As most of you know I have many elements to my life, sometimes they do not sit very comfortably together at other times there are some surreal moments when they collide but on occasions it all fits beautifully. We had such an occasion recently.
In our village we have a Scottish Gentleman called Eric (or Ernie) I believe his real name is Ernie but I have always known him as Eric. He lives in a tent in the woods and walks through the village each day up to the Friary, his dog Bing always at his side. Bing is a Lurcher/Shepherd/Collie mix, a tall dog.
Many people keep an eye on the pair and there was concern recently when the Friary changed hands from Franciscan with a weekly catholic congregation to a closed Benedictine order. There was no need for concern however, as the Benedictine brothers seem to have accepted Eric and Bing as part of the furniture.
Bing at nearly 16 has been gradually slowing up, and for the past year his back legs have begun to struggle.
Eric is as phobic about vets as he is doctors, repeating the story of Bings one and only visit to the vet where he caused chaos in the waiting room and had to leave by the back door!
Eric, unable to think of losing his companion, is in denial. 'Och, he puts it on haf the time, he ran fast enough after a rabbit the other day!'
The thought of Bing one day collapsing in the woods and just not being able to get up, worried me terribly and I made sure Eric had my mobile number. The idea being I would rush over, pick him up and take him to Jane the vet. But I was not always in the village, more often at my ponies and Jane only worked some days at my practise, what would happen if he collapsed and either Jane or myself were not around?
We could only trust it to the one who cares for us all and whose timing is perfect.
Weeks, months went by, Bing carried on. We would pass them in the car, 'How was Bing looking today?' I would ask the children.
Then one day I saw Eric in the shop, no Bing outside! Before I could gasp in alarm, Eric saw me and rushed from the shop holding up his hand in a 'Maggie Thatcher, STOP, way.' 'No he's OK, I left him up there to save him the walk.'
It turned out he was now staying in a hut at the Friary overnight, to save Bing the walk back and forth through the village each day.
Then two weeks ago I saw him and he said Bing had not eaten for several days but that he thought he would be alright as he was still drinking plenty. It did not sound good.
The Brothers told Eric he could bury him there in the grounds.
It was a Thursday, Jane was not in.
It so happened we had several crises that day and the next and I was wound up and stressed. It also happened that I was at the vets, in the consultation room with Lexus, talking with Jane, when my mobile rang. It was Brother John, Eric had asked him to ring me, Bing could not get up, the time had come.
Later that day Jane followed me though the village to the Friary. Eric met us and took us to where Bing was lying, barely conscious in the hut. Just the three of us, in the most tranquil of settings, on a beautiful day. Jane eased Bing on his final journey and Eric let his faithful companion go.
As I looked at the peaceful grounds I wondered that I had ever doubted the timing, the whole place is steeped in prayer.
Eric buried him in the woods and although he is missing him, and still picks up the lead sometimes when he goes out, he says he is enjoying getting a good nights sleep (Bing would wake him in the night) and he is not rushing into finding another dog.
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