Zeki is dead. We took him to the vet this afternoon and had him put to sleep. We had been thinking about it for a while but the final straw was him biting both Elizabeth and Ben yesterday. The wounds are minor but I would rather write about his finer moments and make this an obituary of sorts.
I got Zeki as a puppy more than 12 years ago. He was always very energetic and could leap high into the air. I used to think he could be a circus dog. He had an exuberant personality and was easily over-excited by the prospect of a walk or dinner or a game of fetch. He liked dancing and when the music came on, would happily dance with me while simultaneously biting my fingers in a playful manner. He was highly strung, disliked high-pitched noises and was fearful of anything falling from above like harmless bits of paper or plastic. He didn’t enjoy the Christchurch earthquakes much.
He once barked obsessively at a snow-man.
He used to love swimming and did so regularly when we lived in Brisbane. He tried it once shortly after we moved to Christchurch, midwinter, in the Avon river. He never swam again after that.
Zeki had an impressive Hannibal Lecter snarl, usually reserved for me when trying to clip his nails or trim his fur.
I can remember him sticking his head under the fences of homes belonging to excessively large dogs and barking psychotically at them almost willing them to bite his head off. Fortunately none did.
Whenever we encountered children on our walks, we would say, “Don’t pat the white dog, pat the grey one”.
Zeki was a great runner. He and Freud used to race around Hagley park chasing each other. It was great to watch.
When we lived in a rental flat in Christchurch, Zeki and Freud used to sit up on our bed howling and howling. Our shift-working neighbours were not impressed.
He liked to eat apple cores and would sometimes eat cauliflowers growing in our old garden in Christchurch.
Goodbye, Zeki. I hope you are in peace, wherever you are.