3 hours ago
4
When we bought Otto, a golden retriever, a year after the death of our previous dog Bertie, we were sceptical that he could live up to our high expectations. What quickly became apparent, during the routine humiliation of our puppy training classes, was that Otto was a law unto himself.
“He’s not normal” quickly became a stock family phrase, as Otto demonstrated a series of wild, mischievous and outlandish behaviours. During classes, I remember being told euphemistically that he was “wilful” and shamefully resorted to hiding cocktail sausages in my pockets during the final exam to encourage a modicum of civility in him. It just about worked.
He was very hairy, with astonishingly soft ears and a tail that was constantly swishing with delight. Other dogs might gently curl up on the sofa; Otto would sit like a human on his rump, two paws up in the air. Other dogs would splash in the water; Otto would submerge and roll. Other dogs retrieved Frisbees; Otto found dead badgers. The resident court jester in our neighbourhood, he knew how to turn heads.
But when he wasn’t acting like a loon, he was also utterly sweet and incapable of walking past a stranger without befriending them. Nothing gave me more immediate happiness than opening the front door to see him thundering down the stairs, tail thrashing vigorously and knocking down countless items in his haste to reunite with me.
When I was away at university my mum broke her foot, so we joined BorrowMyDoggy, a website that links dog owners with local people looking to walk dogs. Otto quickly ended up with a team of devoted walkers, and in the course of his 10 years “befriended” more than 20 dogless humans. He loved each of them in turn and added immensely to their lives too.
As he became older and inevitably arthritic, he would plod alongside me on our walks. Strangers would pause, pat his big head and tell me how well-trained he was. I would smile graciously and thank them, taking credit where I knew it wasn’t due. Had his ageing body not betrayed him he would have been off helping himself to the nearest picnic.
He was by our sides through illness, breakups and weddings, and when we lost him our grief felt bottomless. On his final day, I released every tennis ball we had all at once in a huge cascade around his head. Despite being so unwell, he was thrilled. I suspect he had stolen most of them from the park.
Otto’s charm was that he got us to see the world as dogs do – and what a kind, joyful species they are. How lucky we are to have them.
