My dogs

As far as I can remember, I always had a dog.

Now with maturity, I think often: The more I see men, the more I love dogs.

Teddy, WWII old-timer....

My first dog was an old half breed. His name was Teddy. He died at age 17, in the early 1950's. I was 3 or 4, but I still remember him. He was my help when I learned walking

That dog had known World War II. In May 1940, he left Gembloux with my Mom, my Grand Parents and some neighbours when the German troops invaded Belgium. He was even shot by Luftwaffe's Stukas. The odyssey finished at the French border. Only one dog from our street came back and survived the war. It was our good old Teddy... .

 

Ronny, my childhood's dog...

Ronny, another black and white bastard, was the next one. He was a gift from my Godfather. He was a marvellous friend and we shared my children's games and secrets. Very often we share even his doghouse...

One day, Ronny disappeared. My Dad made unsuccessful searches in our neighbourhood. My poor dog was lying on the railway very closeby. A steam train had killed him.

Dicky, cowardly killed...

Mom had decided No more dog at home...

However, by a rainy winter evening, Dad and I came back home with a little black and white hairy pet. It was Dicky. He was just two month old. He, also, shared my child games and my young teen's secrets and hopes. He never betrayed me.

Lucky time! In our old Du Culot and La Vote streets, they were not yet too many cars. Dogs could freely walk alone in the streets. Nobody cared about it. Dicky did it very often. He was friendly with many children in the neighbourhood. Sometimes he didn't even come back at home for the night. So we were not anxious when he didn't come back on a spring evening. The next day I looked for him. And the next day also. And the next day again. I left no stone unturned. But... my friend never came back.

In a little country town, walls have ears and eyes... Two years later, somebody told me that my dog was shoot with a riffle, because another dog had done some damages in a garden...

A dog's life for some salads...

Coincidence - or God's justice - the killer died soon after in a motorcycle crash...

Ann, my golden lovely cocker...

I was then a young man. And dogs were not my first interest...

After my wedding, I missed again a dog... But my young wife decided No dogs at home, or I leave! Women have sometimes very strange ideas.

One a Friday evening in 1974, in our regular restaurant, she fell in love with two Golden Spaniel Cockers... I have elbow room... And the next day, came Ann at home. She was 6 or 7 weeks old...

My cocker became the amateur radio club mascot. She made also a lot of trips: Denmark, Deutschland, Austria, Provence... She loved to pass her head out of the window of my 2CV car and bark whenever we passed over slower vehicles...

The Cocker is a very clever dog, but he is very mulish. I think he is the only one who can train his master... He knows what you want but don't do it... So you stop asking... And he chooses his moment to do just what you asked... But he is so lovely...

With Ann, I was father for the first time. In 1978, one year before my real daughter Catherine's birth, 8 little cocker puppies were born. Only five survived. What a story! The Vet gives some hormones... and the dog doesn't have milk anymore. I bottle fed them ... 8 times a day...

Ann was the first dog of my adult life. She was the first dog of my daughter Cathy. After my divorce, she was waiting for me in the empty house and was the confident of my delights, my hopes and my pains...

On an evening of 1988, I found Ann lying in the kitchen. She was in a very bad shape. She was awaiting me to die. Just before, she raised her head and gave me a last look full of real love...

Cathy and I me burried her in the garden.

That morning, the sky was crying...

Mouchy, only a dog... but MY dog...

June 1989. I meet the most fantastic four-legged friend, Mouchy, a bastard Malinois Shepherd. Because he had made some blunders, he was left by his former master in an animals shelter, Sans Collier, on the National Road 4, in Chastre. He was 10 months old.

Mouchy was not too big. But he was full of tenderness and affection.

We spent together 13 years of common life, beginning by a big blunder. With another dog, he escaped on the speedway and was responsible for a crash. Luckily, nobody was hurt and the dog was saved, but with a lot of contusions... My insurance company paid the biggest part of the dammages. Because of this story, I built a first class kennel for him. But he soon preferred the living room couch... Today the kennel is full of wild grass..  

Mouchy was always with me. He fell also in love with Marie-Anne. He was our Baby.

Nobody could dare enter the garden if unknown by Mouchy... In fact, he was a very friendly dog, but made a lot of noise and seemed very angry....  It was only appearances

Mouchy made a lot of noise when Freddy, the postman came around. Everyday the winner was the dog because the postman ran away...after the delivery in the postal box. A delivery postman even stopped his car far from our house and came several times before surreptitiously dropping the mail when the dog was disturbed...

In September 2001, Mouchy became much slimmer. The blood analysis was negative. In December, I must take the hard decision: help him for the last trip.

He died in my arms...

He was 13... He was only a dog... but he was MY dog... I'm not ashamed of my tears...

Valy

Now... my last dog is Valy. A female Tervueren Belgian Shepherd.

See her story and some nice pictures on her page.