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There's an Irish guy I often bump into who I first met when his lurcher, P, was 8 and Jasper was a puppy. Jasper worshipped P, and this guy, who was rather eccentric and often seemed as if he had breakfasted on Guinness, thought that J was wonderful and 'just the sort of dog they love over in Ireland'.
I met him this morning, without P, and asked how P was doing, thinking it was quite likely he wasn't with us any more as he'd be 16 now. My friend told me that some time ago, P had had a stroke. He hadn't expected him to pull through, so he dug a grave ready for P in his garden. Yet P bounced back, so he filled it in again.
A bit later, P had a bad infection and possible cancer in his foot and needed an anaesthetic so it could be operated on. The vet wasn't sure P would survive the anaesthetic, but my friend went ahead as the alternative was euthanasia... and went home to dig another grave.
The operation went well, there was no cancer and my friend said, 'P's going from strength to strength, but my back is completely bu@@ered'
I met him this morning, without P, and asked how P was doing, thinking it was quite likely he wasn't with us any more as he'd be 16 now. My friend told me that some time ago, P had had a stroke. He hadn't expected him to pull through, so he dug a grave ready for P in his garden. Yet P bounced back, so he filled it in again.
A bit later, P had a bad infection and possible cancer in his foot and needed an anaesthetic so it could be operated on. The vet wasn't sure P would survive the anaesthetic, but my friend went ahead as the alternative was euthanasia... and went home to dig another grave.
The operation went well, there was no cancer and my friend said, 'P's going from strength to strength, but my back is completely bu@@ered'