Ramsey

I am Ramsey, Lindsay's pet Yorkshire Terrier.
I am a very selective Lady's dog (an original son of a bitch in fact) and would not be seen walked by any Tom, Dick or Harry.

My personal information:
 

Sex: male
Year of birth: 1991    (But see postscript at the end)
Favourite food: Chicken breast and thighs (not the tinned dog-food stuff)
Breed: Yorkshire Terrier

It is my main ambition to grow up and be a large sheepdog or an aggressive alsatian / german shepherd. Unfortunately, this ambition is unlikely to be fulfilled. However I have fulfilled another ambition, namely to have my very own WWW Home Page. I am one of the earliest dogs in cyberspace, having had this page since about 1997. When the home computer is otherwise idle I lie by it as it searches for extra-terrestrial intelligence.

On a part time basis I act as a watch dog at the Agius household.
I am not very good at biting postmen's fingers since I can't reach the letterbox. However in the garden when I was younger, I used to chase birds of all descriptions from small birds such as sparrows and tits to big birds such as crows, magpies and jays.  When I was younger I used to chase the odd pussy cat in the garden but even then the feline beast would usually climb up some vantage position such as a shed or a fence and taunt me from on high. Now I content myself with occasionally playing with inanimate objects such as later rubber toy 'bones'. Children like to play with me since I look cute and cuddly, but I'm really quite selfish and will abuse a child's friendship by trying to bite it if I feel annoyed by their attention.

As I get older I am less active and tend to watch the world go by, and you can see me doing just that in the following image, alongside another Yorkie called Bovril by his owner.  I am the good looking one on the left of the image.  When hungry I am apt to beg by staring at humans with my round eyes, or else I lick or paw the foot corresponding to the hand that I hope will feed me.

I enjoy being taken for walks though sometimes I need to be gently pulled back with my leather lead as I have a bad habit of smelling and sniffing disgusting deposits such as other dogs' business cards. However, I do not usually have dog fleas.

In the picture above, I am sharing a basket with my housemate. He is called Foxi and belongs to my mistress' daughter - so in an anthropo-canine social sort of sense he is my adoptive nephew.  Even though he is much larger and fitter than me, I am still 'top-dog' and I can easily muscle in to stick my face in any tasty meal and edge him out.  The cute white fluffy bitch is a temporary occasional house guest.  I had the hots for her once but unfortunately she did not reciprocate.  She is a rather posh Bijon Frise, named after the queen (what an insult).  Now that I am older and have had THE operation ( see below for more details ) she does not quite turn me on in the same way.

I am a 'pedigree' dog with a certificate to prove it. My first name 'Ramsey' derives from the name of the village in Essex where I was conceived, born and bred. My full kennel name is 'Reach-Far Laird of Ramsey'. Sounds distinguished -doesn't it? ... but if you read on you will see that I cannot reach very far at all. In fact 'roach-far' would have been a more apt name. For those of you who don't know - a pedigree dog is one which does not have the opportunity to choose its parents properly. Mongrels on the other hand are luckier in that they have a wider degree of diversity in their genome, with less genetic defects.

When I am in a conceited mood I like to believe that I'm very important. Indeed a Royal Navy vessel was named after me.

 HMS Ramsey was the tenth of the Sandown Class of Single Role Minehunters to enter service (in the year 2000).

Like me the Ramsey was not really built of the strongest materials - she was essentially made of plastic!

Like me her name is NOT spelt 'Ramsay'. I am not persuaded that the vessel was named after some place on some island somewhere.  I'm sure she must have been named after me ... must have ...

One of the many unfortunate consequences of my 'pedigree' was Perthe's disease in both my hips. In fact I probably have all but one of the reported diseases of Yorkies arising from inbreeding. For example I have tracheomalacia, and had patellar subluxation, and retention of milk teeth (removed under general anaesthetic). I have a roach back and cataracts, and in some circumstances have great difficulty seeing things. Only one of my gonads i.e. testes has ever descended and it developed a huge tumour which was excised in 2004, when my scrotum was just about scraping the ground.

I have a number of smaller tumours in my skin. I have atrial fibrillation. My hearing is getting progressively worse, and I am almost stone deaf.  Luckily I do not have von Willebrand's disease (probably the only significant congenital disease of Yorkie's that I did not inherit - or at least have not shown signs of - yet)!.  I walk thanks to the excellent orthopaedic surgical skills of the small animal clinic of the Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies in Edinburgh at which centre of excellence both the heads of my femurs were excised and chucked in the bin. However it is just possible that they were submitted to 'organ retention' for teaching / research purposes, without my consent.  A number of vets have probably had good holidays at my (owner's) expense. She is a nurse and looks after me well. From time to time I get threatened with a one way ticket to the vet, but my watery pleading eyes and a few licks of my tongue soon earn me yet another reprieve.

Post script:

On the 30th of November 2005, Reach-far Laird of Ramsey shuffled off his mortal collar, peacefully while at rest.

He had given and received fourteen and a half years of loyal affection, and will be sorely missed.

It has been decided to retain this page in his memory.

Ramsey's last journey  - an elegy.

Not a hum was heard, not a funeral note,  
  As his corpse o'er the flagstones we carried;  
Not a child discharged a farewell cry  
  O'er the grave where our doggie we buried.  
 
We buried him darkly at eight of night,         
  The sods with our shovel turning,  
By the struggling moonless misty light  
  of the torches dimly shining.  
 
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,  
  Not in shroud but bean bag we zipped him;  
and he lay like a Yorkie taking his rest  
  With his food bowl beside him.  
 
Few and short were the prayers we said,  
  And we spoke not a word of sorrow;  
But we steadfastly gazed on the pet that was dead,  
  And we thought of the vacant morrow.

We thought, as we crafted his narrow bed  
  And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,  
That the friend, and stranger would tread o'er his head 
  beneath the slab that lay on the hollow.  
 
Fondly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,  
  or over his cold ashes jest of him—  
But little he'll care, if they let him sleep on  
  In the grave where a human has laid him.    
 
Slowly and sadly we lowered him down,  
  in the garden of his home and family;  
We carved not a line, but laid a dragon stone,  
  and we left him alone - our Ramsey.

( Adapted with posthumourous apologies from Charles Wolfe's poem entitled 'The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna '.)

'Top Dog'

Topdog is dead.
Foxi now ipso facto occupies the position of 'top dog'.