Goodbye my Hairy Brother

Yesterday the world said goodbye to Lucky Garlick, a wonderful 14 year old Miniature Schnauzer I was proud to call my hairy brother. The decision was made to put Lucky to sleep after Vets discovered he was suffering with cancer, and nothing could be done to save him. The poor guy had been suffering with a variety of issues since the Summer of 2011, but his resilience and fighting spirit gave us another 2 years to say a long goodbye. I want to remember the dog who was a constant presence in my life throughout my formative years, whose wagging tail and dirty beard could always brighten my mood, and whose love knew no bounds. There was nothing better after a tough day at school than coming home and having a huge tug of war with Lucky, or racing him up the drive after a walk.

Lucky’s favourite pastime, of course, was barking at anyone and everyone who entered our house who wasn’t a Garlick. He quite clearly considered himself the man of the house, and would intimidate all who dared enter with sharp barks and a deep growl. Many first-time guests would cower in the porch way upon hearing the menacing pooch, crossing into the entrance hall only once he had been pacified – the means of which was to simply pet him, at which point he revealed his true nature and would start to lick your hand lovingly. Throughout each encounter his tail would be wagging vigorously, a giveaway that Lucky’s act was nothing more than that. The barks were never louder and the tail never wagged harder than when Steve the Handyman came to visit, and it was clear that Steve was Lucky’s favourite victim for antagonisation. It is undeniable that Lucky was a softie at heart, and at home his favourite spot was being curled up in a family member’s arms on a sofa, feeling part of the family as we all watched Coronation Street or The X Factor together. He wasn’t allowed up on the sofa unless we put his blanket down to protect the material, and he would beg to join us, resting his (usually wet) beard on our knees. Once we caved into his demand, Lucky would spring up in a moment; at least he would until he really started to get old and climbing onto the sofa was such a challenge that we made it easier for him by joining him on the rug. As he got older and became blind with cataracts, he became extremely clumsy and would fall downstairs and run into doors. We would wince, but Lucky would just get up and carry on as if nothing had happened. Lucky may have struggled as an old man, but he reverted back to being a puppy every time he visited our cottage in Wales. Lucky’s annual holidays to the cottage gave him more freedom to roam than he ever had in Knutsford. With zero traffic and practically zero chance of Lucky getting lost or getting harmed, Lucky was given free reign of the entire shoreline during the early mornings and late evenings, when the beach was generally unoccupied. Thanks to Lucky many dogs had their butts sniffed, many children had their sand castles trampled, and many rubber dinghys were hosed down with a bit of pee. Lucky loved the journey around to Lifeboat Bay and up to the Point, where the wind would tend to mess up his hair and beard, and if he was not on his lead he would undoubtedly run onto the golf course. Everyone in Porthdinllaen knew Lucky, and he loved it.

Not everything was great for Lucky though. He had two great fears that he never quite managed to overcome: water and driving in a car. Lucky refused to even dip his toes in the sea in Wales, and baths at home were his biggest nightmare. The second Mum lifted the towel off him, he would shake himself out before sprinting downstairs and rolling on his back outside until he was dry, often defeating the point of the bath in the first place. Similarly, Lucky hated driving in a car, even if it was just down the road to get his haircut: his eyes would widen in fear and he would start trembling violently. Getting him into a car would very often only be accomplished by bribing him in with treats, and even then he couldn’t settle. He really was an oddbox. I can’t recount Lucky’s life without mentioning his near-death experience in 2011, which  marked the start of Lucky’s twilight as an old man. The memory of being called away from coaching a tennis camp in Hale remains vividly clear in my mind, and hearing Lucky yelp upon entering the vets is possibly the most heart-wrenching sound I have ever heard in my life. Lucky’s stomach had twisted and he was unable to eat any food. The vets later told me they had a pain scale to measure the effectiveness of certain treatments, and Lucky was a 19/20. After three days Lucky’s pain had subsided but he still wasn’t eating, so the vets asked to see if I could get him to eat. I first attempted dried dog food, but Lucky immediately turned his head away; I then tried moist dog food, and after a quick sniff I got a similar response; finally, in desperation I tried some Waitrose sliced chicken breast and finally he managed a mouthful. The cheeky dog then only ate Waitrose’s finest for the subsequent three days. Ultimately, a combination of strong pain relief and a fighting spirit helped give Lucky and additional 18 months of quality living. He may have lost his youth, but Lucky’s resilience amazed me when I was distraught at the thought that this could be the end. What a dog. Lucky may not have been my first dog, but unfortunately I don’t remember too much about Dean. Lucky grew up with Scott and I, and will always be my brother. I love him immensely and he will be sorely missed, but never forgotten. Here are some more Lucky memories: