WHISPERING SMITH: Old dogs and the passing of time

I doubt there is anyone in Littlehampton who did not know Jazz, even if they did not know his name.
By The Newsroom
Published 29th Mar 2018, 08:00 BST
Updated 8th Jun 2018, 03:24 BST
Handsome Jazz in his primeHandsome Jazz in his prime
Handsome Jazz in his prime

A daily familiar sight in the town centre, a lumbering great black Labrador strolling behind his master and carrying a large, grubby and very dilapidated stuffed donkey in his mouth.

Jazz, smartly dressed in his yellow hi-vis jacket was always happy to acknowledge a pat on the head with a cheerful wag of the tail and welcomed in all of the town’s cafés and shops.

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He was ten years old, just one year older than his beloved Eeyore. Jazz was an unusual animal in that he was a diabetic medical dog trained to give a timely warning to his owner, Bob Montrose-Brown, of an impending need for medical attention.

Not so lively of late, Jazz was in a very bad way health-wise with lung cancer and worn joints. Last week he died in the care of a vet in that peaceful and dignified way that old dogs often do.

I am not overly sentimental when it comes to animals but Jazz was exceptional and I welled up a little when given the news which very quickly spread around the town. The little dog biscuit I often had in my pocket for him will have to go to another.

So long, Jazz, old fellow we will miss you.

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That was the down side of the week, the upside being a visit to London’s Victoria and Albert Museum with my daughter to see the exhibition of the works of A. A. Milne and Ernest Shepherd concerning my namesake Christopher Robin.

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My mother was very fond of the stories and, although I looked nothing like the character with his sumptuous blonde locks, she named me after him.

In my younger days, growing up, I very much resented the name thinking it to be a bit ‘sissy’ but, given the passing years as an adult and now an elderly man I was and am quite proud of it, as are my children.

‘Hush, hush, whisper who dares...’

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