Before my parents had Rory and Cassie, there was Rocky. He was a Collie cross Terrier (we thought) and, as kids, our first dog growing up. He saw me through high school and college before I moved away to London to go to university.
He lived with my parents to the good old age of about 15 and today, 29th November, was the day we marked as his birthday – even though we didn’t really know. He was from a litter of seven abandoned at Christmastime. Of the six to survive, he was the biggest and the last one to be rehomed.
I still remember how tiny he was in the beginning though. So small he would yelp to be carried up the stairs, and small enough to be taken to the bank all snuggled up inside my brother’s jacket.
We had lots of good times together; he was a very loving, easy going dog. He had his moments: rather than play fetch he liked pushing large stones around the patio, his hair was always crinkled after a bath, and he always howled when an ambulance went past. He absolutely loved to eat chicken and of course mum was his favourite. My first nephew grew up knowing her as ‘granny rocky’😊
I haven’t enough pictures of him here in London but I’ll update this post next time I’m in Edinburgh.