It has been two weeks since we took Dickens, our little powerhouse Norfolk Terrier, to the vet to fulfill a scheduled appointment to have him put to forever sleep. He had been fighting hard for a couple of months with numerous seizures that would knock the wind out of him but then, as he recovered from each one he would go back to his curious, mischievous, mooching self.

Even on that last day, he was coming off a tough couple of days that even had the neighbours agreeing, his days needed to come to an end. Yet he was checking out every corner in the vet’s office, begging for attention from everyone passing by, and looking at us with his usual excitement.

It wasn’t until the vet picked him up for one last check up that I too was certain it was time. “No muscle mass in his chest area…he’s in pretty bad shape physically.” We cried. I held him and Dave and Tim each rested a hand on him as the vet gave him his final needle.

After a few minutes, we wrapped him in what would be his burial cloth, along with a couple of his favourite toys, drove out to a friends property in the country and buried him in a place prepared by that friend (thank you James). We cried some more.

In the days that followed we felt the overwhelming absence of our Dickens. Each of us had unique memories connected to the pattern of our relationship with him. Sometimes we didn’t want to talk. But soon we were also starting to laugh at all the antics that proved we had rightly named our family pet:

* the careful, stealthy stealing of three chocolate bars from Ryan’s Christmas stocking left on his bed to Dicken’s hideaway under the chair downstairs.

*all the times he would sneak downstairs when he wasn’t supposed to be there, in order to watch TV (yes, our dog was a TV addict)

*ringing his bells to go outside even when he didn’t really need to go outside; he just wanted to go chase a squirrel or rabbit or the neighbour he saw through the fence.

*his love for Dino and Molly; his toleration of Eatmore (whom Tim is convinced Dickens locked in my office one day on purpose); his terror of Anya, my brother’s huge Leonburger

*his nightly rounds through the house from one bedroom to the next until he had been in each one for at least a little while

*the way he would run so fast that he would lose his footing when you called him to go out on his post, or go for a walk, or to come and eat (which he did by inhaling rather than chewing – I’m sure he could have beaten some speed eaters easily)

*his grouchiness when you tried to move him off Nicole’s pillow

*the way he would sit side-saddle, staring at us like he was royalty; daring us to tell him otherwise

*and constantly under my feet, following me around everywhere from the time I got up in the morning until I went to bed; the worst was trying to avoid tripping over him while making meals.

Dickens wasn’t much of a cuddler when he was healthy but we all noticed the last few months he was cuddling a lot more; no doubt partly because as he lost body mass he was feeling colder. But we think too that he knew he wasn’t well, he was slowing down, and he just wanted to be near.

We got Dickens from the breeder as the only one of the litter not suitable for “show” because he had a white patch on the skin of his chest. What do they know – he gave us a show everyday. He sometimes drove us crazy with his scheming and barking and burping and other canine functions…but in the end, he was the dog that taught Molly (our neighbour’s female daschund) how to lift her leg at every tree, and taught us all that life was to be taken with enough seriousness to have a plan and focus, yet not so much that you lose your capacity to just dive right in, come what may.

Good bye you little dickens. I grew up a lot with you. Thanks for a great 13+ years.