We almost didn’t choose Shanti, who was one of a litter of three Tibetan spaniel puppies. She and her sisters were rolling around together, then Shanti trotted over to my son Josh, climbed on his lap and peed on him. Josh, then, was very put out. We sponged his trousers and the breeder dried him off with a hairdryer. One puppy ran into the crate and cowered. Her sister froze. Shanti ignored it. ‘This is the puppy for you,’ said her breeder. ‘She’s calm and will do well in a house with children.’
Pauline was right. Shanti is only frightened of other dogs. Not fireworks, not hoovers, not loud bangs.
We got Shanti the first term Josh entered secondary school, thirteen years ago. I fell in love with the breed, which is an ancient one, leafing through a dog encyclopaedia. I’d never seen a Tibbie before, as they are rare in the UK. Shanti has this solemn, furrowed, almost quizzical face, and I loved her lion-like golden mane, and the fact that even today, as an elderly pooch, she still looks a lot like a puppy.
Shanti is well-known in our north London neighbourhood, as she likes sitting in the front window on top of the sofa, and watching people pass by. Her other favourite place is inside her ‘Shanti box’, a cardboard box my husband made for her, with a little square entrance hole. We used to get through one a week when she was a puppy, as she loved destroying them from the inside. We were delighted, however, as it meant she never chewed on furniture or shoes.
Shanti adores being with people. If we have friends round, we always pull up a chair for her, as she likes being part of a circle. She’s the perfect writer’s dog, as she sleeps (and snores) beneath my desk while I work.
However, Shanti would never win any prizes for obedience. She’s quite headstrong and only obeys if she feels like it. Which is not very often.
Shanti has been part of my son’s childhood. Now he is grown up, and she is old. I look at her, with her slippy hind legs and her white muzzle, and can’t believe how fast our time has gone.
Francesca Simon