Memories – Pete's Blog

Our dog Ziggy passed away this week. I thought long and hard about whether to write about her in this blog. It is not really the cheery vibe I am used to. Some people will question why it is such a big deal. She was only a dog. Other people will object to having their own sad memories triggered. But I have decided that writing about something else would be disrespectful to Ziggy. She deserves a few words.

We chose Ziggy and her sister Lulu from a litter of Cairn Terriers born in Doncaster in August 2014. Actually, she chose us, walking over to ask to be picked up and cuddled. She was never the most elegant of dogs. She had a broken leg as a puppy because her bones grew too fast, and always walked with a strange gait, rather like muffin the mule. She had big brown eyes that frankly could get her anything she wanted. And what she usually wanted was sausages.

Lulu was our mad dog – chasing squirrels and snarling at the world. Ziggy on the other hand was quiet and loyal. There was nothing she enjoyed more than a “Ziggy cuddle”, where she lay on her back in my arms, with her head dangling to one side.

I would take the dogs on long walks. They particularly enjoyed the West Highland Way and the Southern Upland Way. Lulu would charge ahead till she got tired, and Ziggy would stay close to heel, hoping for treats. We went on long holidays to Scottish islands – Skye, Orkney, Islay and Uist. They loved beaches where they could run a round like mad things.

And both dogs have always liked being on Narrowboat Thuis, their home from home. Ziggy would sit on the back deck of the boat, watching the world go by, while Lulu scanned the towpath for something to bark at. In the evening Ziggy would try to push her luck, asking for an early tea because she was sooooo hungry.

Two years ago she was diagnosed with multiple cancers and given three months to live. The vets have been amazed how our miracle dog in fact survived nearly two years, and had such a happy time. The last few months were more difficult. She was dosed up with pain killers and couldn’t come on those long walks with her sister anymore. But until a couple of weeks ago she was still clearly a contented and happy dog. In the end I think she had finally had enough but obviously it has been very sad to let her go.

But I refuse to leave Ziggy with sad thoughts. My phone screen saver provides random photographs of the dogs and I was worried seeing Ziggy would upset me. But as I see her again, I am reminded of so very many happy memories. She was the best.

Rest in peace my wonderful, loyal, cuddly dog Ziggy.

This week we have continued our narrowboat journey in the East Midlands. This is an area we have not seen before on the canals and not one I am familiar with in real life. We have mostly been travelling on the Erewash Canal, a beautiful but badly maintained and vandalised waterway through the ex-coal towns of Long Eaton, Ilkeston and ending at Langley Mill. We had a tough time, getting grounded due to low water levels, steering past sunken boats and fallen trees, and struggling to open leaky locks.

So you can imagine my surprise when we reached the extravagantly named “Great Northern Basin” at the top of the canal and I found all the fishing signs were from Matlock Angling Club.

I grew up in Matlock and just seeing the signs took me back there. Memories of school lessons, playing in a brass band, singing in a choir, going to church where my Dad was the vicar, going to pubs for the first time, learning about girls. It was not just memories. I could feel what it was to be an adolescent again. Simpler times than now, with no social media, more freedom, fewer expectations. For me they were happy innocent times and all of that came back to me from a few fishing signs.

You may wonder why Matlock Angling Club would cover such a town. the truth is that it is only a few miles away. Great Northern Basin is at the junction of the Erewash and the defunct Nottingham and Cromford canals. Cromford is very close to Matlock. Indeed we had a school reunion there last year.

But when I grew up my parents did not drive and so my view of the world was limited to Matlock and places I would visit by public transport such as Bakewell, Buxton and Derby. Funny to think that now I think nothing of travelling around Europe for a month.

I’d give the Erewash 4 out of 10 as a canal experience, but to bring back being a teenager from a couple of signs, that must be 9 out of 10. Happy days.

My father passed away this week. I have written before about him. He has had advanced Alzheimer’s for several years and in recent times has been a shell of what he was. He knew no-one, could not communicate, could not understand, was incontinent and immobile. It made me deeply sad and angry. I still expected however, that when he passed I would be upset. And yet this week I have been very matter of fact, getting on with the logistics. I am definitely more relieved than grieving. So am I kidding myself? Will this come and hit me later? Or did I do my grieving as he deteriorated and I lost the father and man he once was?

He was a traditional father. I don’t remember him ever hugging me. There were four of us children and as we grew up he was always there for us, but in a quite hands-off way. If we had an intellectual argument he became engaged and was fascinated. He was less good with emotions. This is a little odd because he was a parish priest, and empathy with people in tough situations was part of the job. I think it was just that underneath the image of the vicar, he was always a shy man. I think he was proud of me. I was certainly proud of him.

I do have very happy memories of him. We were lucky to have a stable and safe family environment. There was never much money around, but he kept us clothed and fed. I would add “warm” but we grew up in cold, draughty vicarages where you would wake up to ice patterns on the inside of the bedroom windows. But I am not complaining. That was normal in our generation and we were happy. And we were free. He and our Mum always encouraged our independence. I could leave the house first thing and not return till dusk. From an early age I would go to cub camps, or music weekends by myself. I learnt to be self reliant, in terms of my physical and emotional needs. It made me who I am.

This week I have loved reading the many “With Sympathy” cards that my Mum has received. Dad was involved in many clubs and activities and was held in great respect. What I have loved the most is that these memories are all of how he was before the awful disease took him away. It has helped me remember that man. I loved him.

Bye Dad x

Tag: Memories

RIP Ziggy

When the memories all come flooding back

Don’t I care about losing my Dad?