A is for Aggrieved

Dad phoned last night to tell me that he's had to have Teal, our English Springer Spaniel, put down. Pretty sad :(

It's no surprise. He was 15 years old[10], and over the last year or so the cancer's slowly eaten away at him, until he was about half normal size. It's no surprise, but it's still hard.

It's hit me a great deal harder than the other dogs[11]. I suppose it's because we got him when I was ten, so he's from that chunk of my childhood that I remember the most. We grew up together, so I feel I was closer to him.

When I used to shoot, Teal was my gundog. By this time we had got Bouncer, so Dad would work Bouncer and Dan or I would work Teal. I never gave him much to do (I was never much of a shot and that white ruff of his used to announce our presence to any bird within about a mile and a half), but he loved to be out, even if he only made one retrieve the entire afternoon. I was grateful for the chance to take him out, especially when Dad started to use him less.

His energy faded in recent years, but in his youth he was the typical springer. Bouncy, mad as a hatter, and smarter than you'd credit. If I go back west this weekend like I'd planned, it'll be strange walking out to the dogs' room and not seeing him. 15 years is a long time.

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[10] Which is an amazing age for a working dog to reach.
[11] We had Bouncer put down last year, which was difficult because he was four or five years younger than Teal.