Elly the dog

My little Elly, my Elly-the-dog whom I love to bits, is being put to sleep this morning. She is 13 and two thirds, which is a very good age for a big dog. I shall miss her tons. Mum trained her to speak to me down the phone -- she would go "urrooowworrooowooo", and it was usually possible to get something of her mood by the intonation. We had her for a year before I left for university, so she always knew I was part of the pack, and whenever I visited my parents she would greet me with abandoned joy. She did a little dance around me with small gestures at my bag: it went "It's you! It's you! I'm so pleased to see you (and your bag). I love you very much and it's great to have you home! (And I also love your bag.)" (Because I would bring a present for her in my bag.) Then in the evening she would lie her head on my feet and gaze up at me with big brown eyes as if she couldn't believe I was really there.