We had to say goodbye to Mazowe, our beloved Welsh Terrier, on the 29th October 2026. He was 14.44 years old. 5,273 days old, the majority spent with us. We are devastated by his loss.
We were in Northumberland, and as was almost always the case, he was with us. But he fell ill, and age together with a bout of gastroenteritis proved too much for him to bear.
On his final night with us, I stayed with him throughout, trying to encourage him to take sips of water to help rehydrate him. Too much would upset his stomach, so every 20 minutes, I would offer a little more. I even made scrambled eggs around 3am, which was an occasional indulgence he delighted in. He showed no interest. He didn't rally.
Mazowe's quality of life was the basis of every decision we ever made regarding his care and we were suddenly confronted by the awful realisation that we could not continue to tip the scales in his favour. It came like a thief in the night.
We had to make the decision every dog owner dreads. It stands as the hardest decision I have ever faced, but it is the responsibility you accept and the unspoken cost of having them in your life.
I was with him in his final moments, his head in my hands. He was courageous to the end.
Agnes Turnbull once wrote that 'Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.'
She was right.
