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This
is Barkley,
or indeed, Barkley James Hunt to give him his full kennel name as the sort of
people who attend Cruft's would have you believe. There
are several reasons for this elongated moniker. He was called Barkley, because he's
a bit of a barker by nature; the James Hunt part is there for obvious motor
racing reasons; Barclay
James Harvest are alluded to, but they were crap and it isn't intentional;
finally, Berkeley Hunt is rhyming slang for something a bit profane, usually abbreviated to
berk, and he was a bit of
one of those at times.
A pedigree Border Collie, Barkers came along on the 22nd January 1997, before
Beck and I got married or had even planned to get married, so she had no real say in the
matter. She did later though, passing the blame for him firmly to me. "He's
your dog!" was favourite. She was right, he was.
Barkley was probably the biggest Collie ever. He liked sticks, squeaky toys,
balls (mostly his own), or anything else that could be thrown and brought back repeatedly until
one of us died (which was him, unfortunately). He also enjoyed pissing on newly potted
plants, dribbling on the sofa and getting dog food up the wall. Among his
sporting pursuits were getting mud everywhere, scratching holes in walls and
getting into rivers. He had phobias about railings and the Famous Grouse whisky
adverts. He also hated popping noises made by peoples' mouths.
He's gone now, he was eleven and rather riddled with
cancer that was causing him to have regular fits. He enjoyed relaxing at my
parents' house, away from the kids, more than he liked staying here, so he moved into his retirement home on a permanent basis
to live out his last days in peace. I was forced to send him on his way on the
14th of May 2008 after a rapid deterioration in his condition that left him
unable to do anything much at all.
As Beck always liked him so much
(!), I decided to celebrate their love with a few pictures on the next page. |
