Throughout W's last day, his dog, old Jock Dog was becoming more and more of a problem. When he wasn't allowed to shiver at the end of W's bed, he was skulking underneath it. Never mind that we had our very own heartbreaking illustration of Greyfriars Bobby, he was in the way of oxygen tanks, and nurses trying to change syringe drivers.

Jock was always going to be a problem - the sort of very old, senile, deaf, un dog like problem we were always putting off facing. After his last attack on Ned (yeah really... told you he is SENILE) he couldn't continue to stay here. But who else would want such an old dog with medical problems? The sensible course advocated long and loud by my mother To Put Him Out His Misery was of course unthinkable....

And then on the day after death, Laura the district nurse who had nursed W from his first discharge from the hospice, asked, very timidly, if we had thought of what would happen to Jock...and if ... well you know... if we were thinking of re-homing.....well... could she be considered....because she was strangely fond of that wee dog.

YES! Jock re-homed with someone who wants him, who only lives up the road, with someone who cared for W ...this is my definition of Good News indeedy.

Now if that senile, smelly old dog can just SETTLE in a new home with a big garden and no other scary dogs, we can Be Happy.