Sandy aka 'Sandra-Dee' was my 36kg, Pyrenean Mountain/Golden Lab mix, guardian Angel with four paws, and a truckload of excessive fur!

Picked from our family dog's litter of pups sixteen years ago - by moi of course - she was affectionately named 'pup' to distinguish her from Misty, her Labrador Mother who was of course much older and wiser.

We knew nothing about Pyrenean Mountain Dogs, it was a fateful and shameful romance that landed poor Misty with a brood of extra mouths to feed. But, sure, worse things can happen and all six puppies went to loving homes, and had long and happy lives.

Sandy stayed with us of course, defiantly selected and then kidnapped by the nine year old me. I held her at ransom from my Grandparents farm (which I had unashamedly ran away to), my demands were final...she stays or else I'm telling Granda, and Granda will be cross at you Daddy!!!

Clearly that was threatening enough, and my poor Dad let me keep my skinny puppy. I lopped home and tied a nice pink collar around her neck as proof that she belonged to me! After that the two of us visited Granda most days, and sat on his bench in the garden, eating digestive biscuits and spoiling our new puppy - Sandy.

Sandy, who was often called Sandra-Dee (because she was a goofball who loved to dance), became quite the individual in her spirited youth.

Now, apparently Pyrenean Mountain Dogs are known for being the most wilful and stubborn of the dog breeds (like dog like owner). They are also the most loyal and take the duty of guarding 'their' land very seriously. Labrador's on the other hand, are known more for their love of food and boundless playfulness. Sandy inherited all of the above, as well as some rather questionable mastermind quirks.

Now, we live in farmlands; bountiful spaces, meadows, a sprawling woodland, and a hilly range worth hiking for the views of Belfast Lough and, on a good day, the coast of Scotland. So, Sandy had all the land she could dream of to loyally protect, even her mountain to roam...albeit a very small mountain. For the majority of her youth, exploring was exactly what she did!

Sandy and her beloved mother, Misty, devised a series of elaborate schemes from the day and hour young Sandy was old enough to reach the bar of the garden gate.  Now, Misty had never quite liked being locked in and had chewed her way out of most fences and gates. Often times we chased the rascal half way around said sprawling space, because she loathed locked gates. However, when Sandy came along things got interesting...both mother and daughter escaped without so much as a broken plank of wood? How was this possible? The truth...Sandy had figured out how to open garden gates and bolted doors. I kid you not, she used her nose and paws to let herself out. So all the pair had to do was wait until we left for school, work, or even just had our backs turned, and Sandy opened the gate and the two were off on their adventures.

Adventures, oh yes, they had plenty of them.

My poor mother had several phone calls from the irate badger conversationalists who used the hill as a prime location for protecting badgers.  It was discovered that Sandy and her mum had been observing the volunteers for some weeks, as they left out bread and  food for the badgers, and having deciphered a pattern were making off with the food for their own feasting gains.  We had wondered why they had both taken a dislike to their dog food, turns out they were just too fat pigs who were more than satisfied from the serval french baguettes they'd scoffed for lunch. Opps. Well, it was their land, I suppose they were taking their cut of the profits.

We also had a disturbing few weeks when we discovered Sandy and Misty returning home with building site materials? A welly boot here, a pair of overalls there, and then we caught them coming over the meadow dragging a window pane together...we never quite got to the bottom of that one?

Sadly, Misty passed away at the ripe old age of thirteen from cancer. She went peacefully, in her own bed, but left behind a very lonely daughter. For a long time Sandy grieved, and she lost some of her playful nature. Her long treks over the land ceased, and she spent her days sitting on the steps waiting on her mum to come back. 

However, time passed and her trouble making antics returned.

When my Grandfather died the old farm was knocked down, and my dad sold the land for two new family houses to be built...Sandy was not amused. Having spent six years following me up to the farm to sit and have tea and biscuits most days with Granda Jack, she was most put out that she was prohibited from returning. She also didn't much like the disappearance of the old farm...so she investigated...and caused a little trouble...as usual.

As the builders went about their work Sandy sat in the shadows and observed.  After a number of weeks, arguments broke out between the men, fights ensued, and trouble brewed.  After a discussion with the new owner of the land (who was most aggrieved), we discovered that some of the men's lunches were disappearing and a split had formed between the workers...someone was stealing lunches...maybe not someone...maybe some mischievous dog?

True enough a trap was set to catch the workers behind the great lunch heist, and to all their shock and surprise it transpired it was no worker but Miss Sandy herself!

Sandy, from her scouting, had worked out that some of the men would leave their lunches on the window sill of the newly emerging property to keep cool. So, Sandy took advantage of their stupidity and regularly made off with the workmen's lunches. When it was discovered it was Sandy who nearly caused a mutiny we had a lot of apologising to do...and assurance we would do all in our power to teach her not to return to the old farm. I will admit I was secretly rather proud of her...I mean, what a smart dog? Hehe.

A few years later we came into the possession of another pawed pal. Belle, a nervous but incredibly cute King Charles Cavalier dog...and thus another friendship was born. Granted Sandy never roamed the way she used too, I think she missed her mum too much, but she did start to enjoy walks with Belle over the hill. The two became companions since Belle hated being alone and Sandy was getting on in years.  It was a friendship built on mutual affection for their humans, and  a great deal of love for food.

The twilight years of Sandy's colourful life were much more sedate. She went for the occasional hike and only got into bother with the locals once more.  She decided to let herself our one day and went for a walk around the local village. The dog warden brought her back, and we gave her a stern lecture about loitering on street corners at her age.

Her last great deed was not so long ago. I took my brother and his friends for a hike one summer afternoon. I had been quite ill for a period of years but I was determined to go for the walk. Sandy followed loyally of course. I had let the boys go down ahead of me, I hadn't factored in how tired I was going to be once I reached the top. Sandy dutifully followed the boys home when I sent her with them (she never walked with a leash on her own turf), and I was content knowing she'd lead them down home safely whilst I rested.

I followed behind soon after, but made a wrong turn having missed the usual markers. I wasn't too worried, I'd spent enough years hopping along after my Daddy looking for cattle, I'd find the safe path again...or not?!

The hill itself has several cave structures, and a deep ravine somewhere near the top. I was always warned never to take the paths closest to the ravine as the ground was hallow and unstable. The drop was far and you'd easily be killed. I was born without the ' balance sense' and as a result I struggle to climb, run, and generally stay upright. So, when I slipped and fell, only to realise I'd skidded onto the path that lead through the ravine and I had no way of climbing back up...I was terrified. For twenty minutes I freaked out and tried to negotiate the narrow paths, only to discover I was inept at managing then without help.

Just when I was about to really panic, two big Wolfy eyes and one wet nose stuck through the trees and I practically cheered with relief...Sandy had returned for me. Licking me over and sitting beside me, the two of us observed the road downwards. After a few moments, Sandy got to her feet and padded down the trail, pausing to look back at me. When I didn't respond she plodded back up to me and prodded me with her nose, before bringing herself side-by-side with me.

She was going to help me down! She knew I couldn't do it and she was going to help me...again what a smart dog!

I took hold of her collar and threw my arm around her neck. As she walked forward I crawled behind her on my knees. Slowly, slowly, we made our way down the dangerous pathway until we safely reached the bottom. A few times I had slipped or lost my balance, but she took my weight and held me up, never once leaving me. Once at the bottom, I followed her good sense and made it back to safe paths and home before tea.

That day Sandy became my Angel dog, and I think from then our bond was deeper. I respected her, she was more than just a smart old dog, she was wise and intuitive...a loyal comrade to trust with your life.

Today, Tuesday 22nd of March 2016, was the day I had to let my Angel go.

At a grand age of sixteen she lost her fight with a mixture of cancer and kidney failure...her body wasting away but her spirit still incredibly strong.

I refused to let the Vet put her to sleep a week ago, when they told me she was dying. Not because I was selfish but because Sandy would tell us when it was her time to go...not some Vet.

Sandy fought bravely these last few days. She went for her last walk three days ago, although it was a short amble up her beloved tiny mountain. She got tired though, and one day later she lost the power of her back legs...but that didn't stop her. No way, she watched the comings and goings from her blanket by the fire, unable to eat but not causing a fuss about it.

Today her sight failed her, and she couldn't even keep her water down. She cried every time I left her side, so I sat with her in my arms and helped her breath. But, I knew when she cried she was telling me she had enough. I watched her big brown eyes, all clouded and unseeing as she searched for us and I knew it was time to say our farewells. I kissed her and cuddled her, and when the vet came he remembered her as a pup from the farm.

I held her in my arms, feeling how light she was, as the Vet helped ease her passage to the other-side.  She let out a weak whimper before going slack in my arms and falling asleep, it felt like she was saying goodbye.  A little while passed and her breathing ceased, and the Vet confirmed she was gone.

You know she died with her ears perked up, and her eyes a little open, soft and warm not filled with the pain and shadows from earlier. We wrapped her in her blanket and buried her where the garden meets the meadow. We are going to plant her favourite smelling shrub there, on her grave, the same bush she would sleep under in the front garden. Her mum is buried not far from her side.

It's a quiet and happy place to sleep, in the shadow of her tiny mountain.

RIP
Sandy
1999 - 2016
'My wonderful pup with her wise old soul...your paws are all over my heart.'