Principles

Don't be fooled about the title, this post isn't about my principles. I don't have any of those.

Principles was one of the nicknames I gave to the dog, Prince. Prince would be part of my life for 15 years and he certainly made his mark.

We'd had dogs before, but we'd had to put the last one down when I was 5. It wasn't until I was in high school that I got my next pet, which was Blackie, a rabbit. It was not long after that when I persuaded the mother to let me get a puppy.

The original idea was to get a chocolate Labrador puppy from my best friend, who had also given me the rabbit. The mother wasn't keen on having such a big dog though, so I had to look elsewhere. I had moved schools by that point and it was a new friend, Lisa, who gave me the opportunity to get Prince.

Off we went to view the 5 puppies. They were Jack Russells and all were cute as hell. there was one who immediately caught our eye though. He was black and brown, with the tips of his paws white. It was later noted by a vet that he looked like a sponge with frostbite. This would be the one we would take home.

He had been initially named 'Cadbury's', due to his colouring. We felt a name change was in order though and it was eventually my suggestion of 'Prince' that we settled on.

He was an adorable little puppy. It was heartbreaking to hear his cries during the night as he was shut in the kitchen as we tried to sleep. He was very attentive and loved to cuddle. Like all young dogs, he was a shadow, wherever he went.

He learned to climb the stairs quite early, although because each step was taller than he was, it took him quite a while to get up them. Getting down was no problem though. More often than not, he'd slide down the stairs, rather than run down them. He never hurt himself though and I secretly thought he enjoyed coming down them more than he enjoyed exploring the upstairs rooms.

He'd always try to escape out the front door though, so he could go exploring. We once found him on the school field across the road after the front door had not been shut properly. On another occasion, while trying to escape while my friend left the house, my friend kicked out at him. I was not happy and I punched my best mate square in the face. nobody lashed out at Prince.

The window sill in the living room was only a couple of feet high, so he'd be constantly on his back legs looking out the window at the passing world. He continued this at our new house, although with a lot more difficulty as the windowsill was 4 foot from the ground. He'd always find a way though, either on the back of the sofa or via a table left in the general vicinity of the window. He'd bark at a blowing leaf 3 miles away, never mind a cyclist or pedestrian going past the window.

He co-existed with Blackie for a good while, although we had to keep them separated most of the time, especially when we gave Blackie the run of the living room for a few hours. Blackie would leave droppings on the carpet whenever we let him in, but we never had to hoover them them up, as first chance he got, Prince would be in doing the job for us. He could be a strange little dog at times.

About 9 months after we moved house, the mother kicked me out and stole Prince from me. He was 'hers' from then on and he remained a shadow in her life for his remaining years. She couldn't go anywhere without him following her. That'll teach her.

He had some weird traits that dog. He slept on the back of the sofa, usually flat on his back with his paws in the air. When he wanted something badly, he'd be back on his hind quarters like a meerkat. He'd plead for toast in the morning and once he'd got it, he'd lick the butter off, then leave the toast lying behind the sofa. He'd do that with some of his treats aswell. Countless times his treats would be found under the carpet, down the side of the sofa or even behind cushions.

He didn't eat like a normal dog either. He'd leave the food lying for a while, until he was ready for it. Most dogs wolf it down like it's their last meal.

When he was younger, he loved drinking warm tea that had been left unattended. We'd often find him buried snout deep in a cup which we hadn't finished with yet.

The mother liked to share her food with him. Whenever she had mince, she'd even cook extra for him. That meant that whenever I had mince, he assumed he would be getting some. I don't share food and he was often disappointed.

Prince, like me, had a thing for the ladies. Not the dog types, but the human types. Most of the time, he'd be trying to hump any female visitors. Male visitors would be barked at until they gave him plenty of attention. In his last few years, he barked at everyone, unless they gave him lots of attention.

As he got older, he lost his more active traits. He wouldn't bark at every knock at the door and didn't bother with the people walking past the window either. He still slept in the most awkward positions though. I guess he found them more comfortable, as humans tend to do aswell.

He had his own chair. it was part of the three-piece-suite we had had our old house. We kept it for him, as he liked to get under the cushion cover and fall asleep in the warmth it provided. On more than one occasion, we sat down on the chair, not knowing he was under there.

At night, he'd sleep in the mothers room. For the first half of the night, he'd sleep in his own bed, which was fluffed up with plenty of cushions and blankets. The second half of the night would be spent under the covers on the bed. He'd then wake the mother up when he needed to go out. She rarely got a lie in. It was her own fault mind, she had turned him into a mummy's boy over the years and those were the consequences.

Prince didn't get into much trouble, although he was once attacked by two dogs. I had taken him up to the Peak District with a friend of mine. As we walked along a public path, a dalmatian and a smaller dog, possibly a Corgi, ran up to us and attacked Prince. Neither dog was on a lead. prince had been loose aswell, but he was put on his lead when I spotted the other dogs in the distance.

They attacked him with such force that his collar went over his head and for a split second, he was at their mercy. Then I jumped into action. I rugby tackled the Dalmatian. It was a tackle that most professional rugby players would be proud of. I then pushed the smaller dog out of the way and picked Prince up. He was shaken up, but had no physical injuries from the attack.

The owners of the other dogs were a man and a woman. the woman looked petrified and felt very guilty. The bloke immediately went into defensive mode and said the dogs only attacked because they hadn't had their morning walk that day. He didn't show any remorse and I was quite proud of the fact I didn't rugby tackle him to the ground.

Prince was shaking for a while and I carried him, before letting him down again and he carried on as if nothing had happened. He was shattered after the long walk though and barely moved on the car journey back to Warrington. He'd come out of it pretty much unscathed though, so he was lucky. not as lucky as the owner of the other dog though. had Prince been injured, I would have launched an Adrian Morley-esque arm rape to the face at the owner of the dogs.

In late December 2011, Prince fell ill. He stopped eating and couldn't find a comfortable position to lay down in. He didn't get much sleep as a result either. He'd had a cough for a while, but when he fell ill, I rushed him to the vets. He was diagnosed with heart disease and had fluid on his lungs aswell. After an injection, he almost immediately perked up. After a couple of days, he was pretty much back to normal.

Giving him his pills was a lot of fun. My solution of literally throwing them into his mouth and then holding it shut seemed to work best and for a while, he carried on as normal.

We changed vets, as a new one had opened just a few yards down the road. The new vet felt that heart disease wasn't the problem and offered all sorts of tests to be done. This of course meant his pockets would be well lined for a while. He also cut down Prince's medication and put him on steroid's aswell.

Then, over the easter weekend in 2012, Prince took a turn for the worse. He had the same problems he had had in December, but on a much greater scale. His breathing was laboured and his heart rate was through the roof.

The new vet was called on the Easter Sunday and he quoted £120, just to come and knock on the door. there was no way we could afford that. We assumed his old vet would do the same, little did we know, they were actually open that day. But we didn't get him to his old vet until the Monday. by then, it was too late.

His heart was failing and we had three options. One was to give him an injection and see how he went. Two was to have him put to sleep and the third was to run all sort of tests.

Option three would cost a lot and it would probably do nothing but prolong his suffering. We went for option one and then waited half an hour to see if it took effect. He'd barely moved now for days and he lay there on the table, still, apart from the heavy and fast breathing. Just as we thought we'd have to take option two, he suddenly jumped up.

The little kidder was just offering some false hope though. Within 30 seconds, he was back down, in an apparently comfier position. We had to choose now. Option two or three.

For me, there was only one option and the mother agreed.

I'd taken my medication just minutes before we had left the house and it killed any emotions. I was thinking logically, which was a good thing, but I wasn't feeling much. The mother had tears in her eyes though.

I said my goodbyes to him. The vet came back in with a document for us to sign. It was permission to have him put to sleep. I'd sent the mother out so I could have a minute alone with him and it was me who signed this single sheet of paper. I'd signed his death warrant.

What amazed me, was the cost. His new vet had said it would cost 120, just to come out and see him. Yet the cost to have him put down and cremated, was less than £80.

I couldn't be there at the end though. I had to go out and have a smoke. Apparently once the injection was given, he was gone in seconds. His suffering had stopped and we had to go back to our lives. The mother went to work, I went home and busied my mind with a video game.

I gave his remaining treats to a neighbour who also had a Jack Russell and eventually we gave his bed and toys to the RSPCA. We've kept a couple of his blankets and his lead though, as a memento.

The mother went through a period of self-blame though. She wondered if he'd died because we hadn't gotten him to the vets on the Sunday. It took me a while to assure her that it wasn't out fault, it was just his time to go.

For a while, I still looked into the living room when I went downstairs, to see where he was sleeping. But he wasn't there.

It has affected me though. With the loss of Sue and Prince in such a short space of time, I've hit a big relapse in my own recovery. My plans to move are out of the window and I'm currently awaiting more therapy.

This year should have been my year. But life has thrown some obstacles in my way and I'm struggling at the moment