jonathan futrell

Some images you don’t forget. Like the look in her eyes as she sank reluctantly, her legs splayed, on to her bed. Her expression somewhere between bewilderment, affection and determination, perhaps trusting that whatever was happening to her with those two strangers looking on and with my arms around her it would all turn out right in the end. Which of course it didn’t. 

Until that day in June, 49 days before her 14th birthday, Asta’s sole noble purpose in life was to make friends and exhibit a level of trust and affection in all sentients (with the notable exception of cats and rabbits) to a degree few can comprehend. While we strive to achieve and maintain the essential components of love Asta Puppy (as she has forever been known to Kim and I) was its definition. If you and her were close enough to detect a scent of body odour (or canine eau de toilette) you were friends for life destined to be greeted with unbridled exuberance whether upon a doorstep or a windswept sandy shore; her tail vibrating to attention while circling and nuzzling jeans and coats and licking bare legs. Kneel down to stroke her and she’d lick your ears as well. This the Asta Puppy ritual of saying hello, you and me – friends for life. 

Over the years numerous pals that had spent just a handful of days in Asta’s company, sometimes years between visits, remarked how touched they’d been to be at the receiving end of her rapturous greetings. She made all of us –  feel special. Myself included, turning her head to see if I’d be joining her and Kim on the morning stroll? How could I refuse?

Trusting too, from the day Kim and I collected her from a lonely house set on windy flatlands in Lincolnshire. We’d been told she’d been the breeder’s favourite yet perhaps sensing where her future loyalties were thence to lay she turned her small black and bronze head away from her eight weeks past and snuggled a shiny wet black nose into my neck. Sat peacefully on the rear parcel shelf for the over 400 miles drive to Cornwall she’d possibly had a sense, even at that nascent age, who her forever chums were to be.

My mother, who had passed away the year before our new puppy was born, unknowingly named her. Winifred often referred to our earlier Airedale Terriers, Fozzie Bear and Tashi Delek, as Asta that after some book delving revealed to be the Wire Fox Terrier co-star in the hit 30s&40s feature films series The Thin Man  starring the elegantly attired husband and wife team of sleuths Nick and Nora Charles played William Powell and Mirna Loy. Being a terrier, an uncommonly intelligent breed, their Asta would often be ahead of the game solving crimes. The handful of Americans who came upon our Asta on beaches and in parks over the years instantly knew her silver screen lineage. 

I recognised we’d landed a goodun’ when she joined Kim and I for a month in a gite in south west France not once complaining about the interminable driving. It’s where she developed a taste for French boulangerie showing off her half eaten baguettes and croissants to a pair of even tempered horses in an adjoining field. Ever since we always bought an extra buttery croissant for our gastronomic pup. We inadvertently bought vegan ones at a woke joint in Lewes some years back and initially couldn’t understand why she turned her snout up at it. A closer look at the menu revealed the absence of dairy to be the cause of her abstinence.

She was became equally dogmatic around Bonfire Night. I remember walking with her upon London’s Highbury Fields a weekend early in November when she was a buoyant six month old pup and oblivious to the spectacular explosions above our heads. Fast forward a few years to Cornwall and Kim saving dirty bath water to flush the loo. Watching the firework displays from our elevated position we heard a splashing sound. It was Asta, in fear of fireworks and seeking safety in an upstairs bath that of course was full of chilly dirty bath water. For years we had to ensure the bath was empty around the beginning of November but often forgot.

Asta was never exuberant, except when unwrapping Christmas and birthday presents, not necessarily her own, or chasing up and down the Padstow garden fence some six feet above the pavement, letting ‘Death Dog One’ and ‘Death Dog Two’ know who was boss. Should she come upon them in the street the bravado gave way to a sort of polite indifference.

She was a great one for keeping up appearances. In her final year with her legs unable to jump on furniture or ascend the stairs she’d put all the energy she had left into running alongside me the short distance to the end of the close as if to prove she was still game. And after an especially tasty meal (Kim and I needed to be creative and varied to maintain her interest in grub) she’d pull Tedkins or Ludlow Bear out of her stack of furry toys and insist upon a tug of war. Enjoying the game even more when I playfully, and I should stress very lightly, whacked her with a cushion. This on first sight a cruel pillow punishment was for Asta all the soft sadomasochism she desired. 

Asta’s enthusiasm with other dogs was laid back. She often permitted them to win at ball chasing competitions and if any came to visit she preferred to step out of the spotlight and slip discreetly into another room allowing the guest pooch to enjoy its time in the spotlight. 

I recall her relocating to another room when a young Joey, an exuberant cockerpoo, came to stay some years ago while his owners were away on holiday. As if to avoid conflict Asta played the part of house guest alone in a distant corner of the house. 

Asta maintained her position within her pack pecking order upon moving to Sussex two years ago making friends around the corner with Ruby and Lily a mother and daughter pair of weimeraners. A day wasn’t complete without a visit to their splendid Victorian villa. yet after the initial hellos and a close inspection of her host’s dinner bowls Asta would often retreat to a cushion in the hall. Keeping herself to herself.

Her closest long time chum was Zebedee an ebullient spaniel with an unfortunate predilection for barking aggressively at strangers and other dogs. But not Asta, the pair clicking at first sight. I recall leaving her with Zebedee’s owners, Sally and Stuart, when abroad some years ago. Our friends reported that first night the house being inordinately quiet. Not knowing where the two young dogs were a search revealed them to be sharing a divan bed asleep side by side. 

Asta’s 15 minutes in the spotlight was winning the Prettiest Eyes rosette at the Trevone Fun Dog Show https://jonathanfutrell.com/2016/08/11/asta-and-judgement-day/ in August 2016, despite the unwelcome distractions of a local vicar. Indeed it was some achievement considering the fact that Kim and I trimmed her so that she seldom looked any sharper than a worn out hearth rug. Nonetheless she remained a beauty all her life drawing compliments and remarks about how affectionate and gentle she was wherever she went. Even when with failing legs and eyes she could only manage to stand on the green close to home content just to look and be looked upon.

Non of which would have meant anything to her as she sank on to her cushion perhaps wondering who the strangers with medical equipment were and why Kim appeared so upset. I’ve never known anywhere so empty since that day.

Asta may be getting on a bit (I regularly decline to reveal her age to commiserative dog walkers seduced by her looks and temperament, both of which remain sublime, on the grounds that it is impertinent to inquire of a lady’s age) but she has lost not an ounce of her joie de vivre or her supernatural gift of foreseeing people and events. The latter trait is often referred to as a dog’s ‘sixth sense’ a canine way of comprehending reality beyond the realms of science.

Experts are fascinated by the manner in which dogs seem able to predict seismic activity and barometric pressure changes. Perhaps a more reliable source of weather forecasts than the gesticulators on our screens.

Studies have revealed too that certain creatures (migrating birds, deer, foxes and possibly also dogs ) are aligned to the earth’s magnetic field. A possible explanation as to how some well documented dogs have found their ways home across hundreds of miles over many months the way birds migrate.

Asta doesn’t like bad weather, often refusing to go outside in the rain or extreme cold,  but as yet has not displayed unusual or unexplained distress or alerted Kim or I  to impending storms of which there have been many this winter of 2025/26. But distant sharp noises, a solitary not even loud firework streets away, is enough to make her climb the stairs and scramble into the bath. Which would be fine but for Kim’s environmentalist duty of keeping the cold and dirty bath water to flush the lavatory. There have been many times when we’ve discovered Asta in the darkness shivering in a tub of chilly water. 

Her tastebuds are in good shape. She seldom accepts treats from strangers which could because she questions their motives but is more likely to be she simply doesn’t like their choice of biscuit. She won’t eat butter free vegan croissants. In France some years ago she developed an appetite  for French boulangerie so much so that since then we always buy an extra croissant for her. We discovered her anti-veganism at a right-on 21st century cafe in Lewes where she turned her snout up at a nub of croissant offered her. At first we were alarmed and feared she was unwell. Only a closer inspection of the Generation Z menu did we discover the real reason: No butter!

Non of which comes anywhere close to explaining Asta’s inane talent of knowing when people, including myself, are approaching; out of sight but nearby. Each time she’ll perk up and make for the front door, often barking loudly. 

It’s long been known that dogs can detect certain illnesses in people. I remember maybe twenty years ago Asta’s predecessor Tashi Delek sleeping on the bed alongside a friend with terminal cancer. She never before or since climbed on to the bed with anyone else. Yet whenever our friend visited she stuck close to her sensing the pain she was suffering. Likewise Asta stuck uncharacteristically close to Kim during a recent spell of recuperation.

It’s thought such sensitivity is due to dogs being able to literally smell hormones and genetic compounds. They possess over 200 million olfactory receptors as opposed to the mere 5 million we humans have to make do with; possibly why fast foods are so popular, we can’t sniff the crap. Dogs can detect cancers (even distinguishing different varieties), Parkinson’s Disease, imminent narcoleptic, epileptic seizures and even migraines. Using urine samples some were taught to detect Covid-19.

Asta spends much of her time asleep upon one of her two beds. Her morning and afternoon walks do not amount to much. This morning both her front and hind legs gave out on the short distance between the living room and her breakfast in the kitchen. She understandably is happier, less stressed laying on her side. And yet later in the day, fast asleep, she apparently sprang to her paws and stood tail erect by the front door barking as I returned home after my daily promenade; still out of sight and a good 200 yards away we estimated allowing for the time between her leaping up and me stepping through the door. It seems she  had exactly the same reaction to an imminent return a few days prior. She couldn’t hear me and I can assure you my body odour is not so extreme as to be discernible at such a distance. 

Could this be Asta’s ‘sixth sense’, undiminished by time? Just when we thought she was becoming house bound and literally deaf to the world there is a part of her still capable of tracking people and events far off. It can’t be mere coincidence, not when she awakens and anticipates thus including those ever more frequent occasions when Kim is returning from the Midlands and still streets away. 

Somehow, Asta knows.