The day before yesterday Arthur turned 15, a bit of an achievement in itself for such an accident-prone nervous nelly. What make the fact more remarkable is exactly a week ago he was hit by a car. Arthur is deaf as a post, he escaped from the house and didn't hear the car speeding through our village. It didn't even stop. My neighbour heard the bang and saw him tumble down the road. She assumed he was dead and ran to pick him off the road but as she got there he came to. He amazingly didn't break any bones despite being a skinny thing, but got himself many cuts and bruises along with a more discombobulated air about him than normal. A friend remarked that she hopes there's a special cosmic retribution for people who run dogs over and leave them, and I tend to agree with her. So one week on after lots of tlc and cuddles, frequent arnica doses and gentle, short walks he made it to 15, which according to the chart in our vet's waiting room makes him 102 in human years. In those years he's broken his leg, ripped himself open on rusty metal, broken his toe, torn a ligament and ripped his ears and now been hit by a car but he's never had an illness. Please, raise your glass to my sweet boy Arthur.
