MidSummer
by Mary O’Brien
Daily Mail, Monday June 21, 2005-10-27
Thought for the Week
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Matthew 5:4
I decided to bury Kitty about Mid-Day.
Down the field under the Apple Tree with Angelo, who had miraculously survived free-range for 11 years.
Miraculous because all the cats that have appeared here over the last 15 years are, unfortunately, rather typical of most of the cats in Rural Ireland. Unfed, unneutered and unloved. Sick, pregnant and hungry. Who have wandered in of their own accord, or simply been dumped at my Gate. And to compound the misery here, in spite of giving it everything I’ve got, inevitably they have either gone missing in the Countryside with no trace of a body, been run over on the Lane – more like a race track at times – and/or been attacked by a rogue Fox, the last cat escaping only because the Dogs (also here for much the same reasons as the cats) spotted the Fox. And added to all that, of course, is what I call Irish Cat ‘Flu in all its various shapes and forms and….
It’s bright and sunny and pleasant outside, but I’m still feeling gutted inside, as I start digging the little grave next to, not only Angelo, but Manu (rescued from a Farm wall in November 2001 and named after Emmanuel Pettit, the French Footballer, because they both had golden-gingery coloured hair and in spite of the fact that I am a Spurs supporter). Manu enjoyed a very happy existence for a year, but during December 2002 had been infected (upper respiratory) by a visit from the Ginger Tom from the Sheep Farm, whose female companion had taken up residence in my
Donkey’s Hay Shed, where she had her kittens. All infected, all on antibiotics and all recovered, except Manu, who was left with a legacy of ‘Snuffles’, Sinusitis and subsequently other problems, which ultimately did not respond to treatment….
Manu
Kitty, who was in fact another Ginger Tom, appeared from the Ditch one night during the Winter of 2003, and came back for food, which I left in a small kennel at the front of my Cottage. Completely wild at first and apparently healthy, but had developed an upper respiratory complaint somewhere along the line and by the time he was tame enough to let me stroke him and I had walked the six mile round trip into town to get some antibiotics for him, it was too late. The infection had gone to his chest and – he died – on the 24th June, 2004. The very day, a year previously, when it had first been drawn to my attention that Manu, sitting enjoying the Sunshine on the grass verge outside the Cottage, six months after he had been infected, had not fully recovered….
And now I have to dig yet another grave. Depressed, discouraged and despondent.
My half acre which looks so lovely in Summer, has become a Sacred Burial Ground, with most of the residents there buried long before their time.
Whilst digging, it did occur to me, however, thanks to reading all the stories in Departed Friend that, in spite of the circumstances being so very different in the case of each animal, they all shared just one experience – DEATH. And so, would I have felt any better if I was digging a grave for a really old cat, who’d enjoyed a good innings, a happy life and a painless exit?
With a heavy heart and no spiritual comfort I laid the large, dark, flint slab obtained from the Stream at the end of the field, on the fresh earth. So much for that verse in the Daily Mail which I had seen just 3 days before Kitty died.
Thinking rather wistfully of that quote, others came to mind. Helpful in the past, on other occasions, in different circumstances. Not relevant now. Certainly not helpful.
I needed something that would speak into this situation.
“Man cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.”
A number of random thoughts and verses suddenly began to come together.
* 24th June: John the Baptist’s Feast Day
John, in prison, awaiting Execution -
thanks to his particular set of beliefs…
And – in view of the circumstances in
which he found himself the doubts had
obviously begun to creep in, to the
extent that he even started to question
whether Jesus was the Messiah. And so -
He sent his disciples to enquire if J.C.
(his own cousin) was the Messiah, or
should we expect A.Nother?
As I was standing over the Graves of Kitty and Manu – twinned in death by the date * 24th June – albeit a year apart, I remembered what Jesus had said.
“Tell John:
The sick are healed …
The Good News is preached to the poor…
And – sandwiched in between the Divine Bread,
a Word for me :
“AND THE DEAD ARE RAISED TO LIFE AGAIN”
…oOo…
From the Papers
The Sun newspaper is running a campaign to demand that the Government acts urgently to reform the outdated laws on animal cruelty. A copy of the petition is enclosed with this edition of DF. Please sign and return it to The Sun; take copies for like-minded friends or send me an A4 sized SAE stating how many copies you want. If you are on line, visit
http://www.thesun.co.uk/popupWindow/0,,2005470548,00.html to download and send the petition.
Vets ‘driven to suicide by pet deaths’. The trauma of putting down people’s pets is driving up suicide rates among vets, research suggests. The number of vets who kill themselves is nearly four times the national average and twice that of doctors or dentists, the British Veterinary Association found.
The stress of the job, coupled with the misery of putting beloved animals to sleep, was cited as a possible reason.
‘When vets themselves are suffering from emotional problems due to stress, they may more readily decide to take their own life because they are used to euthanising animals who are suffering,’ said Prof Richard Halliwell, of the BVA.
‘You are dealing not only with life and death of animals but with people who either have significant commercial or financial involvement with those animals, or are very emotionally attached to them.
‘So you have a dual problem of coping with the animals and coping with the people, which can be stressful,’ he told the BBC’s Farming Today programme.
To cope, vets turn mainly to alcohol and drugs such as the horse tranquilliser ketamine, which is easily accessible.
‘That’s part of the problem. They are not having to go out and find it. It is sitting there on the shelves looking at them,’ added Dr Virginia Richmond, of the Veterinary Surgeons Health Support Programme. Lethal injection was the most common way for vets to kill themselves, the BVA study found.
Prof Halliwell called for improvements to veterinary training, saying it ‘does not really prepare people for the communication and help skills they need.’
The BVA is considering establishing an advice system for trainees to warn them of the stress they may face at work.
Metro 6 October 2005
In the same edition of Metro, it was reported that thousands of dogs are put down needlessly because their owners cannot afford vets’ bills – according to a survey commissioned by Direct Line Pet Insurance. Britain’s dog owners spend more than £800million keeping their pets healthy, with the average cost of treatment at £154 a year. More than 1 in 20 people had been forced to put down a sick pet, but many more risked their financial future to pay the fees.
We are grateful to DF reader John Cowen for the following article that appeared in the Sunday Post on 2 October 2005, in the My Week section, edited by Francis Gay:
BUT TARA WASN’T “ONLY A DOG”
“Ann wrote to tell me how moved she was by a recent article in the paper by a woman who was devastated by the loss of a pet. She’d suffered a similar sense of bereavement when her dog, Tara, died. It was made worse, she told me, by people telling her “it’s only a dog”. Ann put her emotions into words and penned this poem called Only A Dog.
“It was only a dog,” I heard
someone say, They don’t
understand why I feel this
way. Only a dog, yes, but
much more than a friend, Loyal
and faithful right to the end.
Always there when I felt sad,
Always knew when things
were bad. Brought me joy and
comfort too, Honest, reliable,
forever true.
I may have another, yes I
know, But I’ll never forget the
one I loved so. My beautiful
Tara, my precious pet, Only a
Dog, but I’ll never forget.
Deep in my heart she will
always remain, I still shed a
tear, when I speak her name.
She’ll always be so special to
me, Only a dog, but the best
that could be.
With heavy heart I walk
each lane, Wishing we were
together again. Life goes on,
yes it’s true, But it’s not the
same, Tara, without you.
Only a dog, yes I know,
But she was mine and I loved
her so.
I hope Ann’s poignant words bring some comfort if you, too, have lost a pet you loved.”
YOUR LETTERS ……” *
Thank you for the September issue of Departed Friend. It just keeps getting better and better, and increasingly a source of comfort to many. Next month Lucky and I will have been together 6 years and still getting on well with each other. During all this time I have been extremely lucky that he has had no serious illness and seems to be thriving.
It will soon be Christmas, a sad time for many animals. To cap it all there is the imminent threat of Bird Flu, which inevitably will mean a mad culling season will soon be upon us. This is yet another instance of man paying the price of tampering and ignoring nature, doing this always extols paying a heavy price. With all the recent natural disasters, with all the heavy human losses, it is made even more difficult this Christmas to voice the animal cause, as all the rapt attention will be focused on the humans’ plight, and it seems certain that the annual Christmas financial takings will be down, this at a time when more and more animals are being abandoned, and their natural surroundings under constant threat. How sad it all is.
John Cowen
Dear Debby,
Would you please give a little mention to Elle (the greyhound).
Thirteen years ago I took my friend Wendy to look at a greyhound puppy who was looking for a home. Instantly Wendy said “I’ll have her, and I shall call her Elle, as she is so elegant.”
Elle had a good life with Wendy and her other rescued dogs, for thirteen years, but sadly recently she had to be put to sleep, with kidney failure.
“So Rest in Peace dear Elle.” You are sadly missed.
Would you please, when possible give a little mention to Holly. Holly was taken to the Vet’s at fifteen years old, to be put to sleep (nothing wrong with her).
But the kindly vet did not put her to sleep, instead he called a rescue centre, who he knew would re-home her.
So I took her on, at fifteen. She has had three more good years with me, and my other rescued dogs. And recently suffered a stroke, so sadly I had to have her put to sleep.
“So Rest in Peace dear Holly.”
Sylvia Chamberlain
Many thanks for my copy of the latest Departed Friend; it has been sent to me at Forget-Me-Not* for some years and I always enjoy reading it; it has some sad moments but also sound information. If you prefer to send it to me by email, please do so … keep up the good work.
John Hornsby-Bates
*For details of Forget-Me-Not pet coffins, please see the Resources section at the end of this newsletter. Ed.
Dear Debby
Many thanks for my copy of DF and for printing my tribute to my four lovely Cats, Susie Becky Blackie and Fluffy. I have since lost Tiggy who was a stray who a neighbour asked if I would take in as this neighbour’s friend who owned her, said the family’s children were allergic to cats. I agreed to have Tiggy who was very thin and she looked as if she had not had a proper meal for a long time. This was in January ‘99; Tiggy was 2½ years old. She was spayed so someone must have liked her a little to pay for this. She was a very quiet indoor cat, happy as long as she had her food and somewhere comfortable to sleep.
I noticed at the beginning of September this year she was looking for cool places to sleep and not eating very much so I took her to the Vet who diagnosed stomach cancer. I had no alternative but to have her put to sleep.
I was very sorry to lose Tiggy. She was a very quiet cat. When she was brought to me, strange as it may seem, her previous owner kept her through Christmas and she was spayed as well. This baffles me. She was happy with us, well fed, taken to the Vets when it was needed and kept warm and comfortable.
I am now down to 2 cats, Jill aged 14 years who misses Tiggy’s company, and Ellie a 3 year old black cat which I had from Cats Protection in April this year.
Ellie is not friendly to Jill and has to be taken out on a lead as she will vanish for 2 hours or so if I let her out alone.
I am trying hard to find an indoor cat as a companion for Jill but so far I have been unlucky, I would really like another cat, just an ordinary cat as I am a pensioner; they are good company.
Mrs M C
Since this was written, Cats Protection has got in touch with Mrs M C and offered her a cat.
’Lost’ … and Found
An animal does not have to be dead to be sorely missed. I go riding every weekend and became exceptionally fond of Poppy, a grey mare with a beautiful looks and a lovely temperament. She was working livery, which meant she was kept at the stables and hired out, but privately owned by people who allowed her to earn her keep.
I never got to take her out on a hack, but she was exciting to ride in the school, in the advanced adult lessons. I have seen her play up – suddenly stopping in mid-canter, throwing her unsuspecting rider to the ground; spooking at nothing or dashing round the school at a rate of knots.
She and I suited each other; I never had any trouble with her. On the contrary, she was very responsive and she felt so right for me. It was exhilarating to jump her, canter round the school without stirrups (I wanted to shout an exultant ‘Yee Ha!’) or take her through transitions (walk to trot, trot to canter, walk to canter, halt). Last Christmas, we had the usual competitive gymkhana games. I was on Poppy and, because of her, our team won – by one point!
By early Summer, I heard two pieces of bad news. Poppy had developed a melanoma – a growth to which grey horses are prone – on the side of her head. Progress of the condition can be slow and benign and a horse can go on for years – but the malignant tumours can spread, with tragic results. Also, Poppy was going in mid-June, to another yard.
The time came and went, I enjoyed riding the other horses, but I could not get Poppy out of my mind. I wondered how she was and what would become of her. I thought I had picked up that, although she was well cared for, she was depressed before she went – and I worried about the melanoma. The feeling would not go away and it was like a bereavement. Eventually I tracked her down, to a farm not far away, and, four months on, I contacted her humans, a delightful mother and daughter whom I shall call Julia and Catherine. They were happy for me to come and visit her in her new home.
So, on a beautiful October Saturday afternoon, Poppy and I were reunited in the yard of an idyllic farm in the Hertfordshire countryside, and I met Catherine and Julia. Poppy was looking great. She had put on a little weight and her coat and tail were immaculate. She had that sheen you see in horse paintings by George Stubbs. Catherine and Julia told me how much they loved her, that the melanoma was not causing any problems, and that they would keep her for ever.
She couldn’t wish for better humans and she is not depressed any more. She is in a perfect place, no longer working for her keep, but cared for and ridden by her devoted Catherine. She is very attached to both her humans. I can, if I wish, visit her again.
A strange thing happened that day at the farm. As I stood beside her, looking momentarily the other way, she slowly pressed her nose close to mine, so that we were nostril to nostril. I experienced a unique moment of total connection – which I shall never forget.
Debby
Filed under: No. 21 Nov '05
