Submitted by Ken Dasilva-Hill
As a baby I was often put on the back of my grandmother's pet dog Spot, by my aunts, to give me a ride. This amused my aunts a lot and I can just remember this myself. I grew up with the dog and at about the age of eight I would play with my younger cousins and Spot at my grandmother's house. We often played in the garden and I got used to raising the sash of the bay window to climb into the house. Spot was a great favourite with us kids, all children love a dog as a friend and playmate, and Spot could perform a few tricks which we had taught him. The dog was getting old however, so we were careful not to get him to do more than he could, and anyway, he now spent a lot of time just curled up in his basket, watching us as we played.
One afternoon we were in the garden digging out tunnels for our toy soldiers to explore and to hide our tin cars in, at the bottom of the garden. Like all kids, the need to keep playing to the last moment was more important than doing the essential things. Suddenly my cousin started jumping up and down and shouting "I need to pee, I need to pee, now, let me indoors". I rushed to the window and raising the sash, climbed in the house and jumped down onto the sofa, patting Spot on the head as I did so. I rushed to the front door and as I let Michael in, I suddenly felt a deep chill go down my spine. I suddenly remembered that Spot had died the previous Sunday, but I swear to this day that I patted that dog on the head and he licked my hand in return as I went to the door.
I still have photos of spot somewhere, I inherited them when my parents died. There is even one picture of me riding on his back. A rather scruffy white rough haired dog with a black patch on his body, but a lovely pet and one who will be forever with me.
Copyright Ken DaSilva-Hill 2017