Twiglet was a dog. A classic dog, the sort you got in Enid Blyton books. She had that certain smell when she got wet; she was full of adventure and eager to explore with her so-called master (me). She passed on in July 2016, at the age of sixteen plus, and left a large, chocolate labrador shaped hole behind. So it seems fitting, six months later, to celebrate the unexpected last three years of her life, when she suddenly found herself part of a lurcher pack. Which must have been a bit of a surprise.

She’d already had a strange association with one lurcher. Jade was a Bedlington x wolfhound x greyhound sort of a lurcher, one of those mixes you can’t ever fully identify. For thirteen years, Twiglet lived in a home with no definite alpha dog. Jade was crackers. High prey instinct, tendency to bite the calves of people she didn’t know, neurotic enough to throw herself through a window-pane to get at the postman, and so on. A night-pacer, never settled, and too unsure to be boss. Even the behaviourists were a bit flummoxed by her.

Twiglet loved Jade in her own loyal way – even though they would fight if one of them felt trapped. We came home one day to find that they’d got stuck in the bathroom together, and the walls were sprayed with blood. I’ve seen hack-and-slash horror films which paled in comparison. We’d only been out for an hour or so, but they’d managed to jam the door shut after them and go to it with a vengeance. It was one of those scenes where the police pathologist looks at the ceiling and says “From the length of the blood spurt, the victim was *alive* when the knifeman struck!” Thankfully, it turned out to be from those sort of ear wounds which bleed a lot but don’t even need tape or stitches.

Despite this, if Jade was outside and dinner was served, Twiglet would bark to tell her (and us). She signalled every opportunity for food or walkies so that Jade knew what was happening. And she kept us updated on how Jade was doing. The most touching moments were when the old lurcher started to lose the use of her back legs. After that, if Jade collapsed in the garden, or upstairs, Twiglet would come to us and bark until we went and picked Jade up. “What’s that, Lassie? Mr McGregor has fallen down the old mine shaft? We’re on our way.”

Perhaps it wasn’t surprising then that when we lost Jade (also at about sixteen years), our chocolate labrador went into a distinct decline. She started peeing inside sometimes, moping around the house, and lost much of her vigour. We thought it could be her own gradually failing physical health, but it was more psychological. She was mourning.

It should be said that Twiglet was a stubborn dog. Mind-numbingly obstinate, in fact. If she wanted a cup of tea (which she always did), she would sit and stare at me for at least half an hour until I gave in and passed the cup down to her. If she wanted to go somewhere, she would shove me and the furniture out of the way.

We planted seriously prickly, thorny bushes in key parts of the garden to channel her. She slammed her way through the densest, spikiest hedging imaginable, as if it were candyfloss. She lay down where she chose. In doorways, on the bed, on your feet. It didn’t matter what you said to her, or how much you attempted to use ‘training’. She did what she wanted, when she wanted.

But we wanted her to be happier, and to recover from the loss of Jade. There was something which Twiglet needed, and we were pretty sure that it was canine companionship. We tried introducing her to a puppy, but she was having none of that. A rescue worker suggested that we let her enjoy her ‘golden years’ as she was, alone, but that didn’t feel right.

So we looked out for another dog, maybe an adult who would be more ready for an old dog’s ways. Another labrador, perhaps, or a placid animal who wouldn’t be bothered, and wouldn’t bother Twiglet. We would let them meet a number of times on walks, have a new dog around more in stages, and maybe she would accept another presence in the house, after a while…

Which is why we suddenly ended up with two large, highly active longdogs we’d never met, driven hundreds of miles on spec from the other end of the country. Obviously. Being a devout lurcher enthusiast, I confess that I was a major moving force, though the Editor-in-Chief had to admit that they were appealing. I loved Twiglet, but boy, these two were too good to miss. Mega-fabulous deerhound/greyhound crosses, urgently needing a new home, factory-set for long walks and wild runs.

(We were fortunate in our back-up, as well. Lurcher Link helped with every stage, and organised a foster so that all possibilities were covered. They were thorough in all the right places, and incredibly helpful. More at lurcher link online )

Don’t get me wrong. We had discussed at length, and were prepared for, the possible downside. Twiglet backed into a corner and snarling, fights for dominance, even Twiglet refusing to bond at all. We couldn’t entirely dismiss that buried fear that it would make her feel that she was no longer important and push her into a faster decline. If Jade had been hard work for her, then what was this fresh Lurcher Hell we’d concocted for a tired old lab, content to snooze in her basket for the rest of her days? Two Jades at once, two longdogs who were pre-bonded and didn’t need her in the way.

At the same time, she wasn’t thriving as she was, so…

Twiglet’s reaction to this momentous event couldn’t have been more surprising. Unlike her previous responses, she was interested in these two. Within days, all thoughts of tentative foster were over. Django and Chilli were staying. Within weeks, everything had changed:

• Her continence and her mood improved visibly;
• She jostled at the food bowls to get her portion of raw food, as if she’d been raised on it;
• She queued up at the door to have a walk with the lurchers, even on days when she was wobbly on her pins;
• Recognising Chilli’s dominance, she and Django became immediate buddies, even to the point of snoozing together while Chilli claimed the best chair.

It also highlighted how disturbed Jade had been. These two were well-balanced little donkeys. Django was perhaps the Jade that Twiglet had always secretly wanted – less mad, more comfortable to doze with, and totally disinterested in fighting, biting or throwing a wobbly. By the end of the first month, Twiglet had become an honorary ‘lurcher’, as much a part of the pack as anyone.

And she became leaner and fitter on the bones and raw food diet. We’d had doubts about shifting her to it at her age – thirteen or fourteen. Not only did she love it, but she shifted from Poo Categories 3 and 4 to a permanent Category 5 (see lurchers for beginners: poo for more graphic details). That was, to be honest, a big bonus for all humans concerned. A big, semi-continent labrador is not always the sort of talking point you want at dinner. There are only so many smells you can blame on your guests. “Been at the sardines again, Lady Fortescue?”

I miss Twiglet dreadfully, even six months after her death. You do when you get so close to a dog. I spent more time with her than I did with any human. The great thing, however, is that the longdogs gave her a new lease of life. A few weeks before we got Django and Chilli, the vet had warned us that she might not see the year out. Instead of fading away, she had three and a half more years which were lively, full of canine companionship and healthy competition.

Sometimes, whether by accident or design, you find out that you did the right thing. Farewell, little juggernaut of my heart.

Back in a couple of days with the weird stuff. In the meantime, do vote for greydogtales as a jolly nice website at the Critters Awards. All they ask for is an email address, and it might mean Django gets an extra chicken carcass…

critters web-site awards (open until 14th January)