Peter James: Novelist and Film Producer: Explaining Death To The Dogs (With Apologies to Susan Perabo)

Peter's blog

Saturday, June 16, 2007
Explaining Death To The Dogs (With Apologies to Susan Perabo)

Our beloved Tibetan Terrier, Sooty, died a few weeks ago at the ripe old age of 16 - 112 years old in human years. Actually the last four years were a bonus, because I ran him over in 2003.
It was one of those truly terrible moments, where you wish so desperately that you could rewind time, just those last thirty seconds and everything would be all right again. I had got into my car to run a friend to the station, reversed and felt a bump. It was Sooty, who had been enjoying a sleep in the shade of the rear wheel of my car, on a hot summer afternoon.

Incredibly and to our joy, after a touch-and-go twenty-four hours following emergency surgery, he not only survived, but within a couple of months he was back to running every day with myself and the other two dogs and killing rabbits - some bigger than himself!

But for weeks after, I replayed that moment of starting up the car and running him over again and again in my mind, with a sick, hollow feeling each time. The only thing that gave me comfort was that he had survived and was ok. I don't know how I would have coped with my guilt had he died.

I know from my own experiences and from those of many friends, that losing a pet can be almost as harrowing - and sometimes even more - than losing a human friend or family member. Dogs in particular are so non-judgmental. I was brought up in a household with dogs, cats, hampsters, rabbits, fish, budgerigars and sundry other domestic and wild creatures, but it has always been dogs that I love the most. You could go out, murder five people, come home and the dog will still lick you and love you. I'm not so sure a cat would... In my novel Looking Good Dead I quote my favourite feline line: "Sometimes when I am playing with my cat, I wonder if, perhaps it is not my cat who is playing with me."

It is a strange thing, but dogs seem to know when they are going to die, and they seem to face death without any of the fears we humans have. When my beloved Hungarian Puli, Jesse, died back in 1991, he just waddled out of the back door and sat down, staring at his favourite view across the lawns, down towards the woods and the lake with the ducks he liked to bark at every day, and slowly passed away.

My then wife and I were almost inconsolable, because Jesse had been something of a child substitute for us. The house had a beautiful little railed-in pet cemetery, dating back hundreds of years from the markings on the gravestones, that was beneath a quite beautiful 700 year-old yew tree. (Interesting diversion: Do you know the reason that yew trees are mostly found in English churchyards? It is because their leaves are poisonous to cattle and churchyards were one of the few places that were railed off in the Middle Ages. The yew was needed to make the bows for the archer soldiers.)

We had been keeping very expensive oak planks in the house for a year to season them for a new kitchen floor, but then someone told us that it was important to bury a dog in something solid, in case foxes tried to dig up the body, so we ended up using part of the oak to make a coffin for him! And I wrote a one hundred line long poem which I put in the coffin - gosh it sounds so slushy, but hey, I may be a crime writer but I can do slush...

The title of this blog is taken from a wonderful book of short stories by the writer Susan Perabo. When poor Sooty died, Helen sat down with Phoebe, our five-year-old German Shepherd and Bertie, our fifteen year old super-bolshy but wonderful Hungarian Puli and explained that Sooty had died. She swore they listened and understood, although for days after Bertie would sit at the bottom of one staircase, looking up, as if waiting for Sooty to appear...

Oscar

Now we have a new canine family member, Oscar, a five-month old rescue pup, who was found by the RSPCA just wandering the streets. He is pictured on his own, with a sock. Oscar is, we think, a Labrador/Border Collie cross and has made friends with everyone. Even grumpy Bertie tolerates him, which is quite something! He has one of the nicest temperaments I have ever experienced in a dog, and is a really happy, lively soul, but he seems so chilled at times we wonder if he has a secret stash of dope...

I like all animals, except mosquitos, wasps, and certain bottom feeders from the human gene pool who throw rubbish out of car windows. I remember some years ago talking to my friend Dominic Walker, the Bishop of Monmouth - who is also the chief exorcist of the Church of England - or Minister of Deliverance, as the Church prefers to call it - about questions we would ask God if we met Him face to face. Dominic made me smile when he said the first question he would like to ask Him would be why had He made mosquitoes?

Which reminds me of a wonderful sign I once came across on a tour of the Body Shop's factory in Littlehampton (well worth a visit): "If you ever thought you were too small to make a difference, you've never shared a bed with a mosquito."

And should you ever make the visit (assuming they still do tours) ask them to open the curtains that shield off from public display a splendid photograph. It is of someone Anita Roddick, the Body Shop's founder, encountered in the Amazon rainforest whilst on a research trip in search of natural remedies. He is a rather fine and sturdy example of our species, and particularly well endowed. He is seen carries six bricks in a sling hung from his erect penis. Beats builders' bums any day...

Not sure how I managed to segue from dead dogs to the Body Shop, but hey, it's Sunday afternoon...

posted by Peter James at 7:21 AM 9 comments

Comments:

Oh how sad for you both, poor Sooty. Mind you he has had an ideal life living in your household! (Well apart from the car incident.....!)
Those pets seem to have an extremely good life and I bet they enjoy every minute of it. Lucky ol' Oscar for landing in the James' household!
Pets are extremely loving - I had two hamsters up until January and when Poochy died it was awful, especally as I had to have her put down after she broke a leg - they coudln't help her she was so tiny. Now I have Pooky left who is 18 months old and in her twilight years. She likes nothing better than chewing my finger - !
Heaven knows what I'll do when she goes....

By Jo, at 2:11 PM

Hi Jo

Yes, it is incredible how we get so attached to some pets. And your Pooky must be incredibly gentle - I have a number of memories of my hamsters biting clean into my fingers and drawing blood!!!! Or maybe you have a wonderful way with him...

BTW I didn't see your sister in Waterstone yesterday - unless she didn't announce herself?

By Peter James, at 2:37 PM

Hi Peter
Yes Pooky is very gentle, although I wouldn't trust her teeth with anyone else, she's not that fond of strangers!

I haven't heard from Sue but knowing her she was probably too shy to say hello - not like me who likes nothing better than meeting people I have huge opinions of!

I am sure she is feeling very guilty at the moment that she didn't say hello and has a copy of your book hidden away with no signature!

I'll bring her along next year when I am back and we are both there for the signing of Book 4 !

Jo

By jo, at 6:57 AM

I thik a lot of people are shy at singings. I am too, sometimes. I can remember going up to authors at their signings and becoming completely tongue tied when I really wanted to ask them something about their work!

I've even talked to major Hollywood stars who are in awe of even bigger stars than themselves, which is very strange!

By Peter James, at 8:19 AM

Good to know that we are all the same when all is said and done!

I had about 100 questions for you in Singapore and couldn't think of a single one when the moment came!

I also saw Warren Clarke in the street when I was in England and would have loved to have said how much I liked him in Dalziel and Pascoe but could only manage to scrutinise my watch as he walked past... talk about loosing your nerve!

By jo, at 9:01 AM

Sad to hear about your beloved dog, Peter. Its true, we love our pets as much as our family! Especially when you have had them as long.
Jo, I had the same problem when I met Peter, was too shy to ask too many questions in case he thought I was nuts (nuttier than I am that is)BUT like you say there is always next time:-)

Linda

By Anonymous, at 8:45 AM

Hi Linda, I remember when I met Orson Welles - I was a 20 year old film school student washing the hall floor of his London home when he walked in. There were a million questions I would have loved to ask him, but at that moment my brain was as mushy as the sponge I was holding in my rubber gloved hands!!! So the only conversation I ever had with him consisted of 'G-g-g-g-g-g'morning.'

By Peter James, at 9:59 AM

Hi Peter,

Just finished reading Not Dead Enough and loved it. Kept me guessing; and just when I thought I had figured it out the adopted parents said they had burried the son!

I didn't understand the last line of the book where Branson says, "I've gotta go see a man about a horse?" I'm guessing he's getting back with his wife, yes? And I would have liked to see the confrontation with the nasty social worker and Grace. I think you let Grace of easy with his woman Boss this time, though. I thought you used it to great effect in Looking Good Dead. I'm not sure if my memory is right about this but the DS who was the leak in the department never got his come-uppence, did he? I thought that could have been gone into more: why was he doing this, maybe have him working with Grace the whole time with a confrontation at the end, or not.

Tell me, does James Herbert mention to you about his books being refered to in your novels? I've noticed it in a few of your books. Always makes me smile.

Sorry to hear about your dogs. We recently lost Horace the Tortoise. They're meant to live till 80, but Horace was only eight. We found him with his head grotesquely swollen up and oozing blood - it was horrific! We think it was either an insect sting or a virus. We were all crushed - he was such a character and you really can bond with them. We've burried him in the flower bed - where he always tried to make a dash for freedom to when we let him out in the garden. Not quite the same as loosing a dog, though, I agree, but he was a friendly, cute little guy with an attitude!

I once was sitting in the doctor's waiting room and a man in a trench coat (it was raining) and a hat approached the counter and started to speak. As I listen to radio 4 and 7 a lot I intantly recognised his voice. It was Nicholas Parsons, from JUST A MINUTE. I didn't go and ask for his autograph, as I had a feeling it was not quite the appropriate place, plus I get the feeling he's not the approachable type! It was a very odd sensation hearing his voice in real life though.

Anyway, looking forward to seeing you at Harrogate crime festival on the Saturday.

Best wishes,

Michael

By Michael, at 4:45 PM

Hi Michael

Thanks for this and glad I kept you guessing. You are right about the last line!

James Herbert was very supportive to me as a friend when I went through a bad patch in life, so the little mentions of his books - apart from being the books I think these particular characters actually would read, are my way of thanking him...

So sorry to hear about poor Horace - I love tortoises!

Look forward to seeing you at Harrogate

By Peter James, at 5:18 PM