Moco

“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.”

“The greatest pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him, and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself, too.” 

There will come a time when I can’t remember all of these scrapes and japes, and I wanted to put together as much as I can remember about my best pal, Moco Mimyeow Semimaru Boaby Mkoko Grassie.

I'm pretty sure it was a Wednesday morning when I picked up the Ad-Trader paper from Keanie’s Newsagents in Fernhill. After months of fascinating over various books about dogs and a couple of print outs from an Internet my mate had, I was chuffed to bits to see that there were Lurcher pups available. I had school that day but couldn’t focus, I was chinned in Maths for not concentrating and I told Mrs Kyle that I had a good reason, I was getting a dog that night. Pythagoras can wait!

A couple of weeks previously, I had chosen the name of Moco with Mick McArthur after we had both seen El Mariachi on BBC2. In the film Moco is a total hardass gangster who slaughters everyone. In reality I found out that Moco is Spanish for snotter. I didn’t know it at the time but Moco and the Spanish language would cross paths again.

So straight home from School, the whole family bursting with excitement and my dad had sorted a lift with Adam Elder to take us up to Livingston to scoop the pup. The door was answered by a whale of a man, the place reeked of shit, there were cages everywhere and in the corner he had three wee lurcher pups. Two boys and a girl. He put them on the floor and immediately Moco ran over and started chewing my laces off. I said ‘I guess you’re the one then wee man?’ and he said ‘You better believe it, get me out of this shit hole’ A talking dog!? WOW!………OK well with his eyes anyway.

So we gave the Whale its £45 and headed home. As I sat in the back of the car Moco keeked over my shoulder looking back at where he’d came from. That night he howled like mad in the kitchen so I brought him up to my room. He never looked back after that, we were now his family for ever.

First night – he knocked his box over and did some shits, chewed the bed, my guitar amp and anything else that I had lying around. To teach him a lesson I brought him into my bed and cuddled the hell out of him. ‘That’ll learn ya!’

From there on it was a riot. Moco went with me to school a couple of times, chewed the crap out of Roddy’s new Henry Lloyd Jumper, got a rotten eye infection, got chased around the living room by his contemporary, Jake from Fernbrae, ran away a few times, failed at Seagull Hunting on the red ash parks, cut his paws on the red ash parks, fought a Rottweiler on the red ash parks………etc

I will be very candid here, Moco never turned out quite as big as I had hoped. However any hint of disappointment I had changed as he turned out to be the funniest daftest most loyal wee creature we could’ve hoped for. When I was in Denmark I bought a T-shirt that said ‘Its not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog’, cheesy I thought but it still reminds me of the wee man.

On that note in no certain order here are some of the scrapes the boy found himself in

On a big walk around Calderglen Country Park with his new pals Flacor and Thorr, and a bunch of family, we were all down by the burn having a laugh watching the pups enjoy themselves. I didn’t realise Moco was keeping watch and before we knew it a Rottweiler ran towards the two pups, faster than I have ever seen him move Moco ploughs into this Coo of a dog and gives it a good kicking. It yelps and scampers back to two neds at the top of the hill. Moco struts back down without a scratch.

Camping near Arrochar with Roddy gave us a couple of stories. Our secluded pitch on the sandy bank of Loch Lomond was invaded by a Swan we called Fatty. Up at the tents sorting some beers, we didn’t realise that Fatty had landed and was heading straight for our dinner on the BBQ. The Bold Moco charges down to confront this beast and a dramatic display of smoke and mirrors ensues. Moco is eventually backed up by me and Rod, and Fatty takes a telling heading back out to the Loch. He came back later and took the bribe of some rump steak to F#@$ off. Later that night a thunder storm hit and lighting was striking the trees behind us, I’ve never seen anything like it since. Moco wasn’t a fan of loud noises at the best of times and this was really terrifying him. The entire tent was illuminated with the lightening and eventually I put Moco down into the bottom of my sleeping bag. It was a tough night but he handled it. He grew tougher as the years went on, much to everyone’s relief.

Moco fell in love with a dog called Blue. A wee chocolate Lurcher the same size as him. She was troubled and sad, and he only saw her a couple of times but never forgot her.

Moco knew a tart called Coco, who was part mongrel part beaver. They caused all sorts of shit out the back in Galloway Drive. The less said about her the better

Moco loved playing a game of jump up and grab stuff off your head. That’s the entire game…

Moco was born to unwrap Christmas presents. On more than one occasion the presents themselves ended up destroyed but we didn’t mind. I now get the feeling he was jealous and maybe thought we had a new puppy in there or something.

Moco enjoyed the finer things in life. His diet reflected this and in his twilight years he was fond of, Tuna, Roast Chicken and a few other non conventional dog foods. Chicken Chow Mein, Lasagne, and Apple Pie….of course!

Moco had a bit missing from his ear, seemingly his siblings took a chunk out of it when he was a pup. Bastards!

Moco was the fittest dog I have ever seen, and that’s not being biased.

Moco found an escaped Newt on the carpet of my old bedroom. Good job Columbo!

Moco had a cupboard in the living room at Galloway Drive. It was beside the TV so the background noise was good for drowning out his dreaded fireworks. During peace time one year we heard rustling coming from the cupboard. It was interrupting Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, so we investigated. Moco had polished off a packet of his favourite Hula Hoops.  So we binned the packet and sat back down. A crunch, rustle, cafuffle started again so we checked it out. This time he had a pizza crust that was a week old. Put that in the bin, with Moco looking very pissed off. Two minutes later, same noise, cupboard open and there is the ever resourceful Moco with another piece of pizza. Nostalgia makes me think we let him have that one.

Moco went away with me and the boys to Lismore Island for a winter break. After a great break, Moco thought he was on a stag do and to sign off decided to jump into the freezing cold sea at the ferry port. He also tried to jump off the ferry on the way to Oban on another occasion, luckily my mum had a maws grip on the lead and saved the salty sea dog wannabe.

Moco jumped into the River Etive in February one year to retrieve a fire log I threw away. The current whipped him away quickly and I dived in to scoop him out. Forgetting that I can’t swim, Scotty Paton saved the two of us. Hyperthermia is better than losing a Moco.

About 6 years ago, Moco was joined by two ‘pups’ called Falcor and Thorr. At 16 weeks they were the same size as him. The wee man knew the clock was ticking and he had to assert his dominance there and then. He did this by leaning his head on top of their neck. Perfect. However the following week they were an inch taller, and the week after same again. Eventually Moco showed he was the boss by nutmegging them with his entire body. Just walked right through them.

When Moco was young he met a pal called Bracken. Me and John Urbanik went out with the dogs up to the Braes a lot, with Moco determined to get his fix of being a man’s dog. Bracken showed him the ropes, years later he would show Falcor and Thorr the ropes, and they have passed the lessons on to Reilly now. 4 generations of Dogs. However true to form I reckon the lessons were passed on like Chinese whispers. Something has been lost in translation along the way because these dogs have been getting thicker and thicker.

Thorr always loved Moco and saw him as a real leader. 4 times the size of him, regardless Thorr would follow the wee man everywhere they went. They crossed swords once and only once. Playing fetch on the Golf Course, they arrived at the ball at the same time, a quick scrap of less than 2 seconds and both walked away licking their wounds. No problem we thought. £34,456 at the vets later and we had a one eyed dog and another with split personality disorder.

As time has gone on, the Pack had their adventures, Glen Etive with everyone being a highlight for sure. Moco took a bit of a back seat and started to enjoy the easy life. Who could blame him? He saved up all of his pocket money for years and years, and surprised his Mum with a beautiful Holiday Haven down in Troon. How he was able to work a bank card I will never know. I’ve always believed that the best things in life are enjoyed when you appreciate them in the moment. You never want to look back and have a grain of doubt that you never fully appreciated it, and Mum and Moco took full advantage of the Caravan it was the match up. You could see how nourishing it was for both of them, probably vital at points particularly following some of life’s tough times. They would go away for a couple of months at a time (I seem to remember), and come back looking years younger. It got to the stage that Moco would dive on top of the suitcase if he saw it in case mum went without him. Back home, we would all be malnourished, covered in filth and bits of the house falling down. To have one last trip to the Van was a real gift, no doubt about it.

He has had to put up with the Grassie traits of loudness, an astounding ability to slam a door, huffs so strong that your heels fly up behind you when you strop away and hit dogs in the face (sorry pal), and living in a scheme where the kids have more explosives than Al Qaeda.  With all that being said, he was given all of the love that we could squeeze out. At times he might have been the only one who hadn’t fallen out with you and for that we adored him. We need to remember how hard it was to see Moco in pain or suffering, and we have seen a fair amount of that over the years. Watching the wee guy over the last few weeks he looks ready for a big sleep, and there is no doubt that we’ve been given so much more time with him than we could ever have hoped for. Personally I reckon that’s because my Mum deserved him so much. As humans we are greedy and always want a wee bit more, but right now that wouldn’t be fair on our boy.

As I write this I am trying to keep the tears from coming out but I can’t stop the smiles.

So for 14 and a half years this wee guy decided to be one of the greatest constants in all our lives, and we are all better off for it. I asked my mum if she regretted it because this part was so painful. ‘No way’ she said. That’s how I feel too. The wee man has given so much happiness that the pain of missing him won’t even compare. Thank you my boy.