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

everything – including regularly raiding the laundry baskets for socks and underwear that Scott and I later find spread across the lawn or dropped in the pool.

Charlie, our newest rescue dog, is the eldest, and is certainly the most neurotic of the three. He freaks at loud noises and is frightened of any confrontations with other dogs. When Harris is being too rambunctious, Charlie looks down his long regal nose at him, turns, and bounds away.6

Captain Jack, our Jack Russell, a rescue from Cardiff Dogs Home, had been abandoned in an apartment and was discovered only because his bark was so loud. Jack is the family thug, and a maniac for playing football. If you bring anything that looks even remotely like a ball into the house, you will have CJ at your feet the entire time, nudging you to play with him.

It most definitely doesn’t have to be a real ball. Whenever Carole took a swim in the pool during a recent visit, she’d don a black Speedo swimming cap, which Jack would then chase up and down the length of the pool, barking as he went, because her head looked – to him – like a ball skimming across the water. When she turned, he’d try to bite at her noggin. It was hilarious to watch.7

Tiger, a rescue from Dogs Trust, joined the Barrowman–Gill household in 2006. He was a gorgeous, red-haired spaniel, and he was certainly the grumpiest dog we ever had. He was only with us for about a year and we did our best to love him madly. Whenever we’d lift Tiger a certain way – to put him in the rear of the car or to help him up on the couch – he’d nip at us. Scott and I always assumed his mild aggressiveness was because of his past experiences. He’d been abandoned at a dogs’ home.

The night Tiger died, I’d been filming Torchwood. When I came home, I was having a lie-down in the bedroom. Tiger climbed onto the bottom of the bed and settled against my feet.

I’ve always believed that animals can be more sensitive and more connected to the natural world than we are. As many of you may know, I’m also very superstitious – and what happened next has always seemed like an omen to me. As I lay on my bed napping, a hawk swooped across the bay and flew against my window. I sat up, startled, and when I did, I noticed that Tiger was panting heavily. When I checked his gums, they were very pale. I knew he was in distress.

Scott and I took Tiger to the clinic immediately. One of the worst moments for me as a dog owner was when I had to leave Tiger overnight in that stark vet’s cage. I didn’t want him to think he was being abandoned all over again. As I reluctantly made my way out of the clinic, I kept calling back to him that we’d return, and that when he was well, we’d bring him home. I promised.

The next day, after exploratory surgery, the vet called and told us that Tiger was riddled with tumours. He’d likely been bleeding internally for a while. This explained why he’d always been so sensitive when we touched him. Poor Tiger had been ill for months. He died on the operating table that night, and never got to come home. I felt terrible about that for weeks afterwards.

Scott was alone with Lewis when he died seven months later. I was filming I’d Do Anything and I was on a training mission with all the Nancy contestants in central London.

Lewis had been sick for about a year with various cancerous tumours. He’d been having regular blood transfusions and glucose injections and all sorts of other treatments, and, bless him, he kept fighting back. Some nights, when he seemed to be fading away, Scott would pour a couple of teaspoonfuls of thick sweet yoghurt onto his hand, and Lewis would lick up every drop and then almost immediately he’d rally for a few hours. For a long while, Scott had been the primary care-giver for Lewis in London because I was filming Torchwood in Cardiff and was travelling back and forth a lot.

The day before Lewis died, Scott had come home and found Lewis particularly lethargic. He packed him up and headed to the vet, hoping another transfusion might help, but the next morning, when Scott went in to collect Lewis, the vet told Scott that Lewis had had a seizure in the night, from a blood clot that had migrated to his brain.

While I was finishing up filming the segment with the Nancy contestants – on a boat on the Thames, out of phone reach – Scott was saying his final goodbyes to Lewis. Scott remembers that Lewis was lying on his side in the vet’s cage, paddling his legs in the air like he was trying desperately to get up and escape out of there. Lewis looked so distressed that Scott knew he had to make this decision for Lewis as quickly as possible, even if it meant that I couldn’t be there with them. Scott climbed into the cage next to Lewis and as the drugs dripped into Lewis’s line, Scott recited in his ear all the silly gibberish phrases that had been their secret language for twelve years.

When Scott was finally able to reach me on the boat, we’d just docked. I told the contestants what was happening and Jodie said, ‘Fuck this stuff and go to your family.’ I knew then for sure she was something special.

The loss of Penny and Tiger devastated both Scott and me, but Scott was especially gutted by the swift deterioration in Lewis’s health and his death. This is one of the reasons why one of our newest family members, Harris – a black spaniel like Lewis – is being completely spoiled by Scott.

Penny, Tiger and Lewis were cremated. We sprinkled most of