Boo

Time moves faster as we grow older. In our youth, time drags on; everything takes an age. I notice it in my life.  It seems only yesterday that our kids were at school, and I was coaching rugby on Sundays at the Stew Mel Lions in Edinburgh.  Yet this week, I received a notification that the junior rugby section is celebrating its 30th anniversary on 3 October 2026.  Worse still, as time speeds, my memory has dimmed.  It’s like there is a statistical correlation between time and my ability to recall.  So, when I try to remember my first boxer, Alice, or our second, Connie, I can’t recall the details of their characters.  Perhaps it’s the fog of middle age, trying to bring up a family and forge a career, and that the ‘dogs’ weren’t the focus of my attention as they have become in later life.  I fondly remember the gentle nature of Betty, the cuddliness of Bonnie, the loyalty of Lillia, and the cheeky defiance of Mabel, who we lost earlier in the year.

           It was only last Monday that our boxer, Boo, showed signs of not being well.  She didn’t want to eat or go out for a walk.  She started coughing, was listless and subdued, and her breathing was shallow.  We took her to the vet. She had a high temperature, and her heart was racing.  They kept her in at the vets for three nights, on a drip for fluids, antibiotics and heart medicines.  She stabilised and was back with us for two nights, but she slept and was struggling.  Boo returned to visit the vet on Saturday morning, and we discovered that her heart rate and temperature were up again.  After an X-ray, a suspected growth was discovered in her heart.  At least we had a diagnosis, but knew that there was no cure, and it was just a matter of time.  We were given some steroids in the hope that this might slow the disease down and provide us with time.  However, last night, exactly a week since she became ill, she succumbed.  Once again, Dalriada Vets have been fantastic.  Alison, Justine, Emma, and especially Catriona, who had to cope with me sobbing in the surgery.  Kindness and humanity are timeless.

            The shock and speed of events have been overwhelming.  Sue and I have been coming to terms with losing Mabel in July.  Boo was blossoming as the lone star attraction waiting to greet our guests at Powdermills B&B.  She loved to walk the visitors round the grounds, playing her peculiar form of fetch, where the human gets the ball, and the dog retains it.  ‘Drop’ was never a command that she mastered, probably because her native language was Italian.  She was a dog of the highest European pedigree, had a Russian father and an Italian mother.  She had a gentle temperament, although she was a ‘fearty’ and would never lead from the front.

            She was a tactile dog who wanted to cuddle you on her terms: leaning on you or pretending to be a lapdog, unlike the lithe and agile Mabel, Boo was a tank of muscle.  My friend Derek discovered that last month.  Boo decided that she wanted to cuddle with Derek on the couch while we were watching TV.  It was quite an honour, although whether Derek appreciated the snoring and associated smells is open to question.

            Boo was only seven, taken too early even for short-lived boxers.  I’ve lost my ever-eager gardening assistant who imagined she was helping when she destroyed a pile of leaves recently swept up, my shadow and companion. Boo has left a life full of anecdotes and wonderful memories for Sue and me, our family, and the guests at Powdermills. Time does move too fast, and it’s at times like this that we should stop, take stock of those around us, and slow down to appreciate the good things in life.  It could be lost and gone in a flash.

            Farewell, my beautiful Boo, we love you.