Bailey - Kewmarnic High Society

At the top at 3 years old,  in the centre with her sire Hamish and at the bottom at 4 months old. 

My shadow for so many years, my right arm, with me night and day, my Bailey Bubbles, wise, loyal, irreplaceable.  I didn’t know how I would survive the day we inevitably had to part but somehow I did. It would be true to say she took an enormous piece of my heart with her….

The last two verses of Winifred Mary Lett's wonderful poem about her Irish Terrier "Tim" always reminds me of Bailey.

Tim,  An Irish Terrier

It's wonderful dogs they're breeding now:
Small as a flea or large as a cow;
But my old lad Tim he'll never be bet
By any dog that he  ever met,
Come on 'says he'for I'm not kilt yet!

No matter the size of the dog he'll meet,
Tim trails his coat the length o'the street.
D'ye mind his scar an'his ragged ear,
The like of a Dublin Fusilier?
He's a massacree dog that knows no fear.

But he'd stick to me till his lastest breath;
An'he'd go with me to the gates of death.
He'd wait a thousand years maybe,
Scratching the door an'whining for me
If myself were inside in Purgatory.

So I laugh when I hear them make it plain
That dogs and men never meet again
For all their talk who'd listen to them
With the light in the shining eyes of him?
Would God be wasting a dog like Tim?