ASSIGNMENT:

Farewell to a big-hearted, faithful friend

ANDREW NODWELL
Last updated 05:00 21/07/2014
Walking a dog
KIRK HARGREAVES/ Fairfax Media
CONSTANT COMPANIONS: For Andrew Nodwell, his beloved dog Morris Minor helped make the rest of life's nonsense bearable.

How do you let a loved pet go?

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How do you let a loved pet go?

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A wee Scottish terrier, about the size of an over-inflated rugby ball, might not seem a big thing to lose but Morris Minor (yes, really) has left a hole in my life that a herd of elephants could not fill.

She passed away in my arms on New Year's Day after 13 years of faithful companionship, and every little black blob I glimpse on the floor at night sends a pang of loss through me.

If there is a heaven for pets then I hope it is a nicer neighbourhood than the human variety... they have earned it.

Morris, or Mozza to her many friends, spent most of her days as "security" at my sister's TV production company, where she valiantly protected her bean bag and toys (and the humans) from harm.

Then she made her way home to my place to continue her guard dog duties in the evening, with only constant tummy tickles and intentionally dropped treats to distract her from her task.

She could be as dour as Scotties are famous for, but made sure to give a dreadfully ill friend of my sister's bucket-loads of attention whenever he visited during his frequent trips to Auckland Hospital.

She literally ran in circles of joy when greeting people she somehow knew were special to me, and let fly with a bark that used to startle even her whenever unauthorised cats dared pass by the property.

On a cold winter's night she would snuggle into the small of my back, always facing the other way, as if to say: "Well, I've got this side covered... you sleep easy."

When she passed, we received messages of sorrow from across the globe that would have been a stirring tribute to a pillar of the community, let alone a wee creature I first met as a puffball no bigger than my hand who grew to be a confidante, morale booster, court jester and last line of defence to all who were fortunate enough to be counted as part of her pack.

FDR had his Scottie Fala, George W had his Scottie Barney, and I had my Morris Minor. Perhaps everyone needs something that causes not a single moment of regret, to make the rest of life's nonsense bearable... thanks, little girl! 

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