Rex was already a part of the household when I and younger siblings were born. He became our pet; he would let us pull him around and ride on his back with never a snarl or bark. As youngsters, my sisters and I would dress him up, wrapping him in an old shawl and bonnet. We struggled to lift and place him in our dolls pram before proceeding to wheel him up and down our street. He passively lay there, allowing us to do so! Michael would get so angry when he found us using his dog as a dolly, claiming we were turning Rex into a “Sissy” dog! A great house dog, he recognized all the family footsteps as we entered the hall and would wag his tail. If a stranger entered the open hall door he would bark like mad. A mongrel, black and tan in colour, he followed Michael everyplace, even to school waiting patiently outside for the lunch time break. In winter he was allowed to sleep indoors curling up on the rug in front of the fire every night. In summer, he slept in a snug box in a corner of the hall. Our world fell apart when sixteen year old Michael died suddenly. Amidst all the heartbreak, funeral arrangements had to be organised and Rex was temporarily forgotten for the moment. We were soon to be made aware of him in no uncertain way!! As was the custom all those years ago, my brother was laid out in his bedroom. The first morning after Michael’s death, Rex went crazy, tearing up and down the stairs, out to the back yard and on out into the street looking for his master. Then, as if sensing Michael’s presence, he lay outside the bedroom door uncharacteristically howling like a wolf. It was pitiful to hear. Worse was to come. In those days there was no such thing as funeral parlours, mourning coaches and such like. A glass hearse, drawn by four black horses would carry the coffin, two men dressed in black and sitting high up controlling the horses with reins. The horse’s heads would be adorned by large black plumes, white in the case of a woman. After the hearse, came cabs, pulled by a single horse the leading cabs carrying family (four in each cab) The following line of cabs carried neighbours and friends. The line of cabs ran the full length of our street, an indication of how much loved our Michael was. Patrick, who had been Michaels champion over the years, shared a cab with both their boyhood friends. Just as the funeral procession was about to pull away from the kerb Rex, (who was supposed to be at a neighbours) shot out on to the street. Running to and fro beneath the hooves of the leading horses, almost causing them to rear up. Who ever said dogs were dumb animals? Did this once little scrap know his master was leaving him for good? I think he did. All efforts to restrain and get hold of him was met with snarls, until finally, Patrick left the cab and lifting him gently placed him indoors and closed the door firmly. In the weeks following our loss poor little Rex just lay about, indifferent to who entered our hall. He went off his food and just lumbered about with big brown sad eyes. In time, I think he knew his master would not be returning to fuss and love him. Rex now belonged to all of us and in time returned to his old self. We would have him for many more years, eighteen in all. Eventually, he became deaf, blind and could hardly walk. My father wanted to have him put down but my mother would not hear tell of it nor I might add would we, the children. Did she, I wonder think as long as Rex was there so to was a part of her darling boy? He died peacefully in his sleep and I think a little part of all of us died with him. I shed a little tear as I write this but like to think Michael and Rex were reunited at last. Bridget x
