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I've just had Raylene (a very close friend) in tears on my doorstep. Her special beast, Amy Poodle, was put down this morning after the vet discovered that, on top of being 100% blind, she had a tumour in her bot-bot.
Amy was a fantastic doggone - not your usual poodle fare at all. For starters, she had none of that eighties-style perming going on. She was always closely cropped, with a whiffy snout and a weird, tiny tongue that liked to lick gently and slowly. She waddled about like a wind-up toy and loved to be got up in human gear. In fact, my fondest memory of her is caught on film - dressed in her Sunday best, perched on Nanny Doss's lap and surrounded by the rest of the Shanley women (of which there are many - it's all women down their way). She was an indispensible member of their tribe and her passing leaves a funny, poodle shaped gap that'll never be fully bridged.
Yes, it's all a bit disgusting, but that was part of her thing - we enjoyed her funny, pink-furred rankness.
Amy Poodle was already middle-aged when she came to live with Raylene and Co. She'd spent most of her life surrounded by nasty bulldogs (who were so nasty to her in fact that she had to be caged sometimes in order to keep them away from her). When the owner eventually realised that this was no kind of life for a dainty lady, she packed her bags and sent her off to us; so that she could frolic through her final years deep in the open, expansive Sussex countryside and far from snippy teeth.
I think she had a good time.
So that's it: Amy's last hurrah. Goodbye, you funny, lovely animal. |
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