Nicki the guide dog's predecessor, Kizzie, died in January, but we only found this out, by accident, yesterday.
Kizzie, or Kizz, Kizzer, Frizante, Zig Zag Wag, Zigger, Miss Dogg, Mrs Tubington - a panopoly of names - was a very good dog indeed, both a laid back guide dog and a furry ball of friendliness to have around the house. Never in yer face, but always affectionate and happy to be cuddled. She was as much my pet as Mrs D's mobility tool and though I hate the use the word in relation to a dog, friend.
She had oodles of personality, once jumping in between The Wife and I during a pre-marriage quarrel. A few years after this, we re-united after some time away in Ireland, at Heathrow, and while we both hugged our greetings at the baggage reclaim exit, Kizzie waited, until, with a huge degree of constanation, let a most put-out sounding whine - almost a squawk: "COME ON - WHERE'S MY SNOG?"
Some things Kizzie was infamous for:
- Crossing her paws while lying on her tummy - very "lady-like".
- Making very grumpy huffing sounds when she'd had enough of anything.
- Having her nose close to the ground, even when on the harness, a habit which we never managed to fully break.
- Being the only dog I would ever trust to walk without the lead, even when close to busy roadds. Even with me, she was incredibly responsive and careful.
- Eating and wishing to eat.
- Testing the boundaries of the pecking order by taking a dump in tube stations, even after she'd had one recently. Despite what The Wife says, I feel this to be a deliberate ploy rather than accidental. The time interval between craps was always between 6-7 months.
- Not coming back. Her walking skills were great, her recall was, lets be frank here, fucking dreadful.
We know than because she was the most helpful and useful of dogs, she can only be reincarnated as an elephant, the most noble and more importantly LARGE beast going.
