EVERY DOG HAS ITS FINAL DAY

It's been exactly one week since our collie died in which there's been a dog shaped void in my life and it seems like an infinite black (and white) hole which I could easily fall into and drown. The grief has surprised me, especially as I have never been what you might call a typically enthusiastic dog lover but now all I can see is ghostly doggy after-images walking all around me and I can sense his weightless, furry chin resting on my lap. At other times I could swear I have seen a glistening wet nose out of the corner of my eye searching for scents, as well as hearing deep snouty sighs of blissful repose downstairs by the front door. Perhaps this is the canine version of Minghella's 'Truly Madly Deeply' I'm experiencing where instead of Alan Rickman's 'Jamie' I'm being visited by McKenny our dog. Or maybe I'm in my own private Studio Ghibli film where ghosts and humans seem to live amongst each other. And still the question remains - how can it be possible that a creature so relatively small and compelled by such primal instincts as food and the fierce protection of his personal space draws such overwhelming emotion out of a supposedly grown man.

Maybe it's because I'm compelled by the exact same things.

Observing your dog's final day on earth, knowing that each display of his unique characterful behaviours will be his last, was hard to bear and I've rarely tried to be so consciously present around a sentient being than with McKenny last Monday, simply just so I could soak up his presence and unique qualities to the utmost and absorb them directly into my heart. It was eerie and strange being aware of how oblivious he was to his own impending fate whilst at the same time trying to make his last moments as happy as possible considering his physical limitations.

In the final assessment of his quality of life, we only needed to think back to how much had changed since we first adopted him.

The faded printout Blue Cross report on two year old McKenny I'm browsing through now was the first information we had to provide us with any sense of the character we were about to bring into our lives back in 2011 when my daughter first spotted him on the dog charity website.

"McKenny has quite a sensitive nature and likes to "hide" in his own safe area in the home."

Again, this is totally me, except without the fur.

"He is a very intelligent dog who has a strong "working drive". He likes to be mentally stimulated and his favourite game is to carry a log, drop it at your feet, round you up and collect the log again."

This part I relate to less but can attest to McKenny's compulsive love of finding sticks and dropping them at your feet, waiting for you to throw them a considerable distance for him to retrieve and return to you ad infinitum as if he was stuck in a bliss loop of playtime. Many times he would find some enormous branch to carry in his mouth as if he was competing in The World's Strongest Dog competition. The strength in his jaws must have been like that of a saltwater crocodile. And as I think of it, I'm kicking myself that I never trained him as a ball boy so I could have practised tennis for hours on my own without having to collect up all the balls but it's a moot point now I guess.

The previous owner told the Blue Cross animal welfare charity that his reason for having McKenny re-homed was because he couldn't "give him what he wants." Considering the vast amount of incredible qualities that McKenny possessed I'm not sure what else he would have needed, but of course, I'm biased, having lived with him for so long.

The thing with dog owners is that we all think we have the best one, just like most of us believe we have the best mother and the best father or the best child etc. Ironically, we can never see (at least to anywhere the same extent) what other dog owners find so loveable in their dogs though we may pretend to. It seems literally a case of 'beauty is in the eye of the beholders' as all dog owners subconsciously compete in a non-stop personality pageant for dogs on their walks out and about.

Often with McKenny though I had a definite sense that here was a dog who thought of himself as more human than canine. For a good proportion of his life he seemed to have an almost imperious disdain for other dogs coming into his space (outside or in the home) and his natural sense of entitlement, sitting on the couch and chairs in the home instead of floors or baskets, often felt like he was daring us to patronise him with the tag of mere 'dog' which we would never do. He was an equal amongst us, perhaps even more than that. He could sense resistance to his charms from guests who were confused by his low growls and truthfully we deferred to his judgment on them rather than the other way round as if he was Commodus in 'Gladiator' except with paws (instead of thumbs) raised up or down. It felt very much as if it was, as they say, his world and we were just living in it.

Now we all have to adjust to a McKenny-less world and it seems alien.

"McKenny is sociable with other dogs but prefers to plays with sticks."

I mean who wouldn't? Sticks don't bark or bite back.

Further along in the report on a young McKenny it turns out that he'd previously lived with other animals as it goes onto explain that he "pays no attention to the chicken, occasionally interacts with the cat, while the other dog keeps himself to himself."

No word on the hamster that is documented in the report. I'm assuming McKenny didn't eat him. It does makes me laugh, though, reading about McKenny living with a cat as I always found him reluctant to acknowledge cats in the street, which would stare him out and hiss in his direction. Often he would give me a coy, sheepish look as if to say, "I don't really see that cat that you're seeing so let's just keep moving, shall we?" hoping I wasn't judging him for avoiding a fight like he was being a Fredo (Corleone). I think it was smart. Who needs the drama.

Conversely, however, McKenny would become ridiculously brave with dogs twice his size, forgetting his own dimensions. Losing an eye in a clash with a large mastiff, McKenny gained an extra dimension to his doggy mythos, becoming the four legged version of Wotan returned from Valhalla. We used to say "in the land of the blind, the one eyed dog was king" and it was true - McKenny seemed to become even more wise, wonderful and characterful after his traumatic stint in an eye hospital.

"Chases rabbits but never caught one."

Squirrels neither, though he would give it his best shot, charging toward them like Ben Johnson on Stanozolol.

The reports tell us that McKenny "doesn't like fireworks or the hoover". It mentions nothing about his love of jazz which I became convinced of as every time I played some mellow trio album by Keith Jarrett or the like he would climb up onto the couch and stretch out as if he was relaxing with the vibes.

'McKenny' Baker? Couldn't resist.

"Bit scared of heavy traffic and spiders." A combination that seems quite random but perfectly understandable.

"On lead, pulls a lot. Off lead very good, stays close to owner. Good with dogs on and off lead."

One of the most moving things was seeing McKenny trot ahead of you and then stop suddenly to look back like Orpheus checking on Eurydice in the underworld. Though maybe that analogy is a little too tragic. What I mean to say is he wouldn't leave you for dead if given half a chance and I appreciated it, especially if I imagined a future scenario a la 'Danny The Champion Of The World' where I might fall down a large hole in the woods though I'm not sure other than keeping me company McKenny could have done much else to help. It would have been some small comfort though.

Asked how does the dog react to being groomed, the report tells us that he "bites brush". I've had plenty of similar altercations with hairdressers throughout my life also.

In terms of sleeping arrangements, the reports asks where McKenny liked to sleep at night to which the answer provided is simply "in hallway". This seems poignant as in the last year of his life he would have about three different beds between our lower hallway and guest bedroom to indulge in the luxury of having a multiple choice. There was always something aesthically pleasing about seeing him curled up like a field mouse on his various beds. Now we've zipped up the beds into a large storage bag and stuffed it between the rafters of our garage. The places where he once slept are now just boring spaces, unfilled by his doggy form. Buddhists may remind us of the inherent emptiness of things but the illusory fullness of things is hard to beat, especially when they're your furry mate.

Holding my canine pal in my arms for one last time as we sat in my sunny garden to share our final moments together, I found myself having my very own "E.T." moment with me as 'Elliot' and McKenny as the 'extra-terrestrial'. My dog wasn't leaving on a spaceship to outer space but it was still to some great unknown. Looking down at McKenny's one remaining eye (milky white with blindness) I stroked his beautiful and noble face and without even thinking to say anything volunteered a humble "thank you" as my tears fell onto his fur like drops of rain. I can't remember many times where words came out of my mouth without some prior consideration of thought before uttering them but this was one such time and it was, I suppose, one of the purest expressions of gratitude I've ever felt in my life.

Holding him for the last time while he lay unknowing of his fate on the garden bench felt serene, apt and unbearably sad all at the same time. Removing his collar seemed symbolic, as if he was being prepared to be freed of the physical burden of his tired, arthritic body in order to run free amongst the fields of heaven (hopefully with some sticks being thrown). I'm afraid I've gone all maudlin at the time of writing this - what I now refer to as the Hallmark stage of grief and I make little apology for it.

It makes sense to me now that we can feel such a pure channel of love for our pets. Human relationships are complex and messy. Our dogs generally seem far more simple in their requirements to world-share with us in the precious time we spend together. McKenny had his complexities, especially with his OCD (Obsessive Collie Disorder) but when it came down to it he wanted the same things we all do at our basic fundamental level - food, affection and nature (and in that order). We're really not that dissimilar when you think about it. It's our overthinking brains that make us forget the true priorities of life at times.

For me, then, I've realise that dogs are here, like our Jedi spiritual masters, to remind us what we otherwise might forget.

We'll never forget our beautiful McKenny.