Well, this is new (to me)...

I seem to make a lot of these 'Hello, I'm back' posts and then I disappear again because I got distracted. Sorry about that, I've been all over the place lately - in my head, rather than anywhere physical.

Distractions have been a new grandson, husband's new job, illness - getting better, thankfully - and general family stuff.

My main distraction has been four-legged.

Last year, we watched as our beloved Rottie, Bear got older and more frail and just before Christmas, we made the difficult decision to say goodbye. He was having difficulty standing up, lying down, walking, turning around - pretty much every part of his life involved pain of some sort. At 12 years old - the equivalent of more than 100 in Big Dog years - we couldn't allow him to spend his days and nights in pain.

Bear as a puppy, meeting Ninus. We had Ninus for only a few more weeks after this picture was taken.

And we still miss him.
I still feel guilty for taking him to the vet and having him put to sleep. He was a lovely dog, loyal, faithful, brave - in fact all the qualities you could want in a dog.

Excuse me for a moment, I have something in my eye...

The Vet wanted to know why we'd brought him in because he looked so alert and well. I learned from our previous Rottie, Ninus that they are better in themselves when they have no pain (he was also put to sleep because he had bone cancer). I told Bear's vet that he looked OK because he was hopped up on Ibuprofen. She was concerned because the drug is NOT GOOD for dogs - it's a poison.
"It won't matter today," I said.
She nodded because she understood then.

He was alert to the end and we waited with him whilst the sedation took hold and he slowly fell asleep for the last time.

I didn't take pictures of him when he'd gone, it didn't seem the right thing to do. When he fell asleep for the last time, all the pain melted from his face and he looked like the huge, magnificent cuddly Bear we knew he was.
I realised then that we'd made the right decision. It's always the hardest thing in the world to say goodbye but we couldn't, in all conscience, let our big, brave Bear suffer any more.

Collecting myself

The other 4-legged distractions arrived out of the blue, going into Autumn last year.

Mia, our granddaughter asked if we'd take her horse riding. My answer was an immediate Yes!

I contacted a friend from my childhood who I knew had horses and we arranged to go up to visit at her stable yard a few miles from our home.

She said we were welcome to go up anytime and we made arrangements to take Mia. She couldn’t wait! The only thing my friend, Bev told me was her horses are both 16+ hands and she hoped Mia wouldn’t be too scared.

I was of the opinion that if she was scared of them, she wouldn’t want to go back, she wouldn’t take up horse riding as a hobby and therefore, it wouldn’t cost Grandma and Grandad a fortune.

We met Bev and her horses, Maverick and Aramis – two HUGE horses.

Of course, Mia fell instantly in love.

All we got from her after that was, “When can we go up to see Maverick again?”

Oh boy…

Also on the same yard were a pair of Shetland ponies, Twinkle and Twix, a mother and daughter pair that belonged to another family. The Shetlands were in their own paddock with sparse grass, and a green, slime-covered water container. Bev often put out hay for those two ponies as well as her own two because the family didn’t visit every day and Bev felt sorry for the bedraggled ponies.

Mia saw them and went to talk to them when she visited, but because they didn’t belong to Bev, we didn’t have much to do with them.

Then, I got the message I’d been dreading.
‘The woman that owns Twinkle and Twix has asked if I know anyone who’d buy them. She’s getting rid.’

I text my hubby, our son and our daughter.

‘Bev said the Shetlands are for sale…’

The answers that came back were:

Hubby: No.
NO!

Daughter: No, Mum!

Son: I don’t know where you’re going with this, but NO!

I told Bev I couldn’t. Then I said, “But if you buy them, I’ll help out in any way I can.”

The beginning of the end…

We worked out a deal. I’d pay £10 per week for Twinkle’s upkeep and Mia could have to pony on ‘loan’ for as long as she wanted. For me, that was a win-win situation. I didn’t own the pony, but Mia could ride her whenever she wanted to all for a bargain price of a tenner a week. And so that’s what we agreed. Hubby was reluctant and Son said he’d not be responsible for looking after the pony even if we went on holiday, which was fine because Bev already said she’d continue doing what she’d been doing and so Bev bought the Shetlands.

Over the next few weeks, we went up to the stables often and I spoke to Bev via messenger. She told me of her concerns for the big old boy, Maverick. He was 22 years old and hadn’t been well. Bev had been trying to get him better over the summer, but even with astronomical vet’s bills, he wasn’t improving and she was looking at saying goodbye to him. Bev showed me where her other horses had been buried and she pointed out the area she’d allocated for Maverick when his time comes.

My heart dropped to my toes! Not only had Mia fallen in love with him, so had I. In the few weeks we’d been visiting (in all weathers), we’d grown really fond of him.

“What can we do?” I asked.
“There’s not much we can do, chick,” Bev said. “They could benefit from being stabled over the worst of the winter, I suppose.”
“OK, let’s do that!” I said.
Bev shook her head. “I can’t do it. I work and can only get up to them once a day, so I can’t put them in their stables. I come up after I finish work and that’s sometimes 10pm.”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “They’ll get used to me eventually and I’ll be able to manage visiting a couple of times a day.”

I think Bev thought I was a bit touched and wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me. We got a new padlock for the gate and gave Bev a key so I can come and go whenever I needed to. She was very trusting of me, considering we’d lost touch back in the 80s.

To be continued...