Shaggy

I live in Malta, a small Island in the Mediterranean.

After a long drive from my house in Sliema, I arrived at a dog shelter known as the Island Sanctuary at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning.

It was the first week of December and the weather was awful, drizzling and overcast.

With Christmas approaching, I decided to surprise my daughter and take her to adopt a dog from the sanctuary.

I found the place and parked my car in the grounds. The first thing I heard when we arrived was a cacophony of barking. I stepped out of the car and watched my five-year-old run towards several dogs that were mainly mixed breeds. They were happily running around in an enclosure.

I looked at the cute dogs and wished that I could have taken them all back home with me to give them a good home but that was a dream!

Instead, I stood on the muddy ground monitoring my little girl having the time of her life.

And then, I heard a pitiful whining sound that broke my heart.

For a moment, I was unsure where the sound had come from, but I heard another whine and I caught sight of a scruffy black dog that was shivering and shaking behind a small gate closeby.

I hurried towards the black stray and almost slipped on the muddy ground. The moment the mongrel figured out that I was approaching him, he ran into a narrow room built from stone. There was no door leading to the room, just a gate out front.

I stopped outside the gate and spent ages trying to coax the black dog out of the room. That cute little face peeked out at me several times, but no matter how many times I called out to him, he would not come outdoors.

After what felt like forever, the mongrel finally emerged and padded towards me. He stopped at the gate where I stood and stuck his nose through the wrought iron in the gate and allowed me to pat him on his head.

He was medium size and had the warmest brown eyes I have ever seen.

I spoke to him in the gentlest of voices and I felt that he must have understood me because he didn’t take his eyes off me once.

My daughter appeared and yelled at me. ‘Mummy, I don’t want this dog. He’s boring. I want one of those dogs!” she cried, pointing at the dogs barking happily in the enclosure.

Even at such a young age, she already knew what I was thinking.

“Sweetheart, this dog needs us more than those dogs do. Look at how sad he is. His tail is stuck up his butt. That’s because he is so frightened.” I explained to her. “Come say hello to him.”

She stomped her feet.

“This dog does not want to play with me.” she cried.

“Those other dogs are happy. This dog needs us Petti.” I said.

Suddenly the dog rolled on the ground and did a little jiggle.

I heard a familiar giggle.

“Can we call him Jingle Bells?” My heart lifted. My daughter was warming up to the dog.

“How about Shaggy?” I said, looking at the state of his tangled fur.

He’s been with us ever since.

A nice lady who'd sorted out his papers when we adopted him told me that Shaggy was approximately three to four years old. Nobody really knew.

Not even the vet who checked his teeth.

Yesterday, after nineteen wonderful years, Shaggy had a seizure and passed away.

This is a tribute to that wonderful, loyal dog.

Copyright@BrigittePace2021