Twig was my best bud and constant companion. A scrappy wire fox terrier (and lord knows what else), she already had 11 years under her belt when she came to us – plus countless tales of chihuahua fights, ratting and general mischief. With an ear sewn back on, teeth missing, an array of scars, scrapes and bald patches, she was a glorious patchwork quilt of a dog, and we wouldn’t have had her any other way.
Mr G and I were completely in love with this stinky senior pup as soon as we laid eyes on her. My goodness she gave us grief though. There was the time she ran into a busy A-road during rush hour; and the time she decided to run into some brambly undergrowth and came out looking like she’d been attacked by Freddie Krueger (she was happy as anything though).
And of course, there was the time she ate something she really shouldn’t have and emerged from the vets four days later with a bill the same price as a Mediterranean cruise. It didn’t matter. She was part of the family, and she lived to the ripe old age of 17.
Since she’s been gone, there’s been a gaping Twig-shaped hole in the Gildart residence. Twig the dog (Image: Hannah Gildart) Now with our 18-month-old twins around, thoughts of owning a dog have taken a backseat (for now). But we have definitely instilled our love of animals into the girls – ‘woof’ was one of their first words, and a visit to the zoo is the absolute peak of excitement.
I’d never wish time away, but I am looking forward to the d.
