It is with great sadness that I report that Sammy Sammy ‘No Balls’ Terry has died.
He took his last doggy breath at around 4pm on Sunday 5 July 2015.
Sam was, as readers of this blog will know, probably the greatest dog that has ever lived, the incident when he almost ruined Christmas notwithstanding.
It’s fitting then, that he had the best death that a dog can have.
Sam was getting old.
It’s 11 years since Terry and Mrs Terry rescued a near feral one-year-old with balls the size of satsumas, and twelve is getting on for a Lab.
He was still very young at heart, playing with his duck and doing as much biting as he possibly could, but both Terry Terry and Mrs Terry knew that he couldn’t be far off from the great playing field in the sky.
But, before they had to make a heart-wrenching decision about taking him to the vet for a very long sleep, Sam made the decision for himself.
One warm Sunday afternoon, our lovely dog took himself into the kitchen and lay down on the cool, tiled floor.
Terry went over and tickled Sam on the tummy, talking to him and telling him what a good dog he was.
Sam wagged his tail and, still wagging, lifted his head up, had a good, long stare at the fridge – his friend of old – then laid his head down on the tiles and wagged his last wag.
He was gone. But with Terry by his side, and positioned right next to the fridge – his box of delights.
He’s buried in the back garden, on the opposite side of the path to Lucy – the dog who had liposuction – and positioned so he’s facing into the house, because he liked to sit outside and stare in, just in case someone had the audacity to eat something without involving him.
To Sam Terry, then. The greatest dog the world has ever known, now eating bananas in doggy paradise.
Forever, a very good boy.