In memory of
Marmite
- Jack Russell
- 17 years
- England
“A killer right to the end.”
Unmistakably them
He used to climb our big fir tree to snatch pigeons straight from their nests, and he’d disappear for hours underground looking for rabbits
A treasured memory
It’s not very nice… but he fought with a cat once, and my grandpa sat him on the kitchen table with a grin and was wiping blood off him whilst whistling and calling him a “good boy”.
