; it is well documented and still something of a blot. Needless to say, the posh London couple that bought the farmhouse at Toneham, gave up their free-range chicken flock soon afterwards. I’m just grateful that Margaret wasn’t on that walk.

Gravel loved the seaside. Wide Norfolk beaches, he was not too fond of swimming in the sea (it didn’t taste right) but always lots of seagulls to chase near the shoreline. At Hunstanton one winter’s day, we had a six or eight-mile walk and Gravel must have run a marathon distance. We thought he’d have to tire, but he didn’t; not as long as there was a flock of seagulls to be scattered. We thought he’d be pooped and he did sit good in the car on the way home. When we got home, he went into the back garden, dived through the hedge into the field and caught a pigeon.

Apart from his really nice nature, we’ll remember Gravel as a true trencherman. He loved his food and looked forward to breakfast and dinner. He would eat anything and, although he wasn’t too fond of tomatoes, raw onion or lettuce, he’d give it a go. No left-overs are wasted when you have a Springer Spaniel in the house.

Despite his love of food, he wasn’t a committed thief and dishes left on the worksurfaces were generally pretty safe. Holly, our other Springer, will take whatever is within range but Gravel was generally happy to wait until a taste was offered. The one occasion where I remember him turning to crime was a pre-Christmas dinner at Sam and Lucy’s where Lucy had made a massive chocolate-covered Yule log. It was sitting at the centre of the table and we were enjoying a pre-meal chat when someone noticed Gravel, paws on table, licking the end of the log.

Apart from food and chasing anything with feathers, his other love was getting upstairs onto the bed. We let the dogs up each morning and if Gravel found the hall door open, he’d often sneak upstairs and be found stretched out on our bed looking very happy indeed.

Gravel was in great health up to this year. We’d noticed him putting on weight and his belly getting swollen. After a few visits, the vets diagnosed a large tumor and he had a major operation in March. The tumor had weighed around 3kg, so it was as if he’d been carrying a baby inside him. The biopsy showed it was an aggressive, malignant growth that would be likely to return, but once Gravel had recovered from the operation, he was back to his old self and full of life.

He had a wonderful summer, it was one full of happiness for all of us; he was christened Gravito by Tom’s girlfriend Lucia and was taught a number of commands in Spanish which he mastered extremely quickly.

Sadly, in the past week, we’d noticed his belly was swelling again. There wouldn’t be another life-prolonging operation. He was still happy, but not moving as comfortably as he should and when Margaret took him for a walk on Monday and he was looking to turn around and come home, we knew that the game was up. The dog who could run a marathon and still catch a pigeon was now unable to make it to the park.

The vet confirmed what we already knew. The cancer had entered his liver and there was nothing to be done. He was still wagging his tail until the last. He jumped into the car expecting to go home and the vet administered the lethal dose of anaesthetic in there. He was dead in less than 30 seconds. I’m pleased he didn’t suffer, but devastated to be without him.

We brought him home, wrapped him in a blanket and curled him up in his basket, limp and lifeless but looking for all the world as if he was asleep. On Tuesday morning Margaret and I dug his grave in the garden in a spot where he would spend hours looking into my sister (auntie’s) garden for cats or pigeons to bark at. We buried him in his basket, still curled up with two squeaky toys and a half-eaten bone as his grave goods. Before we put him in the grave, I lifted the blanket for one last stroke of his beautiful soft head, then covered him up and said a last goodbye.

Adios Gravito. You were a beautiful dog; it was a privilege to have spent six years with you. I wish it could have been more.