Paphos People

A DOG LOVERS TALE

When we lived in the UK we had two West Highland terriers, they were called Moet and Chandon. (My wife’s idea) They were both female with a good pedigree. Over a period of three years each one had three litters usually six or seven puppies at a time. They were perfect, looking like miniature polar bears and for a minimum of eight weeks they lived mainly in the integral garage with Mum in a birthing box, high enough to keep them from climbing out. As they grew larger and developed an adventurous spirit they managed to escape and mainly inhabited the house as well. There was always one left in the birthing box, so we watched them and they escaped by climbing on the back of one of the other pups but of course the last one couldn’t get out. Prospective owners came to see them, picked their dog but were made to wait until the pups were eight weeks old before they were taken from Mum.
By this time, Mum had had enough of them and parting was accepted with a certain amount of relief from her. The pups eagerly went to their new owners and the adventures that awaited them. A wonderful and it has to be said very profitable period for all concerned.
There was always one who was smaller than the rest, the runt of the litter, but he or she received extra attention and was usually very even tempered. One litter had a particularly small pup so we took him to the vet. On examination the vet said that he had a cleft palate and couldn’t suckle properly. Her advice was either put him to sleep or let nature take its course.
She advised against trying to hand rear him because the chances of him making it were very slim and the heartache that would follow if we failed would be unbearable. We said that we would think about it and let her know. We both knew that he deserved the best chance we could give him. The vet supplied us with a small feeding syringe and we fed him with a liquid formula two or three times a day, graduating to a feed of pulverized solid food, all fed directly down his throat. Lucky was his designated name and regular visits to the vet confirmed that we were doing all right so far.
Because he was so small and would obviously need special treatment for the rest of his life, nobody wanted him. All his brothers and sisters went to their new homes and lives, but he stayed with us. I used to tuck him inside my jacket and he came to work with me. I had a removal and transport business introducing him to my clients always caused great interest especially to the girls on reception and he soon became very popular.
One night, after he was fed and had played with Moet and Chandon we put him to bed in the kitchen only to find his poor lifeless little body there in the morning. We had failed him but he had a short and happy life. The vet was right and the heartache was greater than anything we had ever imagined.

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When we came to live in Cyprus, we both agreed that the lifestyle of adventure and exploration would not be suitable for a dog, so we would not have one.
All went well for three or four years, we travelled the island from end to end and top to bottom, discovering the historical ancient ruins and beautiful mountain areas and of course the beaches. Village Tavernas with traditional fare on offer were always a must and we really enjoyed finding out about Cyprus.
There came a time when we had to have something to do. So I went back to my roots and bought a white van. Delivery contracts and transport jobs still meant that we could see the sights only this time we got paid to do it.
One day on our way out to a delivery, we stopped at a road junction not far from home.
“Is anything coming your way?” I asked my wife.
“No but there’s a little dog wandering in the road, he only looks a few weeks old, he’ll get run over in a minute. Wait here I’ll see if I can catch him.”
So I pulled over to the side of the road and watched in the mirror as my wife approached the little bundle of fur. He came straight to her, tail wagging as she scooped him up. Back at the van she held him up for my approval.
“There’s nobody around with him, I’ll take him home and give him a drink of water.”
“You’re not coming with me then?” I said smiling.
“No I think he’s more important” with that she turned and headed back towards home.
About an hour or so later I put my key into the front door only to hear my wife say
“You’re beautiful you are”
Guessing it wasn’t me she was talking to, I wasn’t surprised to see the little puppy sat on the settee, wagging his tail as I approached him.
“You’re a bonny wee chap aren’t you?”
That was enough for me, as he licked my hand his tail wagging like mad.

That’s how we acquired our most loveable little dog on February 14th 2011, so what else could we call him but VALENTINO, (TINO for short). Now twelve years later we had a birthday party for TINO on St. Valentine’s Day.