I had time to contemplate on the severity of the frost as it scrunched beneath my feet at 3am. 

The chill penetrated every bone, but there was no way I could hurry Coosh, the reason why I was in the garden at that hour, dodging dangling frozen oranges beneath the citrus trees.

We did not think that Coosh would still be with us. 

The cold weather hit her ancient bones hard, and medication that had been keeping pain at bay no longer appeared to be effective.

The Man of the House and I had to weigh up how much enjoyment she was getting from life against the discomfort that she was sometimes in.

The list of things that she still enjoyed included food, our company, food, walks (in moderation), food, riding in the car, food, woofing at anything and everything that appears on the other side of the window, food, greeting visiting offspring with a wrinkly smile, food, smooching with Thistle, food, hunting out all of Zylka’s bones after she’s buried them – oh, yes, that’s food again, isn’t it. 

Being old and stiff did not seem enough of a counter argument to end her life. 

New drugs were prescribed, with the warning that they might make her sleepy.

“If only,” I responded. 

Old dogs often suffer from insomnia, and want to potter around the house at night.

As Coosh’s legs were wobbly, to say the least, this meant that somebody had to potter around the house at night with her, and it was usually me.  

If the new medication meant she would sleep through the night, I was all for it.

It wasn’t the easiest nor the most convenient to administer. 

Three bitter little pills at eight hourly intervals. 

I would have staked my life on Coosh swallowing anything, as long as it was encased in something tasty. 

Yet she could detect those little tablets through cheese or chicken, two of her favourite foods, extract them within the confines of her mouth, and swallow the goodies while allowing the pills to slip surreptitiously to the floor, or wherever she was lying.

So good was she at this that I would be under the assumption she had taken her tablets, until I would find them much later, when I was sweeping or tidying.

In the end it took something entirely unsuitable yet undeniably delicious – cheesecake, preferably vanilla – that she would inhale without exploring it for booby traps.

Sales of a particular brand of cheap ready-made cheesecake went up at a local supermarket, as did the Moth’s consumption of Quick-Eze, as he attempted to eat them before I fed them to Coosh.

Then, I had to get the timing right. 

I had to leap out of bed at 6am, so that the next dose would be at 2pm, and the final one at 10pm. 

If I mistimed it, or let her sleep through the 10pm dose – very tempting, once she was finally settled – I would be up at 2am, spoon-feeding her cheesecake while Zylka and the Moth looked on in disbelief.

This was because, despite the pills making her sleep soundly for about two hours, the effect then seemed to wear off, and she would be awake and whining, and I would have to bring her onto the end of our bed if any of us were to get any sleep.

Under the new regime her legs became even wobblier, so that I was afraid to go out and leave her on her own in the house in case she fell over and was unable to rise, possibly too close to the fire.

The Moth and I feared that we would have to put a stop to this; particularly as Coosh now seemed to be losing her enjoyment of life. 

In a word, she was sad.

I took her to the vet for what I felt would be the last time. 

And came away with a different potion, one that we had tried before but apparently at only half the required dose. 

This came in liquid form, was palatable to dogs, and was squirted onto the evening meal.

The difference in Coosh was instantaneous. 

Her wobbles decreased, her tail began wagging again, she could rise from the floor without the Moth and I straining our backs helping her, and at night she slept a deep, relaxed sleep.

There was only one side effect, a temporary inconvenience that thankfully, soon passed.

The first dose or two gave her a bad case of the runs and when she started up, astonished at the antics of her rear end, we had to be ready to get her outside fast.

A small price to pay, I thought, stamping my feet, my breath coming in misty gusts, for an otherwise happy old dog.