cute as a button

I was pottering around in the garden earlier, picking up some lemons that had fallen from the tree, and I found a button. It was red and round and had black spots. I recognised that button. It came off a dressing gown I used to own.

It brought back many memories.

When we first moved over here, we were to be in temporary accommodation in the city for the first few month because my husband was to work up there. Our vet advised that our dog, Frieda, was too elderly and frail to cope with air travel and months in kennels. We decided to leave her with my parents (who were currently dogless) to see out her twilight years.

We nearly survived the 6 months in a rental without a canine member to the family. Nearly. But we eventually admitted that a home without a dog is not a home. The landlord had ruled no pets so we needed to get something sneaky. We opted for a miniature dachshund. Her name was Tsarina. We called her Sar.

We managed to conceal her presence for the final rent inspection (she hid in the park with one of the kids) and moved her into our new home. But half a dog very rapidly proved to be not enough. Much as we loved her, we needed a proper sized dog (and some company for Sar). After much family discussion and research, we settled on a cocker spaniel as the ideal friend for our family.

I went to see several breeders and viewed many litters but none of the pups jumped out as the one for us. I began to think that, maybe, we should fall back to our second option and get a lab.

Then I went to Pam's kennels and met Jess.

She wasn't called Jess then. She was Nefertitti. And she was my dog from the time we set eyes on each other. She was already 4 months old, much older than the other pups we had viewed. She was jet black and incredibly beautiful. We took her home.

The kids chose Jess as the name (after some pop star/actress I think) and she became part of the household.

But, from the word go, she was mine. Not because I chose her but because she chose me. She would play with the kids or Sar and walk with anyone who jangled a lead but, if she had to choose, she chose to be with me.

From the moment we brought her home, she dogged my footsteps. She sat by my chair at night (or snuck onto my lap). If I was gardening, she was under the nearest shade, watching. If I was cooking, she watched from the kitchen floor. If I was asleep, she lay outside my bedroom door. And, if I was away, well, that's where the button comes in.

No matter who else was home, if I left the yard, she went through the same ritual.

I have had this related to me so many times there is no room for conjecture. Summer or winter, rain or shine, day or night, this was her routine. This is what she did.

She would go to the front gate and sit, waiting, for about 10 minutes. If I had not reappeared, she would go inside and collect the first item of mine that she found. This was usually shoes, cigarettes and lighter or my handbag. Clothes of mine out of the dirty washing basket were a firm favourite, as was my dressing gown. She would then cart her contraband outside and sit with it under the lemon tree. She was even know to desert new-born pups in their whelping box to make her collection and do her vigil.

The longer I was gone, the more things she would collect. It was as if, by surrounding herself with my stuff, she was reassuring herself that I would be returning. If I was gone all day, the pile could be huge. If I had been out for more than a few minutes, it became a ritual for me to have to reclaim all the items under the tree when I came home.

There is only one way that button could have found its way to the lemon tree. It went there in the slobbering jaws of Jess. She was my friend, confidante, and companion for 14 years. She was, at times, my sanity.

I put the button back where I found it.