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Darling Sarah
There is no way to say it except that Mungo is dead. We found him dead last
night outside the spare room window. It was quite dreadful. The whole day
had been dreadful. Now Bingy is gone and today is dreadful. As you can
imagine I can hardly see to type this to you. I feel like the end, but I
know it is only an end. I just feel so wretched about the way he died, all
alone outside the house, because, because, because... I will try and tell
you.
I am supposed to be in court today, Saturday, but (after having got suited
up, etc!) the clerk phoned to say that there weren't any prisoners in the
cells to be dealt with for the week-end, so I didn't have to come in. Pity
in a way, because for a few hours it would have taken my mind off it.
Well, yesterday, Friday, 13th start with my email going down. I was hours
on the phone to MSN and then they finally recommended a re-install. Half
way through the CD-Rom packed up and I couldn't go on with the re-install.
So I then got hold a new friend who is a trader and lives in Chalfont (he
wrote the foreword to my manual) and I went to collect him at around 7.00pm
and then took him back at around 9.30pm, getting back here at around 10.00pm
with Tony Dawes from across the way chasing me down the lane. Tony had
come to help me out of my difficulties - which he did, until midnight.
Meanwhile, Issy was in the grooming room all evening, having fed Mungo and
Charlie at 5.30pm. We had a snatch dinner as Tony Dawes arrived and never
missed Mungo. Issy eventually left Tony and me to it and went to bed. I
then went over and took the biscuit with Mungo's pills on and his chew
upstairs - only he wasn't there. I looked downstairs, thinking he must be
in the drawing room. Then the children's room, spare room, Muff's
department. No Mungo. So I got the torch. Issy got up and went over to
the dogs to get the big torch and eventually we found him outside the spare
room, cold, stiff and dead. He must have died hours before. I feel so
awful that he died like that, all alone and horrid. It is just so awful.
Anyway, as I write I am charging up the digger, which hasn't been used for
ages. From all the rain, rain, rain of recent days and weeks, it is now
sunny and bright. Not very warm, but no over cold either. We are full of
dogs and now, within the last ten minutes, Chester has arrived to cause his
usual chaos amongst dogs.
The launch of my manual went very well. Seems a lifetime ago. I have
already sold and received money for eleven copies and have covered my costs,
which is something. You will be able to take your copy back with you at
Christmas time. Meanwhile, there is a trickle of inquiries and people
getting their cheques to the Harris Bank of Chicago - about half there and
the other half in England. You will shortly have to revisit the
www.dbceuro.com web site, and see the new layout for the manual and the
'hidden' page which will require a free password to access - designed as a
sort of further tuition as it were, for manual purchasers.
O Sarah, I can't do anything other than think of Bingy. I miss him terribly
already. This morning coming down and not doing his pills for the day. Not
taking him over to feed the hens and give him the cornflakes (which we had
run out of and I was going to get some more today - but luckily we had some
weetabix, which I kept on the shelf). Not seeing him scamper around doing
his bounce, because he couldn't walk properly. Not seeing him snuffling
around, with his tail hanging round. Standing like he used to, looking
like Eeyore (can't remember how to spell it) in his gloomy place.
Yesterday he was fine. Just fine. The evening before, we had him in the
drawing room on the floor to try and get, cut, some of the knots out of his
coat. He had a terrible lump of tight fur under his chin. He struggled of
course. But this time he was lying down and he didn't get all exhausted. I
held him as Issy cut round his feet, making them look all neat and tidy.
She cleaned up his backside, which was all awful. We couldn't bath him any
more, you see.
But yesterday we had the arrival of a huge cross between a Dalmatian and a
Great Dane and he actually went into the schooling ring with him. All the
other dogs came down the parkland and we left Bingy in there, so they
wouldn't run round and over power him. He just wandered around in his
particular way. Then we let him out as the owner left.
I am trying desperately hard to remember when I last actually saw him. In
fact it was lunch time. We had pate and soft bread and Bingy came over, in
his usual way, to stand next to the table in anticipation rather than hope.
Of course I gave him the crusts - I don't know who had the worst teeth,
Bingy or me. I'd throw it, he'd miss it. Then he would look in the wrong
place on the floor. I'd point and finally he'd get it. I can see his face
now. The hair around his eyes was neatly trimmed, as were his whiskers;
his eyes, I remember thinking, were getting cloudier. When you spoke he
would look in a different direction, as his hearing really was bad. O dear,
one can go on and on. It doesn't do any good.
All that can be said is that he as getting quite bad with his back legs.
They really kept splaying apart and grounding him on the stone floor in the
kitchen and Muff's landing. He was also starting to 'plop' around the house
more. Sometimes upstairs and rolling in it at night. The dreaded time was
coming and so I suppose we were spared that. But he had a lonely cold and
horrid end and I feel dreadful about it.
O let's change the subject.
Loved your long letter and I do hope things go well with your move to
Arizona. I am so pleased your accounts will come with you and it has worked
out okay with your partners or whatever they are called. I am sorry, I
can't concentrate properly. I'll write again in an hour or so, or
tomorrow.
Sorry to give you such awful news. Especially after you had said you were
going to get a camcorder and everything for your trip. He may well not have
lasted, but he might have done. We will never know. He's gone now and
that's that. I know he had a terrific innings, but as Kipling wrote:
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong
A short-time loan is as bad as a long -
So why in - Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
I'll write soon and I am sorry. I know you too will be in tears and you
have no John to comfort you. Apart from Chester's owner, you're the first
to know our tragic news.
Anyway, lots of love from your loving,
Daddy.
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