Sad to say our dog Cara died suddenly on Thursday. She was 18. Barely old enough to get a drink in human terms but a grand old age in dog years.

The family are devastated. I was never her greatest fan; Cara always barked when I came home late at night but I still miss her, in spite of all her faults and her highlighting of mine.

And it got me to thinking about people who love animals.

I think the English take it a bit too far. Ruby Walsh helped to address the hugely irritating habit of English racing commentators when he fell off his horse. There wouldn't be a word about the jockey. The race caller might say: "Good news, Horsey Horsey gets up and he's fine," while the poor jockey, who would be rolling around in agony, would get no mention.

Back in the bad old days, when London was being bombed by the IRA, a horse was hurt. He got more get well cards than any of the human casualties.

My very good friend, Eric Browne, is a well-known dog lover. Many years ago he was having a drink with his dog Butch in Ballybunion Golf Club.

Eric fed Butch from his table by dropping down bits of meat from his own plate. Butch thought this was the norm and he approached a party of Americans who were dining at a nearby table. He was looking up at them, tongue out and panting with the pleading face of a politician looking for a vote in a marginal constituency.

Butch was always well groomed and his coat was as sleek as the hair of a small boy on Holy Communion day, but on this occasion there was a big swell out on the Atlantic and Butch was unable to wash in the briny.

The Americans didn't take much notice but a couple of fourballs complained to Eric. Some comment was passed about health regulations.

Butch, a pure bred Border Collie, understood but could not speak English. Eric sensed his friend was hurt.

The eightball kept at Eric. He didn't like what he was hearing and being a very loyal type of man, he defended Butch to the hilt.

"I have only two things to say to ye about Butch," said Eric. "He has better manners than half of ye and he's better bred than the other half of ye."

It would never have happened in Portmarnock.

I think it might have been about 20 years ago when Listowel Coursing was moved out of our famous racecourse. The man who owned the track lived alone in the long whitewashed house over at the back straight, about four fences from home.

There were the usual objections to the coursing on the grounds of cruelty to animals. That was back in the days before the muzzling of greyhounds became compulsory. I agreed fully with the muzzles and very few hares are lost nowadays.

The anti-coursing lobby maintain the hares are still frightened but humans get scared too. The man who owned Listowel Racecourse received a number of letters threatening him with violence if he allowed the coursing to take place on his lands. The gardai advised him to take the threats seriously.

The last thing the coursing club wanted to do was to cause distress to the owner who was very vulnerable as his home, though near to the town, was isolated. The man himself was of a nervous disposition and the whole sorry story had a profound effect on him ever after.

extremists

I know there are many decent people who are opposed to coursing, but we seldom hear any condemnation of extremists from their side of the divide.

Listowel Coursing Club now owns their field and it is purpose built for coursing. The Listowel annual meeting takes place there this very weekend. There are some who put the greyhounds first.

I was in the butchers lately and this doggy man asked for two pounds of mince. "Steak or regular?" asked the butcher. "Steak," replied the dog handler. "It's for the greyhound."

And he splashed out on a cheap chicken burger for his wife. Maybe he named the treat Chicken Burger Portmarnock in honour of the Supreme Court's decision in favour of the golf club's ban on women members.

I have no objection to animals being looked after properly, but it can go too far.

Still, damn it, I miss Cara. There were times when I was fit to kill her, particularly over the last few months when she woke us every night. Cara must have known she was on the way out. The little Papillion came to each of us on Wednesday night to bid her goodbyes.

We found her on the driveway on Thursday morning.

Cara, or friend in English, was buried near the house yesterday.

We had a marker made up.

It read: 'Cara -- 1991-2009. You were well named'.

- Billy Keane

Irish Independent