Peps has moved on. Without a doubt he is in doggy heaven. He did not have a mean bone in his body and was the kind of dog who would have kicked himself for those few times he was naughty!
He spent his glorious 15 years worshiping sticks. Ironic really as the only times he had any close shaves with death, they were as a direct result of his stick addiction; once when his Dad accidentally threw his stick into the path of an oncoming canal barge and once (or was it twice) when his stick retrieval was so enthusiastic that he impaled himself and had to have the shards removed from his throat.
Peps was a people dog. He couldn't have cared less about his canine peers - but loved human company. Consequently he was a great giver and receiver of love - and he banked lots in his long life - and from a plethora of fans!
My lasting memories of him are the quirks of his character; his love for cheese, his tree-climbing, his obsession with water, his hatred of cats (until Oliver came to live in his orbit), his stubborn determination to decide which direction we were walking on any particular day, and his ability to twirl his long feathery tail in a circular motion.
I regret terribly not being able to be with him at the end - but know he was probably in much better hands than mine - and will always admire and love Mark for being his support when he needed it most.
Peps' legacy lives on; in the 42 year old stuffed bear with one ear and one arm, in his striking resemblance (in character and appearance) to Fergus, and in the memories those people lucky enough to have known him, share regularly.
Rest in Peace, Peps - I hope he was watching from up there and had a basket full of sticks waiting for you!
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