IT’S A DOG’S LIFE – AND IT’S NOT ALWAYS GOOD

It is often said that cats choose their owners, which, if true, would render most of my dog species-confused because at least three of my pack very definitely chose me.

While Blister and Alfie both came from shelters, and Disco came via a woman I once knew, the rest made their way into my life of their own accord.

Bonnie joined my pack four years ago after she was dumped in the hills where I walk most mornings, along with her brother. The puppies were barely three months old at the time. (Bonnie’s brother now has a loving home in the UK).

My former street dog, Target, actually jumped into the front seat of my car after another dog savaged his ear, and he decided enough was enough.

But Pickle – my little Walter Pickle – didn’t just choose me; he saved his life by finding me.

It was five years ago this month that this tiny, half-starved little dog stepped into the road in front of me and collapsed.

I remember the weather had been pretty bad for Cyprus, cold and wet, and it was clear this dog was on his last legs. So, I grabbed the towel from the back of the car – because in those days I didn’t have an Aqueos drying shammy to wipe down the pack – and I took him straight to the vet.

Underneath the mud and the grime, they found a little pocket beagle. He was barely 9 kg, and you could count his ribs. His front legs were wonky, he was missing a toenail, and he was partially sighted in his right eye. There was evidence of an old head wound above the eye socket, but the X-rays gave no further clue as to what this poor dog had been through. Walter also had Ehrlichia, a tick-borne disease that can cause a host of problems, but one which is easily treatable with antibiotics.

Anyway, once he’d been washed and de-ticked, I took him home.

At that point, I only had three dogs, and, to be honest, I wasn’t in the market for more, so I put the feelers out to find Walter a place to go to. In turn, Walter pretty much slept and slept and slept that first day at mine. He was too exhausted to even be frightened anymore.

That night, I took his box up to my bedroom to better keep an eye on him.

In the distance I could hear another storm rolling in over the sea. An hour later, the heavens opened, the thunder cracked and the rain hammered down. There was no way Walter would have survived another night in the open, not in that kind of weather, and I think he knew it too. In the middle of the night, I felt the bottom of the bed move slightly, and this skin-and-bone dog quietly inched his way up to lie by my side. That’s when I knew he wasn’t going anywhere else.

Walter washome.