Hamlet

Oh my goodness, I have another follower, after nearly six years of Blogging rubbish. That’s two now, thanks to Dr. Laverty and The Last Furlong. So I shall have to think of something interesting to say.

So often I impart my sensible and not so sensible opinions on the Blogs of other people, and I don’t want to be mean spirited about this in the process of keeping these opinions for the unlikely possibility that I might decide to use them on my own blog. Especially when others are so much better at it than I am.

Anyway, I have decided to talk about Hamlet today as I am not in a particularly tearful mood.

Hamlet was a Black Afghan. The runt of the litter with a nasty hernia, and his prize winning Breeder didn’t want him. She changed her mind about that later. She tried to buy him back, but too late by then. He was my passion and the one dog for me that I believe most dog lovers get only once. You love those before and those after, but they are never quite the same thing. If you haven’t had one yet, you still might.

As Afghan standards go, he was perfect and just about the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen. With his long flowing hair, he could run like the wind. He once nearly took down a Dartmoor Pony. But I ran like the wind that day. Just his instincts, so I can well see them taking down big cats in their native land. But it couldn’t be allowed with a Pony on Dartmoor. And I did catch him in time.

He had a heart attack on some Plymouth beach, and lots of kind people helped me carry him back up the cliff. I have never quite forgiven myself for leaving him at The Vet’s where he died. Splendid though he was, he was a complete wimp and only really trusted me. My children buried him in the garden while I cried uncontrollably.

And that, Folks, was forty five years ago. Excuse me. Must go and get a tissue.