My Pet Whippets

The first dog that my parents had before I was born was a black cocker spaniel called Sammy, who swallowed a stone and died. Mum wasn’t sad as she said he was a stupid dog and used to run round in circles all the time. Also, she never forgave him for leaping up onto the dining room table, and devouring the Christmas lunch one year. After Sammy died, Mum said she never wanted a spaniel ever again – she wanted a dog with brains, so the next dog she got was a whippet. She and Dad drove out to the country to look at a litter of puppies and came home with a male pup which Mum, and Dad named Honey. Honey was a noble dog and I loved him to bits. Mum then got another whippet to keep Honey company, but he was a naughty dog and got knocked down by a car. Luckily, he only broke a leg, but kept chewing at his bandage and got gangrene, so he had to be put down. Then, Mum bought another whippet but she couldn’t stand it. It had a beastly temperament, so Mum gave it away. Then, Mum and Dad hit the jackpot and bought a bitch that they christened Sophy. Both our whippets were brindle coloured and they loved each other. Every morning and afternoon, without fail – Mum used to take Honey and Sophy out for a walk round Regents Park. But, bystanders didn’t like it when they chased after and caught squirrels. ‘They’re rats with a tail,’ Mum used to say. Mum loved Sophy the best, but I adored Honey. He was an asristocratic dog and was very distinguished looking. Sophy was a mummy’s dog. She glued herself to Mum’s side all the time. Even when she was in the park, she always used to return to Mum’s side after chasing another dog or running in and out of the lake.

One morning, I woke up to hear a terrible crying. I went downstairs to find Sophy lying on top of Honey’s body, crying the house down. My favourite dog had died of a heart attack. He was only seven. Seven must have been our dogs’ unlucky number because Sophy was only seven when she later died of some illness that made her too weak to walk. In the end, she just lay on Mum’s bed, feeling too wretched to even wag her tail. After Mum took Sophy to the vet to have her put down for dog-humane reasons, she was too upset to get another dog again. But, she said that if she did, she would get a greyhound from a greyhound rescue centre, who would need lots of love and affection.

Copyright: Frances Lynn, 2006