Megan was a border collie kelpie cross breed and well known for her shocking habit of flicking out her bungy tongue whenever one’s face came within range.
Like all of the animals my family owns, she was the last one left, the runt nobody else wanted. After my free-to-good-home purchase from the Moss Vale saleyards in 1995, Meg began a pretty cruisy life, starting out on a farm in Joadja where I was offered $300 for her as a sheep dog. Knowing this would most likely shorten her life (in regards to becoming a puppy factory upon retirement) I declined and she moved to Bowral with me. Since then she had moved with my parents to Crookwell, to be with the rest of the “pack”, back to Bowral, and four years ago on to Launceston, where Mum had to lie about Meg’s age so that she would be able to fly across.
This morning, at the age of 13, she had to be euthanased after presenting with a huge fever and abdominal pain. We had discussed what to do in the event of this decision. Having had to say goodbye to my beloved “Puss” last year after an ordeal that involved every test under the sun and finally the removal of his spleen, I swore I wouldn’t put another geratric animal through it all.
So, my Megpig, you had a great life. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you this morning, old girl.