Now, as I mentioned in my last article; this next one was going to be about homosexuality and the sick-fuck trans-agenda… Quite fucking good it was going to be too even if I do say so myself.
However, as the saying goes; ‘the best laid plans and all that shit…’ is now applicable, because just as I have been trying to regain my enthusiasm for writing, something else has cropped up to take the wind out of my sails.
And because of that, the planned article on the ‘fruit‘ and the ‘fruit bats‘ will have to wait and instead I am going to tell you a story – as much for my own benefit as it is for yours.
Now, I am sure that you all know of my great love for dogs especially my own who are my life. After all we literally spend 24 hours a day together, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
But nevertheless, just so as we are all one hundred percent crystal clear on the matter, I really, really fucking love dogs and really, really fucking hate people.
“YES, YES WE GERRIT SPIVEY, YOU LOVE DOGS – GERRON WI’IT F’FUCKS SAKE“!
Okay, keep ya fucking hair on Yorkshire bloke!
Now nearly 7 years ago, I wrote quite a long article on my old website about my Rottweiler, Jasper who had died peacefully of old age on the 4th of April 2014, with his head resting on my lap.
PHOTO: A collection of images that I once put on Facebook to celebrate me hound’s birthday.
Jasper, who is buried in my back garden was in fact 2 months short of being 13 years old when he finally croaked – which is monstrously old for a Rottweiler whose average life span is 8-10 years.
Furthermore, as many of you will know, my other Rottweiler, Jessica – who absolutely adored Jasper – finally died on the 22nd of December 2019 also at the ripe old age of twelve… Three years after a vet told me that she had cancer and no more than a month to live.
Sadly, and as I have already just told you I finally had to have Jessica put down just over a year ago. She was blind by then and had a massive tumour on her leg which developed and grew alarmingly in the space of less than a month.
And of course, having to have a vet put her down obviously made her death that little bit harder for me than Jasper’s – who as I have also already told you died peacefully at home with his head resting in my lap.
PHOTO: Jessica outside the vets, She is blind and has a massive tumour on her leg.
But then again – unlike Jasper – Jessica never made my life easy… She was born naughty and never changed throughout her whole life, yet at the same time she was funny as fuck and I loved her to pieces.
PHOTO: I would find Jessica sat in the funniest of places
Nevertheless, moving on swiftly because believe it or not I am actually going somewhere with this story.
Now after Jasper died, Jessica who was around 6 yrs old at the time and also had what later turned out to be thyroid problems rapidly went down hill – to the extent that I thought she too was going to die… And if anyone thinks that I am being melodramatic and dogs do not die of a broken heart, then let me tell you that you really do not know fuck all about man’s best friend.
After all, as I say she adored Jasper and had obviously never been without him in her entire life up to that point.
And by way of a thank you, I will also point out that at the time I had spent nearly £2000 on vet bills trying to get to the bottom of what was wrong with Jess, with no success what so ever – at which point one of my readers, Paul Boland (a renown British vet) contacted me to see if he could help… An offer which was somewhat hindered by the fact that Paul lives 250 miles away from me in Liverpool.
Nevertheless, he observed her on Skype and diagnosed her with a serious thyroid problem despite her not displaying the usual signs of such.
Paul then sent me all the medication than she needed free of charge and Jessica quickly got better… Thank you Paul, I will be eternally great-full mate.
And of course that fact is one in the eye for all of the pathetic, half-baked gob-shite, nonentities who wrongly believe that my readers are made up of uneducated morons.
But I digress. So with Jessica being so ill and obviously ‘lost’ without Jasper, I decided that the best course of action was to buy another pup for Jessica to mother – ideally another Rottweiler… I fucking love Rottweilers, don’t cha know.
However, as sods law would have it there were none to be found anywhere in Essex at that point in history, except for some robbing bastard in Epping Forest who wanted £1000 for one of his litter (the going price back then was between £400 – £500).
In fact there seemed to be a huge shortage of any pedigree pups in Essex back in April 2014 – unless I wanted a Paris Hilton type designer handbag dog or a Labradoodle, but that is Essex for ya… And at this point I will just say that I have nothing against little dogs or Labradoodles – they are just not for me (although to my mind Labradoodles are a rip off for the price they fetch because they are basically mongrels).
And once again, before anyone takes offence and starts cunting me off, I will also point out that I have nothing against mongrels either; they too are just not for me… See how hard this fucking job is? I have to explain every little fucking thing.
Now, I should also tell you that the day after Jasper died, one of my readers in Manchester contacted me on Facebook and told me that his Rottweiler was due a litter sometime in the near future and he was happy to let me have one for free when they were born… Which was very fucking nice of him.
Yet the fact remained that I didn’t know this fella from Adam and for me here in Essex, Manchester was a lot more than a ten minute round trip.
Moreover, for all I knew this fella might just as easily have been a Billy Bullshitter – an awful lot of people are to be frank, so to be quite honest I didn’t take too much notice of his extremely kind offer at the time. And besides, I truly believed that I needed to buy a pup as a matter of great urgency.
Soooo, such was the desperate situation with Jessica that I decided I would settle for any large breed of pedigree dog and that is how I ended up getting my Yellow Labrador Benny… Who is fucking lovely.
PHOTO: Puppy Benny, my grandson Clayton with a recovering Jessica in the background, taken in April 2014.
And as usual, I was right because Jessica – who had a proper fucking nasty streak towards other dogs – took to Benny right away.
PHOTO: Benny & Jessica
Course – as per usual for me – no more than a week after forking out £400 for Benny, sods law struck again when the fella from Manchester contacted me once more to tell me that his Rottweiler had delivered her puppies and I could collect my £400 worth of freebie in 8 weeks time… An offer that I could hardly say no to, being – as I say – I am a proper fucking sucker for Rottweilers, despite the fact that I never ever planned on having more than two dogs at any one time.
And that is how Buster came to be a huge part of my family.
PHOTO: A young Buster
Mind you, getting him from Manchester to Rochford in Essex was a logistical nightmare since I was certain that my old car would never make it there and back.
Nevertheless, that problem was finally solved when my dear friend, Lisa P (who used to run my on-line shop) and lives quite near to Birmingham arranged for a lorry driver friend of hers to pick up Buster in Manchester and drop him off at hers.
Buster then stayed with her for 3 weeks until she and my other great friend, Dogman (formally a moderator and adviser on my old site) came to visit me, by which time Lisa had fallen in love with the 8 week old puppy, named him Buster and wanted to keep him.
Which to be fair, I might have let her since I now had the newly acquired Benny; had it not been for the fact that Buster was – at the very least – £400 worth of free gift so to then give him away would have been at best; taking the right fucking piss out of the fella who gave me him… And besides, he was cute as fuck.
Mind you, it is not an understatement to say that Jessica was not too thrilled with the new addition to the family and she would threaten to bite his head off every time he got brave enough to approach her… A completely different reaction to the one she had with Benny’s arrival.
Therefore, as a consequence for the first few weeks I had to take Buster with me whenever I left my house for fear of coming home and finding him ripped to pieces, with Jessica sat on the window cill pleased as fucking punch with herself.
PHOTO: Jessica sat on the window cill, pleased as fucking punch with herself.
Nevertheless, I should also point out that despite Jess being fearless and always up for attacking any strange dog that crossed her path, never once in her 12 years on earth did she display even the tiniest bit of aggression towards a human.
Quite the opposite in fact:
PHOTO: Jessica and my grandson Clayton
However, on the flip side Benny accepted Buster right from the start… In fact despite him also being a bit scared of Jess, he would rush over to the aid of young Buster every time she growled at him.
And to be fair it didn’t take Jess too long before she accepted Buster into her domain… I think that she just wanted to establish her dominance and rightful place at the top of the pecking order.
Moreover, despite Buster growing to be head and shoulders taller than Jess and twice as powerful, she remained the boss of the pack right up until she died – and when she finally did, both Benny and Buster were lost without her.
In fact, despite his size, Buster was the most placid of all 3 of them and unlike Jess, he loved all dogs.
And now I will get to the point.
“About fecking time Spivey“.
Fuck off Irish fella… Now despite Buster being huge with the biggest paws you have ever seen and legs as long & thick as a racehorse, I began to be a bit concerned that once he reached maturity (around 4 years old) his body wasn’t filling out the way that it should have – Rottweilers are meant to be chunky – despite his enormous appetite.
I had even taken him to the vets on two previous occasions to get him checked out – and both times I was assured that he was fine.
PHOTO: Despite Buster being the tallest Rottweiler I have ever seen, he never filled out properly.
Nevertheless, despite those assurances that Buster was absolutely fine, there was still a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that told me he wasn’t – but hey, what can you fucking do when most vets share the same god-complex as doctors.
Then about 4 weeks ago I noticed that he was not eating his food with the same zest as he normally did. He had also taken to coughing and having bouts of breathlessness.
Therefore I once again phoned the vets (or at least my daughter Stacey did as I very rarely use the phone) to try and get him an appointment.
And that was easier said than done because it now appears to me that Vet Practices are taking the Covid bollox even more seriously than our hospitals are – meaning that they are only seeing pets as emergencies… Which Buster clearly was not, despite him being obviously unwell.
Nevertheless, Stacey persevered and the Vet finally agreed to see Buster a couple of days later. Course, on the way there and in the waiting room Buster was that excited that he was bouncing around like an overgrown pup, to the extent that I thought the receptionist might tell us to fuck off and stop wasting their time… Which obviously she didn’t.
We were then called into the consulting room where I told the vet that Buster was off his food and was coughing along with signs of being short of breath… I also once again expressed my concern about his weight as Buster to me was now looking thinner than ever.
Yet after being weighed – which Buster found to be great fun – the vet confirmed that he had not lost any weight since the last time that he had been weighed there a year or so earlier. He then listened to Buster’s heart and lungs and declared them to sound normal.
However, after rogering Buster with a thermometer the vet found him to have a high temperature which he said he thought was nothing more than a virus… In fact I am a bit surprised that he didn’t declare my mutt to have Covid.
Nevertheless, he prescribed Buster with a weeks worth of antibiotics and the same amount of pain killers, which I found a little strange as you are not really in pain if you have a virus… Are you?
Actually, ignore that question as it don’t matter anyway… The consultation then ended with the vet telling me to bring Buster back if there was no improvement once he had completed the course of tablets – which he actually finished on Tuesday the 9th of February.
Now I have to say that on completion of the antibiotics Buster didn’t seem too bad, although he still wasn’t eating with his usual two seconds and it’s gone routine. However, by Saturday the 13th (4 days later) his cough and shortness of breath had returned.
Worse still, it was clear to me that by the next day the poor boy was in quite a lot of distress and couldn’t settle in any one place for more than 5 minutes at a time – in fact he kept me awake all of that Sunday night with his constant restlessness.
And at this point I will give you a little tip: You can tell if your dog is not very well by looking at their gums because if there is nothing wrong with your pooch, their gums will be bright pink. However, if your dog is very unwell their gums will be nearly white. Therefore the lighter shade of pink that your dogs gums are, the sicker your hound is… Busters gums were by now very nearly snow white.
But once again I digress and on that Sunday, in-between Buster’s constant quests to find somewhere to get comfortably laid down, he just kept either sitting and staring at me or coming over to me to be stroked… So I asked my daughter, Stacey to get him another appointment, for the next day (Monday the 15th) as a mini emergency – whilst reminding her to tell the receptionist that the vet had told me himself to bring Buster back if there was no improvement.
Anyway, to cut a long story short…
“Why I, a wish you foockin’ would Spivey“.
Fuck off Geordie-boy! We then ended up back at the vets for a 3 PM appointment on the Monday afternoon. And to my embarrassment, Buster was once again bouncing around like Zebedee on Speed – without a care in the fucking world.
In fact you would have thought that it was Benny (who came along with us because he had never ever been left on his own in his whole life) who was the sick animal because he’s that fucking fat (despite him always eating a lot less than Buster) that I had to lift him into the car, where he just laid down on the back seat without moving for the entire journey.
Nevertheless, once there we then got called in to see the vet (a different one to the one who had seen Buster two weeks before) and as such I once again relayed Buster’s symptoms, told him what the other vet had said on the last visit and expressed great concern about his much worsening condition.
And to be fair, this vet was a hundred times more thorough in his examination than the last one was, which now included anally raping the poor boy, along with listening to his heart and lungs for a lot longer and in a lot more places… In fact in hindsight I should have paid much more attention to the look of concern in the vets eyes as he examined him.
The vet then told me that Buster was “quite” (note, not severely) dehydrated – which I was surprised at because he had been drinking normally – and as a consequence he wanted to arrange for me to take Buster from there to another vet’s where he would stay overnight, being as this vet’s practice did not offer 24 hour care.
He then said that this other practice would pump fluids into Buster overnight, along with an arrangement for them to bring him back there the following morning – at which point he would sedate Buster and carry out some x-rays and other tests, after which I could then come and pick him up.
He then took Buster out back where he fitted him with a cannular in readiness for this other vet’s practice to give him his fluids. And whilst he was doing that he also carried out a blood test – which I was quite relieved to hear him tell me that on preliminary testing had shown up no signs of abnormalities.
Nevertheless I was quite upset and worried because Buster had never spent a single night away from Me & Benny and with me being extremely antisocial he is not really used to interaction with other people. In fact the vet had to physically drag him away from me to take him out back.
Now as I say, I knew in my heart of hearts that Buster had something seriously wrong with him, despite him only being six and a half years old and appearing to be healthy to anyone who saw him, other than me.
Therefore, my plan was to have the vet officially diagnose whatever was wrong with Buster and if he had cancer – as I suspected – I would then take him home and like I did with Jessica; immediately start him on PROPER Cannabis Oil – not the shit that they sell in shops… Trust me, the proper stuff really does cure cancer or at worst prolongs a victims life by years.
And if you are smart you will take my advice and buy it from my good friend Ben (see HERE), who makes it himself and is extremely knowledgeable on what variation & strength of oil to use for your particular medical needs (CBD oil doesn’t just cure cancer, it can also cure a huge number of other serious and mild diseases and conditions).
So anyway, needing to know exactly what was wrong with Buster in order to get him the right type of oil, I then had to put on my big boy pants and drive him over to this 24 hr vets – who were by now expecting his arrival.
However, on announcing through the intercom that we were here, we were told to go back to the car and someone would be out to collect Buster shortly… I told you these mad cunts are more paranoid about the Covid hoax than our hospitals are.
Course, it broke my heart to not be able to take my boy in myself and sure enough the fella who came for him – visored, masked and suited up like he was hoping not to catch the black plague – had to use all his strength to drag a-paws-a-scraping, very scared, Buster into the building… The last memory that Benny has of him.
Now, because I am pretty much deaf, this vets practice had my daughter’s phone number as Buster’s contact details (because as I say, I never use mine and more often than not, I do not hear the fucking thing ring anyway) and when Stacey rang them at 9 PM later on that night to make sure that Buster was okay, she was told that he was absolutely fine, laid down & relaxed, receiving his fluids.
Which to be honest – knowing Buster like I do – I did not believe that he was “fine” for one fucking second. After all they aint going to say that he “is terrified and howling like fuck“, are they?
They also told Stacey in that phone conversation that Buster would be transported back to my vets practice at ‘around 9 in the morning’ for his X-rays & whatnot’s and we would be able to collect him some time in the afternoon as planned.
And that was it until they rang Stacey at 6 in the morning to tell her that Buster had died at around 4 o’clock. They also told her that he had died peacefully in his sleep which I, as a relatively intelligent man do not believe for one fucking second.
They then subsequently went on to say that following his death, they had carried out a scan which had shown Buster’s heart to be horribly enlarged and surrounded by water – along with the offer of sending us a copy of the scan, to presumably prove it.
Course, whether it was the fluids that killed him, or whether his heart had advanced disease I will never know because “hey he’s only a dog, shit happens and they certainly are not going to do an autopsy, so get over it“.
After all, even if they were negligent they certainly are not going to admit to it and I certainly do not have the means to pursue the matter… Even if I wanted to.
You see, strangely enough I am not interested in what caused his death at this point in time, because the only relevant facts that matter to me are that he is fucking dead and there is not a single thing in the world that I can now do to bring him back.
Mind you, I do know with 99.9% certainty that my beautiful, loyal, loving Buster would never, ever have died that night had I taken him home with me that afternoon, because even if his heart was due to give out you can bet your fucking life that it was the fear and anxiety of being away from Me & Benny that caused it to stop beating.
After all, earlier on in the day he had eaten his breakfast and part of Benny’s too. He was then jumping around in the car like the seat was made of red hot tin and in the vets waiting room he jumped up on his back legs to put his front paws on my knee… Hardly the actions of a dog at death’s door is it?
You then also have to bear in mind the considerable fight that Buster put up in an effort to stop the spaceman from dragging him into the 24 hr surgery.
Moreover, what is also another huge painful kick in the bollox for me is the fact that had I brought Buster home instead of letting them keep him over night and by some minuscule chance he had died that night, then at least he would have died in the safety of his own home, surrounded by love.
I therefore now have to live with the knowledge that my beautiful boy died scared and alone in a strange, baron cell, along with the fact that the last image that Benny has of his beloved partner in crime is him being dragged away by some muppet with a fear of catching a fucking cold.
Sooo, once again it is fair to say that Buster’s death has hit me far harder than my adored Jasper’s & Jessica’s deaths did at the time.
Course that is not to imply that I loved Buster more than them – on the contrary I had both of the other two twice as long as I had Buster – it’s simply because I knew both Jasper & Jessica had more than fulfilled their life span and I had plenty of time to prepare for their departure from this world.
And above all else, I was there with them when they did.
Therefore, to say that me and Benny (who has hardly eaten a thing since Monday morning) are utterly devastated is an under statement, so please bear with me if I am slow in writing the next article xx.
PHOTO: Me, Lisa P (who had given Buster his name), my grandson, Roman and Benny taken last night (Saturday, 20th of February 2021). Lisa had made the long journey down from the Midlands to come and see me after I had informed her off Buster’s unexpected death.