Roly came to us in 1998. The postcard on the noticeboard said puppies for sale; Jack Russell’s, home reared, eight weeks old. How could we resist? We’d been thinking of getting a companion for Milo, our first dog. Just 20 months older, Milo was the perfect little Jack Russell Terrier. Bright as a button and good as gold, you could almost see his halo shine. Roly in comparison was a thug! Of dubious parentage (a probable mix of JRT, Staffie and possibly a helping of Labrador), Roly was highly excitable, very needy and a nightmare to train. But he was also adorable.
Roly and Milo were inseparable. They went everywhere together, did everything together. When one found a stick, the other one was to be found on the other end of the same stick. But where Milo was independent and confident, Roly relied heavily on the cues and reassurances of his human family. Traveling the length and breadth of Britain with me, the boys met many other people and their dogs. Milo running headlong to meet and greet, Roly looking back to check I was coming.
When Milo left us at the grand old age of sixteenth and three quarters, I wondered how Roly would cope. He’d never known life without his smaller brother but over the following year we established an even stronger bond. A true understanding. Loving and loyal, I am convinced he would have laid down his life for me but equally he would have expected me to do the same.
And then, as Roly entered his sixteenth year another little scrap came into our lives. Another canine friend, the eyes and ears that would guide Roly through his final months.
When it became apparent that my darling Roly was nearing his time to leave us, I rang Dignity. I explained that I had always had a bit of a problem accepting cremation (human or animal) but I knew there wouldn’t be anyone to help me bury my beautiful boy when the time came. The children had grown and left home and Roly was considerably bigger than Milo had been. The staff were so caring and understanding. They suggested I might like to visit the premises so we could talk through my anxieties. So, I did. I was shown the Farewell Rooms and then walked through the beautiful grounds to see the chamber and the Remembrance Garden. I was given the opportunity to ask questions and immediately sensed the care and compassion of all the staff taking time to explain every step.
Just a few days later, aged seventeen years and two weeks, I took my beautiful boy on his final journey. I was able to choose the pathway he would take in the knowledge that he would be cared for at every step, as if he were their own. I chose the two day service but was able to stipulate the chamber in the Victorian Brick Kiln, collecting his ashes a few days later in a simple wicker scatter pouch decorated with tiny dried flowers.
It is now more than six years since that sad day and although Roly’s ashes are buried with his brother in the garden underneath an engraved pebble celebrating their lives with the simple words “Together Forever”, I pass the sign to the Crematorium each day on my way to work and it is there I remember him. At peace on his final journey. Surrounded by daffodils and in the hands of people who truly cared.