Ralph
Monday 3rd February 2014
Ralph was the first Dachshund I ever encountered. I fostered him on and off for some years. Last week, aged fifteen and a half, Ralph died.
If it hadn’t been for Ralph, I would not have ever thought of getting my own boys, Rupert and Arthur. I have always loved dogs, especially small and medium sized dogs, but maybe I would never have got a dog at all.
I met Ralph through a mutual friend of Ralph’s own mum (I know it’s actually ‘owner’ but you don’t own a Dachshund!). I went to this friend’s house one day and there was Ralph. Feisty, smart, border-line belligerent – and so short. He looked me up and down. I looked him, um, down. He went back in the house and fetched a ball. This was for me to play with him. I was fascinated by this funny little dog, but you know, I threw the ball a few times, it was time to go, we left.
About a month later, the mutual friend rang me. She and her family were moving to America. In the meantime, she was wondering if I might be a suitable alternative foster-carer for Ralph, one or two days most weeks, sometimes weekends. How did I feel about it? I wasn’t sure, if I’m honest. On paper, it seemed OK as I worked largely from home. We did a trial run and Ralph came for a play-visit.
Once Lena had left us alone, Ralph gave me the appraising look that I was to come to know so well, before fetching his new toy: a GIANT tennis ball. For an hour, we played giant tennis ball games. It was so much fun! Then, we sat on the sofa and Ralph permitted me to cuddle him while he had a well-earned snooze.
Soon afterwards, Lena moved away and I met Ralph’s mum. The informal fostering began.
Ralph spent many days and nights here. In the autumn, he chased apples on the lawn, in winter he ran on the beach, chasing old tennis balls, before having a swim in the deep pools that form round the pier and posts all along Burnham and Berrow beaches. In summer, he lay in the sun while I gardened and he dug up all the plants round my pond, hunted frogs and once or twice ‘fell’ in. He loved water.
He slept by the bed, in his own pillow and sleeping bag bed combo. He was my shadow. I loved him more than I could have imagined.
Once, his mum went to New Zealand and I think we had him for about 3 weeks. I knew he wasn’t mine. He loved his mum more than anyone. But, like most Dachshunds – maybe like most dogs – he fixed his love on one person at a time. When he was in my house, I was his. If I was out, Lily or Florence were his. If there was only Mark – well, he made do.
Recently, his mum moved away to Dorset. Ralph, getting old now, didn’t really need the kind of foster care he once did and anyway, it was too far for me to be the carer. Before they moved, Ralph was ill. He started having fits and shakes, after which he’d seem confused or even frightened. I did a death-bed dash. He made a fantastic recovery. That time.
Last week, and Ralph was now a very mature sausage indeed, his mum told me he was poorly – a gastro infection, he needed to be at the vet’s for re-hydration and a some R&R. Next day, he came home, but she knew he wasn’t ‘right’. I went to see him. Right on the spur of the moment, I drove to Dorset. Why did I do that? Did I think he was going to die? Well, at 15.5, and with some long-standing health issues, yes, I suppose I knew that he was probably going to die quite soon – maybe in a year or so. So, why not wait until Saturday? I just don’t know. Also, his mum needed to go to do just a few hours work that afternoon, the day I went. I couldn’t bear that he’d be alone, even for a short while, when he was so poorly.
Ralph was white the last few times I saw him, so that wasn’t a surprise. Rupert now looks a lot like Ralph did when I first met him – pepper and salt style black and tan. So I know that Rupert will go snow-white, like Ralph, where Ralph once was tan. But Ralph had gone very deaf in the last couple of years. And his sight was clouded with cateracts. And he was really ill. But – he still knew me. He greeted me and accepted me back, without a word of reproach.
His mum went out after about half an hour, leaving me and Ralph alone. I didn’t know that he would die that evening, so it wasn’t that which made the few hours I was there so special. He was in some discomfort in spite of the heavy meds he was on, but we settled down on the sofa, and with his nose buried deep in the crook of my arm (Dachshunds like their noses to be covered and warm), and both wrapped in a daffodil yellow airy blanket, he slept. If he stirred, I held him a little bit closer and he looked at me, smelled my hand, accepted a tiny bite of sausage as a snack, and with a sigh that all Dachshunds do to perfection, he snoozed on.
I had my knitting with me, of course. I am not good as sitting still, doing nothing. But the time just stopped. I didn’t move, he slumbered, a bit fitfully but slowly, he seemed to settle more, to fidget less.
I didn’t stay long after mum got back. We talked about how he seemed. He was due back at the vets that evening because his discomfort needed addressing. We were both genuinely confident that once this was addressed, he’d be fine.
He wasn’t fine. He had to go back yet again late that night and at about midnight, he was put to sleep. It was a brave, kind, and amazing thing for his mum to do.
I, in the meantime, came home, smiling about yet another death-bed dash to see the Duracell Dachshund. Next day, I was teaching how to make a Moebius Cowl in Devon. The ‘phone ringing at 7.00am made me anxious though, as did Mark’s voice when he spoke to Ralph’s mum. After I had spoken to his mum, I had to go and teach. Well, that was OK, it was busy, it was a lovely class in fact. It was just the drive there and back that was not so good.
Ralph has left a huge gulf in the life of his mum. She was an amazing companion for Ralph and he was to her. He had a job, you know. He worked with her, helping vulnerable clients, often children, to talk, to communicate, to trust – even to love.
I loved Ralph so much – and he wasn’t even mine! But when he was here, he
was mine. Because he needed to know that he had a home-from-home, where he was as unconditionally loved as in his own, real home. When I got Rupert, and then Arthur, Ralph was amazing with them. As puppies, they had the capacity to annoy a mature dog, but Ralph, kind and wise, just accepted them and got on with the business of training them to bark at everything that moved in the village and beyond. After Ralph stopped coming here so much, we had to stop saying his name, because whenever we did, Rupert would run to the door and scan the drive. It was too cruel to let him hope. He loved Ralph as much as I did.
On Saturday, I am going back to Dorset, to be with his mum and her family. We are going to scatter his ashes on the beach. Recently, we cleared out our garage and Florence found a manky old green rubber ball, pitted with sand and tooth-marks. I must have saved it from years ago. It was a ball Ralph found on the beach at Berrow many years before, and we always took it to the seaside when he came to stay. Over the years we must have found, and lost, dozens of balls but this one was special. He loved it more than all the others so I always made sure it was never left behind.
I am going to take it, and throw it for him, one last time.
What a beautiful and moving story. Although you’ll miss Ralph, it must be wonderful to know that you shared such a longtime loving relationship with him, enriching both of your lives x
Dearest Ali,
Wow wow wow… Thank you for your amazing tribute to our most beautiful boy! You have written it so perfectly summing up the Dachshund character and all Ralph quirks and Ralphisms!
Of course it made me cry but gave me so much pleasure to read all about you time with Ralph.
Whenever Ralph visited or stayed with you all I knew he was in the safest of hands and was treated like Royalty. He was loved, he was more than loved and I thank you for all the times I had to tear myself away from him and leave him. You and Lina his other foster mums were angels and he was a lucky boy to have time with you. Im so glad he lives on in Rupert and Arthur and Linas dachshund George too.
Its early days and its hard to write a lot but I hope this conveys how amazing your blog is and how touched I am that you would write one for him. I started again on his book last night too.
Bless you my lovely dachshund friend XXX
We lost our dog last week too. His name was Roly and he was a 17 year old Jack Russell. He too had become deaf and partially sighted due to cataracts. Over recent weeks he’d started to have fits and they were becoming more and more frequent. The vet felt that giving him medication wouldn’t really be of much benefit so the decision was made to put him to sleep.
We all miss him dearly and so I know how you must be feeling right now.
I’m sorry to hear that Vicky. It sucks. Sometimes I worry that I ought not to have cats and dogs because of the pain when they go, but I think really, on balance, I could not do without them. Hope you are doing OK X