Casanova

We never expected you to enter our lives. We were not going to get another dog. My dad, his heart still aching after our last dog, had sworn no more pets. It was too hard when they passed away, and he was always the one who had to take them to the vet.

But when he saw you, Casanova, he could not resist. The pitiful state he found you in just broke his heart and he knew he could not leave without you.

He could not leave you chained to a radiator in the corner of the room with nothing but a stale bowl of water to drink.

“I got it from the gypsies when they passed by last time,” the old woman said as if that explained everything.

“What’s his name?” He approached you with caution, checking carefully where he put his feet.

The rugs on the floor were full of stains, and the stench in the room was suffocating. Stale urine and faeces. It made my dad retch, but he was not leaving without you. He would not leave you to suffer like that.

“Casanova.” The woman kept her distance, watching from the doorway how you would react to my dad. “I’d be glad if you took him off my hands.”

You looked nothing like a Casanova. Your ribs stuck out, and you tucked your tail between your legs.

The passing gypsies had sold you to the old woman when she couldn’t resist your big brown eyes. But you were too much for her to handle. You were feisty and defensive, having been mistreated, kicked and starved for too long. Passed from one owner to another, you lost your trust in humans.

But you sensed the kindness in my dad and let him pick you up. You shivered in his arms as he carried you out of that stinking room. He gave you fresh food and water and watched you take tentative steps in the fresh air. The first time you had been out in weeks.

He brought you home to us.

We welcomed you with open arms, but at first you had your suspicions of us all. You cowered in a corner and only my dad could coax you out of your safe spot to eat or go for a walk.

And who could blame you? After all, most of the people you had met in your life had been cruel to you.

But slowly you got used to us and we gained your trust. You knew you were safe, but still found it hard to relax. You would jump at sudden loud noises and bark at sudden movements. Each time a guest arrived, you greeted them by snapping at their feet.

But little by little you relaxed more and more. It was amazing to see you go from the nervous wreck to the chilled out Casanova who would bury himself under the duvet and sleep at the end of my parents’ bed. I loved seeing your sharp little nose poking out from under the duvet.

But fate took you away from us far too soon, Casanova. We had noticed that you were not yourself and my dad took you to the vet. Cancer, he told my dad. Spread too far to do anything about it.

The news broke all of our hearts. It just wasn’t fair. You had only been with us for a few years and now we were going to lose you.

But we were glad that the last years of your life were happy with us. That you were safe and found a family that loved you.

You really were one of a kind, Casanova, and we will always love you.