My previous Beardies

[Michael]

Thumper, 1972-1985

Thumper was our very first Beardie. He was originally my sister's dog and came from breeders at Little London, near Basingstoke. He was the last one of the litter to be taken, but to us he was the best one. When my sister and her husband went to live abroad in 1977 they asked my parents to look after him. He was our introduction to the Beardie world and, after him, we found we couldn't live without a Beardie. He was a lovable old dog and a true eccentric. He had a particular fondness for stealing Polo mints, and many was the time we found him jumping around on my parents' bed with a packet of Polos firmly clasped in his chops, as pleased as Punch of course. I well remember the day my mother prepared a large dish of prawns, shelled, vinegared and peppered. Poor woman, she hadn't locked the larder door. Several hours later, when she looked for the said prawns, she found the dish very thoroughly licked clean, vinegar and pepper notwithstanding! To say nothing of the time when, after Sunday lunch, he slunk past the living room door with a roast leg of lamb.

The two following photos are from 1976. My mother jokingly made a "wig" for my dad, of Thumper's hair - the result can be seen below:

Thumper died in October or November 1985, aged nearly fourteen.

Jedson, 1981-1996

We missed Thumper like mad and decided we had to have another Beardie. His successor in our affections was named Jedson.

Soon after Thumper died, a friend at work who was also a dog lover put me in touch with Mrs Dorothy Jarrett of Southern Beardie Aid, the rescue Section of the Southern Counties Bearded Collie Club. Dorothy knew of a Beardie, a five year old called Jedson, who lived at Portslade, near Hove on the south coast, whose owner was looking to re-home him. I drove my father down to Portslade to see Jedson and his lady owner. She, poor lady, loved him greatly but had to part with him as her work took her all over the country and she simply could not look after him any more. Both Jedson and his mother before him had been show dogs and she showed us all the certificates and awards that her two beloved dogs had earned. My father and I were very sorry for her, but we assured her that if she was prepared to let us have Jedson we would give him a loving home. She tearfully parted with him and we had him for nearly eleven years until his death, aged nearly sixteen, in June 1996.

Here are two photos of Jedson dressed up on Christmas Day 1985, a few weeks after we got him:

Jedson's favourite party trick:

Thumper and Jedson: two good boys, long since gone, but never forgotten.

Harry (died February 1997)

There is a third member of our Beardie family, of whom I have no photographs as we had him a tragically short time. He was one of the many unwanted dogs, and I will tell his story here because he and the unfortunates like him should be remembered. I have never forgotten him and nor did my late parents.
By the time Jedson died in June 1996, we were well and truly infected by the Beardie bug, and we decided we had to have another. Some months after Jed’s death I established contact once again with Dorothy Jarrett of Southern Beardie Aid and she promised to remember that we were interested in having another rescue Beardie. Some weeks later, in February 1997, Dorothy telephoned us to say that she was looking to re-home a Beardie, a young brown and white dog named Harry, aged about five years. Dorothy did not have a lot of history to give us, but she did explain that he had had four previous owners and he was currently in boarding kennels in London. We were interested and I drove my father up to London to see him.
We saw a pretty little Beardie, who had recently been expertly groomed. He seemed a good little dog. The kennels couldn't tell us very much about him, only that he had had several previous owners. The last owners had been elderly and had to give him up as they could no longer cope. With hindsight, this should have been a warning to me, but we wanted another Beardie so much and Harry was so pretty. He seemed a good boy and we decided to have him and we drove back home to Hampshire with him.
On his first whole day with us, this handsome little dog was as good as gold. I took him for walks and he seemed affectionate and we had no reason to think anything was amiss. We noticed that he had a slight eye infection, and I arranged to take him to the vet the following day.
So, the next morning, we took Harry to the vet. It was then that we had the first indication that all might not be well with this dog. When we entered the consulting room, the vet was instantly wary of him – he did not so much as touch the dog, but stood well back from him with arms folded. He had clearly seen something in the dog’s demeanour that my father and I had not. The vet asked me to show him the problem with Harry’s eye, which I did. He prescribed eye drops. However, he also said, "This is a dominant dog and you are going to have to be very careful how you deal with him." He advised that, as soon as possible, Harry should be neutered. The vet was clearly very uneasy about him.
That was in the morning. I had great difficulty giving Harry the eye drops – he swore at me and wouldn’t let me do it. However, I took him for another walk and things seemed to be OK.
That afternoon, everything took a sharp turn for the worse. Shortly after midday, Harry lay down at the entrance to the living room and would let nobody in or out. If anyone attempted to walk by him, he would snarl hideously, his lips drawn right back, incisors showing, with every promise that worse would follow, and I have no doubt that it would. This went on all afternoon and evening. It was a very frightening situation.
With elderly parents, this was a risk I could not take. I telephoned Dorothy Jarrett and we had a long talk. She, poor lady, had had no inkling that there was a problem with the dog. We had a long discussion and eventually came to the reluctant conclusion that this was a dog who would never have a home and with Dorothy’s agreement I undertook to have him put to sleep.
Fortunately I had remained outside the living room and was able to telephone the vet (this was out of hours, in the evening). By coincidence, the vet I spoke to was the same man who had seen Harry that morning. He told me he had been half afraid that something like this would happen and he said he would come straight away.
The vet duly arrived, armed with restraining implements. These, however, proved unnecessary as when the vet walked in, Harry changed yet again and greeted him like an old friend. The vet did what was required and that, sadly, was the end of Harry’s story. The vet told me he suspected it may have been a brain tumour that went undiagnosed. He said that the minute he saw Harry walk in to the consulting room, he could see that something was badly wrong with him – he didn’t like the look of him at all.
I have never forgotten that unfortunate little dog. It upset me and my parents to think that he had travelled all the way down to Hampshire from London, only to die at the end of his journey. Something, whether physiological or otherwise, had ruined a beautiful dog. At least, now, he was at peace. He died in the midst of a family, who would have loved him like we did the other dogs. Dorothy Jarrett, poor lady, was no less moved – she had had no intimation that anything was wrong with him, and had only been trying her best to re-home a poor homeless Beardie. Subsequently, Dorothy made enquiries of the breeder, but wasn’t able to find out any more information. I have often wondered what his life's story was. The thought of that poor dog disturbs me to this day. We would have kept him, if we could. But the danger was too great. I hope it was a kindness to him - I believe it was. I hope he is running free and whole once more at Rainbow Bridge.
But it is strange how things work out. If we had been able to keep Harry, we would never have known about our beloved Charlie, who was our best boy of all. Charlie’s story is told elsewhere on these pages.