A dog really does become one of your closest friends and why I have only had one in over 60 years, I have no idea. Ally was a yellow Labrador and friends who have known me over the last 15 years will have known him. We had loads of fun, mainly involving our passion for the countryside including outdoor sports fly fishing and shooting, the latter Ally contributed to fundamentally. I am not convinced he knew he was a gun dog when I first brought him home but that didn’t matter as we both acquired the relevant skills over time. Ally acquired his quicker than I did as he was taken to people who knew all about retrievers and their contribution to shooting while I read books about that and how to shoot. We had season after season shooting together till our hips gave out and my twelve bore was locked in it’s gun cabinet for the foreseeable future.
Ally’s health deteriorated much faster than mine as he reached the stage when he was having difficulty getting to his feet after an evening in front of the fire, that I can manage even now but with decreasing efficiency. Holidays abroad were a time when Ally had his break from me by spending a week or so in the kennels that he had been familiar with since he was a puppy, I suspect he needed it. Holidays in Scotland were a different matter, Ally would be there on the front row or rather in the dog carrier in the back of my four-track, he would run and run just being a dog enjoying life.
That last holiday he just wasn’t up to the journey and we had to leave him in the care of the kennels. I did not foresee what was going to happen and I would not see him alive again. We had only been in Scotland three days when the kennel phoned to tell us he was very poorly and they had taken him to the vets. There followed an exchange of phone calls advising on his condition and the investigations they were making. Soon the inevitable decision had to be made with Ally not being allowed to suffer, that’s how I lost my pal but his affect on my life was certainly not over with more memories to come. We wanted to bury him at home and as we were not scheduled to be back till Sunday the vet agreed to store his remains until the following Monday. Not the happiest of bedtime holiday reading, on the internet, to ascertain the rules and recommendations about funerals at home for your dog but essential reading none the less. All the necessary guidance is there however and all the notes were made dealing with where, how deep to dig, everything a reluctant undertaker needed to know. After an uneventful trip home, I chose the grave site on the edge of the field at the bottom of our garden and armed with a my most efficient shovel I produced a hole complying with the recommended depth four foot six deep. That may seem deep to the uninitiated but the last thing we wanted to happen was for other animals without sensitivity or compassion to dig him up. Satisfied with my efforts I settled down for the evening knowing the preparations had been made for tomorrows internment. I knew I would have to cope on my own as Pauline was already committed all day that Monday, plans had been laid for a relatively straight forward task but how wrong could I have possibly been.
Monday morning and the weather couldn’t have been worse, it was pouring down so out came the waterproofs, no such thing as bad weather, even for a funeral, just the wrong clothes. I took my shovel out to the grave and left the field gate open so I could drive the corpse right up to the final resting place. I was on time at the vets with my vehicle in hearse mode with a tarpaulin in the rear and me dressed to stay dry. The receptionist was welcoming and I advised her I was here to collect Ally, she looked uncomfortable and asked me to take a seat while she checked in the back surgery. When she returned and announced “Sorry Mr Taylor we have taken him to be cremated the vet will be back with the ashes shortly”. My reaction was not one of my finest moments, it is not a pretty sight to see a grown man dressed in wet waterproofs start to blubber openly, for that moment I was inconsolable. Fortunately one of the other members of staff appeared from the rear and informed us all “There’s been a mistake Ally is still in the fridge”. Control yourself Ron it is going to be alright, the profuse apologies were of course gratuitously accepted and I left the surgery to carry out the request to take my car to the rear entrance where Ally would be produced from his resting place. He was respectfully carried out wrapped in a large blanket by one of the vets and a nurse who were obviously finding him heavy, he was a big Labrador after all. With Ally laid out in the back we drove home and up the drive, through the gate and reversed up to the hole. Fortunately as I passed the garage I opened the electric door, no idea why I did that, but a good job I did, as it turned out.
The rain was incessant and the bottom of the hole looked very wet as everywhere else was, I noticed that one of the farmers cattle had broken into our sewage treatment plant area and they can cause damage so I resolved to evict it when the scheduled procedure was over. I suspected the hole didn’t really look big enough and that proved to be the case as Ally was still frozen solid lying on his side in the back of the car. I pulled him out and he dropped straight into the grave with his feet in the air. I had hoped he would be laid on his side and it was obvious immediately that the grave needed to be wider. The rain meanwhile got just a little harder and started to get down my neck. I knew I had to get him out and dig some more and that was when the saga took an unfortunate turn, as I grabbed his legs to pull him out I slipped on the wet grass and fell head first into the grave on top of Ally with my feet out of the end of the hole. I struggled to get myself out using the corpse for support and ended up on my knees covered in mud, even on the side of my face, with the rain still falling.
Oh well get on with it, I pulled Ally out after me and lifted him back in the car recommencing the digging to widen the pit. No problem encountered with that and the walls gave way easily though the Cheshire clay was very wet and muddy. I was soon able to put him back in his final resting place. Just as I did so I noticed the 14 heifers that were on the field had all decided the grass was tastier in our Treatment plant and had joined their pal who had entered earlier. Got to sort that out I thought, get them out before they cause a pile of damage so I left Ally and walked over to drive them out. I climbed over the fence and just as I got down I slipped and fell flat on my face again looking up at 14 startled cows. I achieved my objective surprisingly easily and secured the fence to stop a repetition. The rain continued unabated.
I returned to the job in hand wetter but undaunted to fill in the grave. The soil required was obviously in a pile close by where it was placed on excavation. The job did not take long and all that was required was to remove the excess, tidy up and take the car off the field. I decided to move the car and put it in the garage, have a cup of tea and clear up later. I reached in my pocket for the car keys and they were not where I thought they were, in my top pocket. I tried every pocket getting a little more fraught with every failure, were they in the ignition? No, I even checked pockets twice. Maybe they dropped out of my pocket when I fell before moving the cows. When a search on my hands and knees proved a failure the obvious conclusion occurred to me, they had dropped out when I fell in the grave and I had buried them with Ally. Go over to the house and get the spare keys, park the car and consider whether to dig him up or sacrifice the keys. I walked over to the house when halfway there I realised my house key was on the car keys and interred with Ally or at least so I had concluded. I was able to get out of the rain as I had opened the garage door earlier, so I found myself stood in the garage, car on the field, all my keys lost, locked out of the house and Pauline not back till the evening. By now the rain having got down my neck was reaching down to the band of my underpants and further.
I think it was then that my fortunes that day took a constructive turn, I had a thought that I might have forgotten to lock the rear patio doors when I had left for the vets so full of anticipation I walked to the door and putting my hand on the handle it dropped and I was in. The relief was palpable. I obviously I had to take all my muddy kit off before I entered as I had done enough damage already that morning. The spare car keys retrieved, the back door unlocked, me in dry clothes and soon sat in the driving seat of the car with the engine bursting into life. Thank goodness for that, I actually used an expletive but totally accurate recording is inappropriate in a family story. Having put the car in the garage, collected the rake and walked back to the field to begin tidying up I had made the plans to get my keys replaced. I started to rake the soil back over the grave and tidy it up ready to plant the damson tree we had planned to commemorate Ally and I saw a glint as my car keys caught in the rake. I hadn’t buried them they had fallen to the side and got covered up, probably when I was enlarging the hole. The feeling of relief lead to me sitting down, in the rain and laughing. Ally’s last act had made sure I got my keys retrieved and all was well. The car was covered in mud, I was wet but with a tale to tell, a totally true story. I haven’t dismissed the idea of getting another dog but I have decided if the time ever comes again I will have it cremated by the vet and stick the casket on the mantel piece. I have also resolved to ensure I don’t leave the patio doors unlocked when I go out.
Ron Taylor