We lost Dante today.  He passed away on the sofa at home with his mummy by his side after a relatively short illness from a cancerous tumour that grew aggressively during the latter part of the summer.

He was eleven and a half years old.  Now that isn’t bad for a dog who was found on the streets of southern Sri Lanka whining away because he had been abandoned and left to die just like his brother who had been knocked over by traffic.

In fact Dante lived a life, one incredible life.

On our first date together Sonalee showed me a photo of Dante and told me that she had adopted him from the shelter that had saved him and that she was going to pick him up from the south very soon.  It was a challenge – love my dog or piss off.

So I accepted that challenge.  It wasn’t easy to start with because he hated being left at home when Sonalee left for work.  She would often come home to find clothing and shoes chewed through because he was having a strop.

A new house in Pelawatte with a bigger garden helped a lot as did the introduction of Dora when we found her on the streets.  Dora soon became his boss.  He also had Clara.  Clara was, to use a slightly embarrassing and patronising term, our maid although she was so much more.

She adored Dante and he her.  Every lunchtime was a time to sit and stare at her and her sister until they gave way and shared their food.  Thus it was that Dante grew up loving curry. 

Dante welcomed Dora and the other pups that we fostered, including our foster fail Bindi and he looked after them.  He also saved my laptop from being nicked one night when he kept barking away at some intruders who were intent on taking something from the house of forrins.  Dora, naturally, did nothing but claimed all the credit for their running away scared.  That laptop is still in use thanks to him.

Dante was also the cause of grief in the household.  We know now that he was responsible for the death of three of our cats; one very elderly, one very young and one that he had been in the house with for years.  We think it was more episodes of being left at home and was annoyed because the latter two happened when I started full time work in Morocco.

It was not an easy time.  Sonalee defended him to the hilt whilst I was angry.  She said it was purely instinct on his part.  She also said that when he had occasion to nip people, including my god daughter.  Nothing serious, of course, it really wasn’t at all.  But he did tend to panic and lash out when it all got a bit chaotic with people and animals running around excitedly.  He also bit the dog of our friend whilst in Portugal which caused a lot of stress for all concerned. 

He wasn’t vicious or nasty, he just reacted with panic with lots of stuff going on and didn’t know how to deal with it.  Dora runs away.  Luna barks then runs away.  Bindi gets bored and wanders off.  Dante just wanted everything to go away. 

He was, I think, still the scared little puppy found on the street next to his dead brother because he was scared stiff of fireworks, scared stiff of the gunfire here in the campo and scared stiff of being alone. 

And that’s the thing with street dogs; they carry baggage that other dogs do not.  That he turned out, in his later years, to be a gentle soul is quite remarkable really.

And he has been gentle these past five years.  There isn’t a visitor or guest that hasn’t loved him as he sat on the sofa with them just enjoying being.  He has met some seriously interesting people during our time here in Fuente Tojar and not one of them has had a bad word to say about him.

And let us not forget that Dante has had some incredible adventures in his lifetime.  This is a dog who lived on three different continents and in four different countries.  How many dogs can say that? 

I mean, it’s slightly insane.  Three continents!  I mean, wow! 

He made the frankly appallingly stressful journey from Sri Lanka to Andalucia seven years ago where he didn’t know what the Hell was going on.  None of us really did.  But he adjusted.  Then he had us here for the most part for a year where we explored our new home.

And he grew to love the campo here.  He loved walking amongst the olive trees and was helped by Luna showing him how to chase bunnies and how to dig for bunnies and how to just enjoy the freedom that this place brings. 

There is, in my humble opinion, no better place for a dog to be than here in Fuente Tojar and the surrounding countryside and he found a place to belong here.

He had me here taking him for walkies for two years when Sonalee was away in Morocco and when she first went to Cordoba.  Every day, walkies in the campo and daddy at home for the rest of the day.  It really can’t get any better than that.

And in the other times, he lived by the sea in Morocco, which he loved and again by the sea with mummy not working in Lisbon and, okay, less glamorous in Cordoba but with daddy who was only working part time plus he did come home nearly every weekend to walk in the campo so it wasn’t all that bad. 

He lived on a farm for a while when we first arrived in Lisbon and he enjoyed a holiday in northern Portugal by the sea where he spent an entire week on the sofa with his uncle who just loved being with him.

He spent an awful lot of time with his grandma on the sofa whenever she came to Spain, which they both loved. 

And now he’s gone.  Thankfully not in pain.  His final day with us was a really good one; it involved a long slow walk  – he was at my bed demanding to know when Walkies was happening at 7 in the morning – followed by lots of nice food and treats and with his mummy arriving after seeing to the cats in Cordoba.

And he was at home.  This was his home.  Yes, he was a Sri Lankan dog and he had travelled far and wide but this was his home.  This is where he is buried and where he will always be. 

He leaves a huge literal and metaphorical hole in our lives.  I’m typing this and looking at the balcony overlooking the street that he sat on for so many hours waiting for a passing motorbike to bark at.

There’s a sofa downstairs that is missing an occupant and there’s three dogs who aren’t really quite sure what has happened but they don’t like it. 

Dante was always Sonalee’s dog.  But he was also partly mine.  I took care of him, happily, for many months when she couldn’t be around.  Yes, he threw up a bit too much in annoying places.  Yes, he peed on things out the back like my bike.  Yes, when he got bored he “researched” what the bin in the kitchen held (with Luna’s help of course) and yes, he farted like a trooper when he felt the need.

It is true that Luna was unable to teach him proper behaviour when chasing rabbits.  Witness the time when one ran under his legs without him noticing.  Even Dora was, like “seriously?” when she looked at him.  Or the time when one rabbit jumped over him and he gave a look of complete bafflement. 

He was his mummy’s ‘Goofy Boy’ or, from my perspective mummy’s ‘special boy’.  He was Dante. 

He was an integral part of my life for 11 years, one fifth of my lifetime, and I will miss him enormously.  I’m happy that he didn’t suffer in the end and that he had a week of extra sausages and ham – he loved sausages, especially the dubious ones made by Elephant House in Sri Lanka – and liver and treats and walkies in the campo. 

I know that he felt he was loved and that we knew how much he loved us.  Because he did love us; his quiet howling of delight at our return from work or shopping or just going out for an hour told us that. 

I’m not really sure what happens now except that we’re all going  to take some time to come to terms with being bereft. 

Wish us luck

Ayubowan

Paul