The short and tragic story of Bonzo.
Malta was a strange place. It was bustling, dusty and noisy. Yells, bells and smells it had been described by someone and I tended to agree.
For all that, I loved the place, after all my wife was Maltese and I had grown accustomed to the place for all its faults. They weren't so much faults but more it was me trying to impose a certain standard on the culture that was certainly different from the UK .
We were able to rent a small flat in Malta's capital Valletta, an interesting place steeped in history. It's the sort of place you can become attached to very easily with its grand architecture and laid back people not to mention that wonderful climate.
I was not able to work in Malta at this time and I was taking a big risk by applying for a visa every thee months, not knowing if this would be granted or not. Having a Maltese wife and several relatives no doubt helped a lot. We began to settle quite well and I began to slow down to the leisurely pace of the Maltese people. We also decided to get a dog.
It was by now the late summer of 1984 and we were able to get a small Labrador puppy from the local dogs home. We called him Bonzo and we loved him so much. He was so cuddly and adorable and we had so much fun together. We would take him everywhere we went in the Island and he became an adept swimmer. He would sleep under the bed most of the time especially in summer because it was cooler on the tiled floor. There was no air conditioning so we would just have the windows open wide.
In the 1980's, Malta was still a very basic sort of place and could not be compared to the UK. We were still young and irresponsible and never gave a second thought about vets or inoculation. We barely had any money to eat let alone money for vets bills but this was to be a big wake up call for us as we breezed through life without a care in the world.
When Bonzo became ill, we at first didn't take much notice of it and we carefully nursed him as best we could. He was still a puppy at this time and it was suggested that he had Parvo. We hoped for the best but he deteriorated. A few days later he lay down under the bed and stayed there. We tried to coax him out to eat but to no avail. The next night, I was up reading in bed when Bonzo suddenly got up walked out from under the bed and staring intensely into my eyes, let out a groan as I gently stroked his head and then died.
I could not believe my eyes as I tried to revive him but to no avail. Both my wife and I were distraught as we woke our relatives next door. The tears rolled down my face uncontrollably and I could not be consoled.
Wondering how to dispose of Bonzo's body, the relatives said I would have to wrap him up, weight him down and throw him into the harbour. This was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do and as I walked toward the harbour alone in the dark, I cried like a baby knowing in my heart that I could have done more for him. As I stood at the harbour wall I could not at first bring myself to cast his body into the deep cold waters. He was still warm as I held him close to my chest and I said a small prayer before finally throwing him in. I watched as he quickly sank out of sight before quickly turning away to return to my family and seek some sort of consolation.
As I look back over the years, and I look at my present dog I try somehow to make up for the neglect I feel that I was responsible for and give her so much love. I try to console myself and look deep into her eyes and imagine that somewhere, somehow Bonzo is there in her spirit.
How things have changed after all these years. Now our present dog is up to date with her inoculations against all the common diseases and we intend to make the most of every minute of time we have together.
Although it is now almost 30 years ago, I still have the odd tearful moment for that little puppy we called Bonzo.
