I Am What I Am John Barrowman (books that read to you txt) 📖

almost immediately. As a precaution, I insisted a paramedic wash out my eyes. The camera inside the car had bounced loose a bit as we flipped, and the arm it was attached to had shattered the windscreen into tiny pieces, many of which ended up on Tiff and me.

After twenty-six years behind the wheel and twenty-three years in the entertainment business, I had finally made it onto a car show, but I went from first to Fifth and skipped Top Gear.

Oh, and don’t tell my mum, but this Speed Racer may well do the whole rally race driving thing again.

TABLE TALK #8

‘Two Men and Their Dogs’

There’s an old gay saying1 that not much comes between a gay man and his dog. This distinct bond has been written about a lot, and it’s not difficult to see why. In a society that has not always condoned gay men having children, our dog, or in my case dogs, can be akin to having kids. And because many gay men, sadly, still find themselves ostracized from their families, a dog can be the one companion who loves unconditionally and wholeheartedly. I’m not saying that gay men love their dogs more deeply than other dog lovers, but dogs do play a role in our lives that is remarkable if not unique.

Scott and I pamper our dogs, we buy them toys2 and, when we can, we travel with them. A few days before Harris joined our family, I was so excited I dashed into the Louis Vuitton store on Bond Street and bought an outrageously expensive doggy carrier. Oh my God, it was so fabulous I wanted to crawl inside and take a nap. When we brought Harris home, I set the carrier out on the floor and presented it to him. Ta da!

He stared at it. Sniffed at it. Tentatively, he stepped inside. I was already planning where I’d go with the LV on my arm and Harris snuggling inside. He sniffed around for a few minutes inside the carrier, and then he quickly backed himself out. He stared up at me with an expression that can only be described as saying, ‘Well, that was a big waste of your money.’ In the entire course of his puppyhood, I was able to get him inside the LV only one other time, and that was after pulling a Hansel-and-Gretel move and lining the interior with treats.

Our dogs not only have the run of our homes, but also of our lives, and when we lose them, we grieve deeply because we know in our hearts we’ve lost much more than just a pet. Between 14 March 2007 and 6 May 2008, Scott and I had to say goodbye to three dear family members: Penny, Tiger and Lewis.

Miss Moneypenny was the first dog I owned as a grown-up person living independently, without needing the permission of a parent to have, and when she died, her loss was devastating. Penny’s health had been failing for quite a while before she died. She was nineteen and she was getting a bit leaky and pretty senile.3 Her eyesight was severely diminished, and she moved only when necessary. But the vet always told me that as long as she was wagging her tail and she was eating well, then she was not in distress. And I clung on to that wisdom for as long as I could.

When Penny began to have difficulty getting outside on her own, I bought her doggy diapers and a little doggy stroller. Every night before bed, I’d wheel her out of my Cardiff flat and into the elevator, with Tiger and Lewis tagging along behind, and we’d all troop onto the Roald Dahl Way at Cardiff Bay, where we’d take a stroll. I’m sure we made quite a sight – a man, two dogs and a beautiful blonde spaniel stretched out in a padded stroller, leading the way.

One night, Scott and I came home after dinner and Penny was having seizures. We knew it was time to do the one thing I did not want to do: say goodbye to one of the first loves of my life. Before there was Scott, before there was fame, before there were any other dogs, there was Penny. She’d grown from a puppy to a mother4 to the Grande Dame of my household. As I established myself in the theatre world and then in television, Penny shared in all my successes.

Scott drove to the vet’s office while I sat in the back seat, with Penny wrapped in her favourite blanket on my lap. In the car, she had another seizure, and I did my best to hold her even tighter. She nestled into my lap for a few minutes, and then the weirdest thing happened. She suddenly let out a sad, mournful howl, as if she knew death was near. I’m not sure how Scott and I made it to the vet’s office through our tears.

Penny’s favourite treat was fresh chicken slices from M&S. The day before she died, Scott had wanted to make Penny feel better, and he’d given her more chicken slices than she usually ate. As we were driving to the vet’s, Scott tried to tell me through his sobs that he may have inadvertently killed her with his sliced chicken.5

When the vet was ready to give Penny the injection, I cupped her little head in my hands, and I put my face right up close to her snout. I gently blew my breath into her face and I whispered over and over to her she was a good girl, my good girl. I knew Penny couldn’t see me clearly anymore, but until she slipped away, I made sure she could smell me, and that she knew I was with her until her end.

All our dogs have had very distinctive personalities. Of the three in the family now, Harris is the baby brother of the crew. He’s black and sleek, with boundless energy. He charges into