Flint was a grey-brindle, rough-haired whiskered lurcher. He died when he was only two years old, after a much too short but happy life. He was killed at the thundering gallop chasing a muntjac, after being pierced straight through his lungs by a long thin spear of a stick which barely left a mark.
He did not die immediately. We found him walking with an odd staggering gait through the woods. Subsequently no human could have had better medical treatment and few as good.
He survived an operation lasting several hours (paid for by our insurance - woe betide not
