My dogs had the most devastating fight. I was terrified. And so I’ve made the most heartbreaking decision of all about my spaniel: LIZ JONES
I have had to surrender Alice the spaniel.
I took her in at Christmas at the request of her owner, who had bred her. His family had become allergic. Alice, who is six, fitted in well initially, although she pulled on the lead and had little recall, almost drowning in the fast-moving river. She was super cuddly.
She didn’t bother my 19-this-summer collie Mini, who is now very fragile and receiving palliative care; she’s still totally with it, her huge eyes lighting up if she spies an M&S bag rather than the one from Lidl.
I had thought Teddy would be a problem, as he is reactive to dogs he doesn’t know, but we had introduced them carefully and after a few speed dates he was fine with her.
It turned out Missy would be the problem. She’s now about 12. She had been abused then abandoned on a farm in Ireland as a puppy, and was brought to a rescue shelter outside London, where she remained for three years before I took her, sight unseen. She is scared of everything, even the water in her bowl; if anyone sneezes she has a nervous breakdown.
At first, Alice would lean her chin on Missy’s back: apparently, this is something spaniels are known to do. Missy put up with this, but as the leaning became more intense, she would growl, and often a fight would ensue. Next, Alice would grab one of Missy’s back legs and drag her across the floor. I had to work in London, so Nic arrived to dog sit. She texted me: ‘Missy has lost so much weight, what’s going on?’
‘They said they would try to find a foster home, asked if I could keep her for the next few days and, of course, I said yes. But the next morning the owner texted to say he would come and collect her’
I told her it was stress; she had also developed a urine infection. I resorted to keeping Alice on a lead in the house and kept them separate at night. But I struggled on, writing with one hand, the other hand holding a spaniel on the end of a lead, a hyperactive balloon, always on high alert.
Then, on Friday evening, Alice was next to me on the sofa, a lead snapped to her harness, Missy was sound asleep in her bed, paws over her eyes. For no reason, Alice suddenly launched herself at Missy, clamping her jaws around her neck, biting me by accident in the process.
I managed to prise open her jaws, pull her off and shut her in the kitchen. Poor Missy was shocked and shaking, her fur wet. I texted Alice’s owner, told him I could not have my little old collie terrorised in her own home, and that she was bound to get hurt as the behaviour was escalating.
On Sunday, Spaniel Rescue called me. They must have been contacted by the owner. They said perhaps Alice was attacking my collie as she has ‘something going on internally’. I really don’t think that’s the case. Neither was it jealousy, as Missy is very private and doesn’t really do cuddles.
They said they would try to find a foster home, asked if I could keep her for the next few days and, of course, I said yes. But the next morning the owner texted to say he would come and collect her. I packed her bed, the warm coat and jumper I’d bought and her myriad toys, the worst of which was a squeaking SpongeBob SquarePants. I asked what he had managed to sort out but as I was so stressed and he northern (I’m not good with accents), I couldn’t make out what he said.
She has left a huge, bouncy hole. If I ever shut her in the garden, all you could see were two floppy ears flying as she jumped to peer in the window. I am sure some of you will doubtless liken me to pop star Lily Allen: not just because we both eviscerated our exes (she in an album, me in this newspaper), but because she gave up her puppy. The hard truth is I had to put my anxious, elderly dog first. I should never have taken Alice on; I know that now.
Just the latest in a very long list of bad decisions. I keep listening to the Stevie Nicks song and sobbing…
JONES MOANS… WHAT LIZ LOATHES THIS WEEK
- In H Is For Hawk, a woman played by Claire Foy loses her father, is so grief-stricken she buys a goshawk, ties her to a perch, ignores the desperate flapping, parades her, tethered, through crowded streets, and finds solace in watching the bird tear other creatures limb from limb. Oh, and blinds her with a horrible hood.
