A Word About Arthur. And Medlar Rises Again.
Thursday 21st April 2016
The thing is, Arthur is an under-dog. In
his mind. And I hardly ever mention him, do I? But in fact, he is the sweetest, best-mannered, gentlest little dog that ever walked Dog’s good earth. He just melts away, often, into the background while Rupert and to a lesser extent, Medlar (Lord of Darkness) perform acts of willful mayhem and lay the village to waste.
When Arthur was a puppy, which is seven years ago this September, he was snubbed by Rupert. They gradually got along and now they are joined at the paw, but it is, I feel, still a bit of a one-way street. Arthur adores Rupert. He actually cries pitifully when Rupert has to go to the vets, so we usually take him along too, to calm him down. If Arthur has to go, Rupert just goes to sleep in his sleeping bag. He doesn’t cry.
Arthur longs only to be loved, held, cuddled and stroked. He will put his paw on your arm, or rest his chin on your leg, solely for the purpose of being instantly alerted should you try and get away. He nuzzles and taps you on the leg to be picked up. When you do, he just sighs and goes to sleep. He is also very, very handsome:
This is him modelling for Elements. And here are some of his other portfolio shots:
That’s an apple.
See how lovely he is?
You know how much I love Rupert, right? My first very own dog, and he’s my shadow. Maybe a bit less so now he’s older and likes sleeping even more than he used to. But he is my soul-mate. However, I have never met a dog as lovable as Arthur. Unlike Rupert, he never gets nasty, or moody or stubborn. He doesn’t (often) steal food and if he does, he will obey me when I command him to give it up or stop. Rupert just looks at me as he wolfs his ill-gotten gains and basically sticks two fingers up at me. Arthur will walk, off the lead, right by my heel. He will not run off and chase seagulls or bark at prams, as Rupert does.
But mainly, Arthur is just the most loving, loyal gentle little dog ever. Timid he may be, and also, perhaps, not the sharpest dog in the pound. It just makes him even nicer. I could not love him anymore than I do.
In the interests of balance, here is a picture from last weekend of them both, Rupert at the front as ever. He now has almost no tan. It is almost all white and some of the black is now grey. How can he be eleven this year? Surely it is only about six months since I brought him home, wrapped in a blanket?
In other news, Medlar, Dark Lordling of Puriton, has been poorly. He is now much better but he was really ill for several days resulting in two very expensive trips to the vet. My word, he was unwell. He began by just being really dopey and then, after half a day, I realised that he was not eating or drinking. The next day, I took him to the vets and in a sure sign that he was really poorly, he submitted to all the tests (though he did come out of the back having had both front legs shaved to take blood, as he resisted the first attempt. Apparently). I don’t know exactly what happened out there but they were gone for ten minutes and when the vet came back she said: ‘I think we need to give him antibiotics in case it is an infection but I rate your chances of getting tablets into him as zero so I will inject them – this will last for two weeks.’ And she did. He was
furious.
The blood tests proved all fine. The chief reason I was so worried was that some cats in our village have been poisoned. To date, five cats (four from one household, over a period of about four months) have been killed with anti-freeze poisoning. Two other cats have disappeared. I did not think he had the symptoms of this which are fairly rapid and utterly horrific, but I was keen to make sure. It was not a toxic issue in his case. Still he would not eat or drink. I boiled chicken and tried to get him to drink the cooled, weak stock. Nope. I bought cat-milk. Nothing.
So that day, in a valiant or possibly foolhardy attempt to get some water at least into him, Florence and I held him wrapped in a beach-towel (this was Florence’s job) while I went to the dangerous end of Medlar and used a soft pipette to gently shoot some liquid into his mouth, which was partially successful. If by successful you mean no-one died, we were able to keep him from dehydration, and the kitchen was fine after a deep clean. I also, probably in contravention of all known wisdom but I am fine with that so don’t bother telling me off, smeared tiny semi-melted blobs of vanilla ice-cream on his front paws and he licked that off quite happily. I think he had a very sore throat.
He did go back to the vets though because I was still frightened that he was not responding. By day three, he was a bit less dopey and drank some water. That night he also ate for the first time. All through this time and indeed a week or so afterwards as he slowly improved, he did little other than sleep. But, he only wanted to sleep where we were. So he slept in the kitchen all day, or in the sitting room if I moved; and on our bed all night. He is not a very affectionate cat, really. Or he wasn’t. But since this illness, he has been totally soppy and very demanding of baby-style cuddles and shoulder-perching, along with 100% devotion to stroking him. He has suggested we do this on a family rota basis.
He is older now too. He is ten, but in his prime still. See how he smiles for you? Sweet, is he not?
Such beautiful babies…. 2016 plate, four-wheeled drive on order for the vet I presume.
Yep 🙂