Her head is too small, her face just too pretty and dainty.
Her ears are huge, like great bat ears – The Greater Bat-Eared Sheba.
Her paws are massive! Great tan-coloured whoppers!
Her toes are webbed, so she swims strongly through water.
She’s too damned SMALL!
Her tail’s held too high (why I thought of calling her “Flag”)
Her play is WAY too rough!
Her behaviour was so bad, she created a passion in me that has become my profession.
Boy, does she make eye contact! She holds my eye and stares until I melt.
Her coat has a slightly frizzy texture, and tangles easily.
The fur between her toes holds ice, so in winter she gets great ice boulders until she can’t walk.
She’s allergic to two strains of grass, Timothy and Cocksfoot.
She’s allergic to seven foods and can’t eat any shop-bought brands.
I have to cook her food and it’s burnt a stain on the side of the pan.
She’s had to have every medicine in the book.
Her crippling arthritis meant she couldn’t jump in the car anymore.
The pills she took for that gave her a massive stomach ulcer and she nearly died.
Turns out she has Cushing’s Syndrome, and her own body is pumping steroids into her system.
One illness medicates another, so her arthritis doesn’t hurt anymore.
She’s gone stone deaf with age, and my sister had to grab her tail to stop her running headlong into a fast-flowing river.
My old dog has such a broken body that I joke she’s stuck together with cellotape.
My girl won’t admit she’s old – she’s still young at heart, it’s just her body that’s old.
I dread being without her.
She got cancer of the spleen and I didn’t know until three days before she died.
She broke my little boy’s heart.
I glimpsed her once after she died,and she was where she wasn’t allowed!