Gemma - A special lady

I was there when Gemma was born. I was right there as she struggled
to make her appearance into the world at two thirty on a chilly March
morning. I held her when she was just ten minutes old and I marvelled
at how perfect she was. I was there when her brother and her sister
were born too, but something deep inside me told me that Gemma was very
special. She lay quietly in my arms, her eyes tightly shut. Looking at
the tiny creature I marvelled at the perfection of her body and
realised at that moment that we were destined to be very close
indeed.
Gemma was the absolute replica of her mother. She had almost exactly
the same markings, even down to the white smudge over her right eye.
When she was old enough to leave her mother, I proudly collected the
Springer Spaniel puppy and bore her in triumph to her new home.
Although she was surrounded by new toys and every care had been taken
to ensure her comfort and well-being, the first two or three nights
were traumatic both for the puppy and for me. Common sense dictated
that I should let her get used to her new surroundings without
interference but I was unable to bear the whimpering and went
downstairs rather too frequently to reassure the little dog.
As the clumsy puppy grew into a graceful dog, her true character
emerged. From the start, she was potentially every inch the field
champion that both her parents had been. When we walked together, she
would scamper around with her nose stuck to the ground in typical
Spaniel fashion. If I were to attract her attention and click the
fingers of my left hand, she would take her place by my left leg and
stay there as if anchored to me although she had never received
training in that respect. She would sit, stay and fetch on command and
had the eagerness to please which is so typical of the breed.
Retreiving was difficult for Gemma, as she could never bring herself
to pick up any bird. I hasten to add that the only birds I ever
attempted to shoot were the wood pigeons, more than capable of
stripping a whole field of wheat if given the opportunity. She would
stand beside the fallen bird with the sorrowful expression that only a
spaniel can achieve. However, she would joyfully chase and catch the
water rats around the pond, and despatch them with enthusiasm.
If dogs are truly reincarnations, then in a previous existence, Gemma
must surely have been a nurse. In the rambling old farmhouse where we
lived, the stairs were quite difficult to negotiate. My grandson who
was living with us at the time was a new but extremely proficient
crawler. Ascending the staircase was an achievement that he found
ridiculously easy. Getting back down was another matter. My attention
was drawn to the fact that there was a problem of some nature by the
frantic barking. Gemma seldom barked without due cause. On
investigation, I discovered Jonathan poised on the top step. He had
pulled himself to his feet by using the handrail and was swaying
unsteadily from side to side. On the step below him, Gemma had blocked
the stairs, effectively preventing him from attempting the descent. On
the frequent occasions when Jonathan had some minor injury, the dog
would fuss round him, generally getting in the way, but trying her best
to reassure and comfort the child. The boy and the dog were inseparable
and when Jonathan went to school for the first time, Gemma was
inconsolable. Despite her strong attachment to my grandson, she
remained very firmly my dog. For me and for no other, she would perform
several tricks although I have never taught a dog to 'beg'. Her
favourite trick was to roll over and play dead if I pointed my finger
at her and said "Bang".
Because spaniels and Springers in general are known to be avid
hunters, it is common for people to excite the dog by excitedly saying
"Rats" or something similar. I never used that word with Gemma. I
realised, of course that such excitement is at times necessary for
boisterous dogs so I used the word "Camel" in place of both rats and
cats. It caused great amusement to our visitors to see Gemma, having
been invited to 'search for camels' looking hopefully under chairs and
sniffing excitedly at cupboard doors.
She was very conscious of the inner dog and eagerly anticipated meal
times. We fed the dogs at five-thirty in the evening. Co-incidentally,
that was the time when the lady of the house settled down to watch a
certain Australian soap. Consequently, the theme tune from 'Neighbours'
had a profoundly Pavlovian effect on Gemma. Should anyone be forgetful
enough to whistle the theme at an inappropriate time, there was a
flurry of activity terminating with a Springer standing by her food
bowl with a hopeful expression on her face and her ears pricked
up.
We rescued another dog when Gemma was six years old. She was a small
puppy whose parentage would probably have occupied the resources of the
Genealogical College for some months. My youngest son, then a teenager
and totally smitten by a recruit to the Royal Family, decided that the
newcomer would be known as Fergie. The new puppy was instantly adopted
by Gemma and incredibly, was totally housetrained by her in a very
short space of time.
When I set off on my forays across the fields, (I professed to be a
farmer in my spare time) the two dogs always accompanied me. Gemma
would trot sedately at my side and Fergie would trot beside Gemma. To
better maintain her station on the older dog, Fergie would take Gemma's
ear in her mouth and the three of us would stride across the fields,
inspecting our domain.
As the years passed, Gemma's passion for anything edible produced a
certain comfortable rotundity and, as befits an older dog, she became
less active. At the age of eleven, I noticed that she was losing
interest in many of the activities that she enjoyed so much. The vet
carried out an examination and diagnosed a type of leukaemia apparently
not unusual in spaniels. A blood transfusion appeared to be the only
solution. Fergie saved Gemma's life by providing the vital fluid and
Gemma was almost her old self again.
To my immense sorrow, the ailment returned after about a year. This
time there was to be no respite. Gemma died very peacefully in her
basket during one warm afternoon in June. I constructed a box for her
and we lined it with the blanket from her bed. I felt it important that
Fergie should be aware of circumstances so she was allowed to
investigate. We were deeply moved when Fergie fetched one of her own
favourite toys and dropped it in the box with Gemma.
I buried my old friend under a cherry tree in the garden the next
day.
Rest in peace Gemma.