A DOGS LIFE true story
Bimbo was for several years the mascot of St. Marychurch. He was the friendly, intelligent little black and tan terrier that sat precariously on a ledge outside the living room window above the butcher’s shop in the Precinct. He loved his position as King of the Castle, greeting friendly locals with a wag of his tail, and a slightly suspicious growl for grockels, in true Devonian fashion. Little old ladies and paperboys would shout “Hello Bimbo”, while strangers thought him about to fall off, but he never did. Twice daily, regular as clockwork, he would set off on his social round, visiting other shopkeepers in order, for a quick chat, pat, and tit-bit, never outstaying his welcome. He was an institution.
Bimbo had been found as a young abandoned puppy, shivering and crying under a car in a cold, wet car park. Taken home, it was as if he knew he had to make himself lovable, and set about his task with a will, being in turn friendly to Charlie the butcher, pathetic to Mum, and playful with the 2 schoolboy sons. Not daft our Bimbo.
Each day, he was taken for his exercise through the car park, over the by-pass, to the field behind the Model Village, where he would chase his ball and any passing rabbits until he was exhausted. One day, while walking through the car park, his lead broke, and Bimbo ran the rest of the way, despite calls for him to come back. Out of sight, he ran across the by-pass, and there was a bang, and we thought that was the end of him. Catching up, we found a car with a big dent in its bumper, but no Bimbo, and feared the worst. We searched and called desperately, but no sign of him. If he was not dead, he must have been seriously injured.
On returning to the shop, we found a trail of bloody footprints leading to the shop doorway, but as the door was closed, the prints continued down the street. The police were informed, search parties organised, and many people spent hours searching the whole district. Later that evening, we received a phone call from a lady several miles away. She had found Bimbo in her garden, bloody, shivering, and in much distress. We piled into the car, and went to collect him straight away. We carried him gingerly to the car, and took him to the vets. Amazingly, Bimbo had no apparent serious injuries, but was very sore, bruised and stiff, and in deep shock. We took him home, made him as comfortable as possible, and one of us slept alongside him for several nights. Bimbo made a full recovery, but it was days before he could walk without obvious pain, and slowly, he regained his spirit, but never lost his fear of cars.
One day, a new company took over the butchers shop, and they decreed that dogs and butchers shops were incompatible, and that Bimbo would have to go. In vain, Charlie the butcher pleaded that he was part of the family; that he never entered the shop premises, that he helped trade, not hindered it. No, the decision was not negotiable: It was Bimbo or the job, take your choice.
Fortunately, Auntie Joan, Mum’s sister who lived with us, had just got a job as housemother to a family in Cornwall. They were a lovely family of 3 children, a dad, but no mother, who lived on a farm with six dogs, and a pony. Bimbo would be very welcome to take up residence with her. Reluctantly, we drove Auntie Joan, and Bimbo down to Cornwall, and Bimbo stuck very close to us, intimidated by the 6 assorted dogs. It was obvious when he suddenly realised that he was not going to come back with us, and it was truly heartbreaking when we could not let him back into the car to come home. There were bitter tears on our return journey, and if dogs can cry, Bimbo must have surely shed many.
Auntie Joan reported back to us that Bimbo was continually being terrorised by the other dogs, lead by a large black mongrel, which apparently resented this intruder. Joan said that Bimbo stuck to her like glue, and she protected him as much as she could. After a month of this, one day, Joan heard a commotion in the field behind the house. She ran out to find a terrible dogfight going on between Bimbo and the leader, which was several times the size of our little champ. Joan thought that Bimbo would be killed, but after a while, when she managed to separate them with a broomstick Bimbo emerged as the winner, bloody but unbowed. She took him in, bathed his wounds, and comforted him until he stopped shivering, and she just did not know what to do for the best, but need not have worried, as the dog world is very different to ours. Bimbo had emerged not only as the winner, but also as the new leader of the pack, once again, King of the Castle, and joy returned to this plucky little life.
For a while, Bimbo enjoyed the good life, leading his little group into all sorts of adventures on the farm, with his old adversary becoming his most trusted lieutenant and pal, but for him, good times never lasted for ever. He began to suffer from a skin complaint that made him bite his fur off. Frequent visits to the vet and various creams failed to cure him, and his condition grew slowly worse, making him unable to sleep, and he even became uncharacteristically snappy. Eventually, the vet said that he could do no more, and that Bimbo should be put down to bring his suffering to an end. With a heavy heart, we all agreed that this should be done, and he was taken to the vets for the final time. We would never forget Bimbo, a singular dog, loved and even respected by many people.
Eventually, the farm was sold, and Joan returned to the family fold, although we had in the mean time also left the shop. On day, the phone rang. A lady asked if we knew anything of a little black and tan terrier by the name of Bimbo. Of course Mum said yes, we had a dog of that name once, but he had been put down: Why? The lady said that she had been given the dog by a vet, who could not trace its owner. She said that it had been very ill, but had made a full though unexpected recovery, She said that he was a lovely old dog, friendly, but reserved, who spent all day sitting on the back of a chair, looking out of the window, as if waiting for someone.
One and all, we piled into the car, and made the fastest journey to Cornwall you have ever seen. The re union, when it came, was spectacular and indescribable, and never to be forgotten. Bimbo had wings, and seemed to have the ability to fly the last few feet to us. Bimbo returned to us to end his days happily as the King of our Castle.
