The Dogs and Tales of my Life - Paul Springthorpe

[Paul]

A Boy and his Dog.


No relationship is more enduring and so well remembered than that, between a boy and his dog.

Pete came into my life when I was eight years old, she was a Terrier (sort of) who was brought home by my Grandfather because she was going to be destroyed if a home couldn't be found for her. Well, that was the story he told my Grandmother and it worked well for me a couple of times in later life, I mean, what woman wants to be responsible for the death of a little puppy.

I first held Pete in my arms when she was a little over 6 weeks old, still at the age when all puppies are a little unsteady on their feet and have difficulty in coordinating their actions. Mainly white in colour with patches of black and brown, she had typical Terrier features. For both of us, it was love at first sight.

All through my childhood Pete was my constant companion, I trained her in all the basics and it was not too long before I could safely walk her in the street without a leash, simple verbal commands of "Back" would have her nose on my heels as we walked. "Go on then" released her to her own devices and a coded whistle would bring her back to me on the double.



An adventuresome child, I used to walk for miles, always seeking some new place I had not been before. Even at an early age I could range up to 4 or 5 miles radius from where we lived and Pete and I would return home completely tuckered out from our exertions. Then I would sit down to a tea of thick sliced Harvest Bread smothered in butter and strawberry jam, craftily feeding Pete chunks of my food under the table.

We did not have television in those days; our main form of entertainment was "Steam Radio", a contraption my Grandfather had made from salvaged radio parts. The casing was assembled from orange boxes and covered with linoleum. The tuning dial was something you had to see to believe and the aerial was some 60 feet of wire that ran from an upstairs window to a post at the bottom of the garden. In addition to all of that, the radio was powered with accumulators which had to be recharged every couple of weeks. As a family we would settle down to listen to the radio, my spot being on a low stool next to the open fire and Pete would sit in front of me with her head on my knee so that I could scratch gently behind her ears.

Pete's favourite sport was "throw the stick", I would spend endless hours throwing the stick for her and that was how I discovered she loved to swim. Not far from where we lived was a section of land that contained a footpath. It was on that land I found a pond that not too many people knew about. I threw the stick to the pond's edge and Pete returned it, I threw it just into the water's edge so that she had to get her feet wet and she returned it again, then I went for the biggy, I threw the stick into the pond. This was my first lesson in Canine Loyalty.

Before that day the largest body of water Pete had ever seen was the local brook which I never allowed her near, but without the slightest hesitation she charged into the water and swam for the stick, grabbing it in her mouth. She swam back, ran to my feet and dropped it in front of me.

It dawned on me that Pete knew I would not put her in any danger and that if I threw that stick into water it was alright for her to go. She had implicit trust in my judgment, whatever I did was ok. More than a bit astonished at her loyalty, I decided to reward her with the "Go on then" command, she raced back into the water and spent a long time reveling in an element that was entirely new to her.

Pete learned to love water that day but I gained far more valuable insight. It was the realization that I was entrusted with the safety and well being of an animal that trusted me so implicitly she had no fear for her life. If it was possible, our bond grew even stronger from that day on.

Pete was never allowed out on her own but like most dogs she managed to escape every now and then but on each and every occasion, I was not at home at the time. She could never get lost, knowing an area far greater than many dogs would ever get to know. Whenever she got out I would always find her in the same place, the Boys Entrance to the school that I attended. She would lay on the grass just inside the gate looking in the direction from which I would come. When spotted, she would approach me in a cowering stance (she knew she was in trouble for getting out) but her lips would be curled back in a grin
showing her teeth. I would chastise her for getting out but was always secretly pleased to see her. She knew this and I would be greeted by some very serious licking and tail wagging.

Three years after leaving school I went camping in the North of England for a few days, returning home on Sunday around about midday. Gran said "Peter's been missing for two days." This did not bode well, Pete had not done a flit for ages, I was now 18 years old and Pete was 10. Sick in the stomach I commenced a search, walking over all of our old tracks speaking to many people. No one had seen Pete and after 6 hours walking I retraced my steps home hoping that Pete would have got back. Pete had not returned, I was tired and ready for bed but could not contemplate rest without knowing what had happened to Pete. Two more hours of going to the front gate and giving the command whistle produced no results. It was then I had the Brain Wave.

"I wonder?", pulling on my shoes I made my way to my old school and the Boys Entrance, sure enough, curled up in long damp grass was my life's best mate. Her head was turned towards the school door and because the wind was blowing toward her she did not hear or scent my approach.

"What you doing here old girl?" I murmured, Pete turned her head and once again became the puppy she had been many years before. I was totally assaulted with a display of love that every human being should experience once in their lifetime. That was the one and only time she ever leapt into my arms.

As the years passed, Pete first had difficulty in keeping up with me on long walks and on more that one occasion I carried her back. Then her eyesight began to fail until she was totally blind. That was ok and providing you did not move anything, she could still find her way around the house and garden. Still more years passed, then her hearing went but she could sense the vibrations of my walk along the path at the side of the house

When Pete was 13 years old I married and left home, and every time I returned for a visit she was always by the gate waiting. As old as she was, Pete got to know my first three children but she was no longer the alert protective friend with whom I grew up.

Why was a female named Pete?, it just seems that my Grandpa had trouble with discovering her gender and by the time it was discovered that Pete, was actually a she, it was far too late to change her name.

Granddad Jack, the very one who brought Pete home, made the final decision, he was the one to let her go, she went in peace, but without me knowing until it was too late, God Bless you Pop, the pain and grief was bad enough when I found out she had go

Dear Pete,

If there is a heaven, you are already there and I bet you're facing in my direction waiting to greet me. You were the very best friend of my youth. My most trusted confident and the most loyal of friends.

My deepest regret was not to be with you at the end but human youth does not consider ends, as your master, for you chose me, I most deeply regret not assisting your passage to a more comfortable departure from this Earth but I know, as always, you forgive me, because in your eyes I could never do any wrong,

God Bless you Pete.


Pete endured blindness and deafness; these were acceptable to both her and the family. However, the growths that formed upon her chest and stomach were too much for her to bear. Thanks Granddad Jack for your courage, all I ever saw was "my very best mate", I was too blind to see the pain of the illness she endured.

[Paul]

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A Young Man's Dog.


Although knowing the girl I would eventually marry since my very early years in Junior School, I did not get down to seriously courting her until I was 19 years old.

My wife to be, lived in a "Coronation Street" type house
in the Highfields District of Leicester City, smack bang in the centre of old England. I wouldn't say it was a poorer area but her toilet was out in the garden when on occasion, you could have an intimate chat with the next door neighbour who was also sat on their toilet, while both of them were doing something very personal.

Janet lived with her widowed mother Edie, a great old stick who used to both Mother me and drive me up the proverbial wall at the same time. I do not suppose that the courtship between Janet and I was any harder in those days than any other amorous couple but, my mate Edie would come out with some absolute pearlers from time to time.

Edith, for that was her real name, lost her husband John, about two years before I began to court Janet and there was never any doubt in my mind that she missed him. It really is a terrible thing to lose your life's partner. Then suddenly Edie was confronted by an egotistical young man who was wooing her daughter.

I have many memories of Edie, but none more so that in all the time I courted Janet, she never gave me a ‘hard time’. Her welcomes were always genuine and there was never a time she wasn't pleased to see me.

To me, after a fairly short time, I realized that I wanted Janet for my wife. At the age of 20 years I knew I was immortal but Edie was not. Here was a woman from whom I was to take her daughter, what would it leave Edie?
After Janet and I became sort of semi-engaged I hit on the idea of a dog, after all, what cements relationships more than a defenseless young animal, and to me, what animal conjures up more meaningful relationships than a dog?

Do you know, I can remember my very first contact with a dog named Whisky. I remember every little detail of my second dog's life, but I am dammed if I can remember where and when I gained ‘Judy.’ Perhaps she was a gift from heaven, well, Edie thought so anyway.

Where ever Judy came from, Edie accepted her in a very short period of time. It was her dog, and much to the damage of my pride, Judy always was identified with Edie.

"Judy" was a black and white Spaniel/Collie (sort of) dog, one that was always eager to please, and satisfy every family member. Judy in short, was a minor miracle, she loved everyone. True, I taught her the basics, "Sit, Beg, Stay", and "Back". Judy however, was meant for a much different life.



I was always Judy's master, she loved me like no other, but she knew before I, that there was one more important person to look after, Edie.

It all started when I turned up at Edie's house with the standard story that the poor little thing was going to be put down if a home couldn't be found for her. I could not take her home because old Pete would never accept another dog in the house, especially a female, (well, that was my story and I stuck to it.)

I believe it was only a matter of minutes before Edie who protested that there was no room for a dog in her life, was holding the little pup in her hands and showing her off to the neighbors as ‘my little dog’ and that indeed was what Judy turned out to be.

Judy's life is a bit misty for me; at the time of her coming I had more important matters on my mind. I was working as an Ambulance Driver, courting a young lady, still had old Pete at home but as always the "hormones" win out at that stage of a young life. I can remember training her and going on walks, but not the long rambling walks I went on with Pete.

Judy was there when Janet and I married, and because we lived in Edie's house, she was there for the birth of our first two children, 3 weeks after our second daughter was born we moved into our own home.

This major event left Edie high and dry. A house filled with young life was suddenly empty, gone was the young man who told everyone what to do, her daughter and two grandchildren, but, Judy was there. It is only now in my later years, that I can reflect on how cruel life can really be. To be alone, totally alone must be one of the cruelest states in life, what Edie would have done without Judy I have no idea.

Janet and I quickly settled into our new home, first with two children which, seemed very quickly to grow to four. Every other weekend or so Edie would come and visit bringing Judy with her. Even though it was a three bedroom home there was plenty of room for three small girls and a baby boy. As the years passed the frequency and duration of Edie's visits increased.

Janet was a dutiful daughter, one who would put many younger person today to complete and absolute shame. At least once a week come rain, hail or shine, she would load up the family into an English Style pram and walk the couple of miles to her mothers house, then walk them back again.

Although Judy was excellent company for Edie, she was no substitute for her only family. Often we would send Edie home after an extended stay, only to have her return by taxi later, feigning illness.

As a young man first courting a bride to be, a new husband and finally a parent, much of Judy's life escapes my memory, but the memories I have of her I'll always treasure. Like the time my first born daughter just a few weeks old was lying across her mother's knee having a nappy changed. Judy was lying on the floor next to Janet at the business end of my baby daughter's body when a stream of water escaped in a perfect upward arc and descended upon poor old Judy. Never will I forget the look on the dogs face when she was rudely awakened by that golden shower and her haste to escape when she realized she was getting wet.

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[Paul]

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As previously mentioned, when first married, we lived in a terraced house which had a small back garden; I was out in that garden one day when I heard my wife scream. I raced into the house not knowing what to think and burst into laughter at the scene that confronted me.

Janet was nursing our baby daughter when soot dislodged itself and fell down the chimney covering everything in reach with a fine coat of black dust. Baby, wife, dog, in fact the whole room, all I could ask through tears of mirth was if my wife could give me a chorus of "Mammy".

Sex, I do not think Edie was opposed to it unless it was to do with Judy. Judy was definitely not allowed to have sex. Every time she came on heat there was a very definite smell that pervaded the house which drove me to distraction.

It seemed that Edie used to spray poor old Judy's reproductive parts with some form of spray which was supposed to put male dogs off the scent. I do not know why Edie did it because Judy had no way of getting out but while she was on heat I lived like a bloody monk, the smell put me right off my conjugal rights.

England in those days was a Country of corner shops, indeed we had three of them in the short street where we lived. One of those shops was an Off-License, a place that sold beer, wine and spirits that were not allowed to be consumed on the premises. Judy's favourite treat was a bag of Potato Chips (Crisp's, if you live in England). Open the front door of the house and Judy would make a Bee-Line to the front step of the Off-License, wait until I arrived then enter the shop with me. These were the days before there were notices saying ‘Dogs not Allowed’.

Depending on our budget, I would be handed one or two bottles of beer but there was always sufficient money to ensure Judy had her Crisps, these would be placed in her mouth to be carried home where she would devour every last speck with obvious relish.

I tried in vain to get Judy to "sit", or "beg", using all sorts of treats to get her to obey the command. That was when I found out how to use psychology on dogs. One day sitting in the living room next to the open fire I was once again attempting to teach Judy how to beg using confectionery as a reward. I would offer her the sweet at ‘begging’ level and with the other hand raise her into position. As always she would lift higher than the position required and take the reward out of my hand.

In frustration I held back the reward several times and when she still would not do as she was bid, I threw her reward into the fire making sure that she saw me do it. Amazingly, the next time I offered another reward she came straight up into the begging position and sat until she was rewarded.

On 9th October 1971, my family consisting of my wife and four children took our leave of Edie and Judy, departing for a new life in Australia. Edie was to join us about six months later. I knew Edie would make it but poor old Judy never would. After we left, Judy continued faithfully to provide a barrier against Edie's loneliness and in the end gave her life so that she would be re-united with her family in faraway Australia.

I can only imagine the pain and hurt that Edie suffered in those last few weeks before flying out to join us. Being totally alone with no one to give her support she had to end her best friend's life. Judy was no chicken for by this time she would have been eleven years old and would have probably lived for another few years but who wants to care for an old dog unless it is someone who has cared for them for years? The second dog in my life departed this world, once again without me being there, but she left my wife and I with so many fond memories of a very loving, loyal and obedient dog.

Edie made it to Australia just about 6 months after we arrived and she spent her remaining life in our family home. I will not say that she did not drive me to distraction at times but you couldn't help loving her for her gentleness and affability. Edie’s in her heaven now and I know that she found both her husband John along with Judy, and all three of them take long rambling walks through the Heather covered Moors of heaven.

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[Paul]

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A Man and his Dog.

When I was a child, my Grandfather used to look at me in amazement many times and say that I was "Gifted with animals". Perhaps I am, but what Granddad Jack never knew was that he was the one who put me on the right track of animal care and understanding. My Grandfather and Grandmother were the greatest influences in my life. Between them they taught me to care about the things I said and did, be responsible for my actions, protect those that were unable to defend themselves and above all, never give up in the face of adversity.

In 1973, here in God's Country, Australia, the face of adversity was about 5' nothing tall and her name was Janet, my wife. I turned up at home one day with a little Australian terrier (once again, a sort of) yet again, with the story "she'll be put down if a home cannot be found for her".

The puppy I held in my arms had continually piddled on the front seat of my Holden on the way back home from Adelaide, did nothing to help me. At only 6 weeks old, she looked old, grey mask, long whiskers, her only redeeming feature, the biggest, brightest brown eyes you have ever seen in your life.

The kids adored her, I won and the domestic Dragon was slain, but, would you have believed that a little puppy could have been responsible for a near divorce?

Scamp entered my life after finding her in a pet shop in Twin Street, Adelaide. Out of the four puppies in the pen she was the ugliest but, she was the one who spotted me and walked to me with wagging tail on very, very unsteady legs, I didn't choose Scamp, she chose me.

I drove the 18 miles back to our home, I knew I was ‘In the sh*t!’, but Scamp was special. Life really is funny; there I was a big powerful male not touching 6' in height, very broad shoulders with a very aggressive nature, making up excuses to give to a five foot something, wife.

Of all the dogs I have enjoyed as a companion, Scamp really has to be the best. She was not ugly but, ‘fugly’, was intelligent, quick to learn, absolutely great with kids in the family and her heart was never ever big enough to hold all the love she had for me.

In Scamp's eyes, if there was a God, it was me. Never did she have eyes for another human being except the immediate family. She was a 3' tall Terrier who would have dragged an elephant to its knees if it had ever threatened her loved ones. She would have leapt the moon had I commanded her and died protecting me and my own with the very last breath of her body and, never, ever would she have asked why.

Scamp was the bravest dog I have ever known, and nothing was ever too big for her, but while she loved humans, she hated dogs. I suppose they were possible rivals for my affections.

I have watched this generally placid and amiable dog, turn from a quiet family pet into a snarling ball of rage within seconds. Humans in quite conciliatory tones were allowed to approach me with no problems. Talk aggressively and you were in the ‘Proverbial Sh*t!’. You would have had this furry ball of agro to contend with. However, for all of Scamp's aggressiveness, I never knew her to actually bite a human.

Scamp was a man's dog preferring the company of myself and son. She loved the girls but maintained a love/hate relationship with my wife for the whole of her life. It was not that my wife hated or was cruel to her, they just didn't see eye to eye.

Scamp and I bonded very quickly, having had a ‘crash course’, like, me spending the first three nights by sleeping in the garden with her. I well remember sleeping on a camp stretcher in a sleeping bag with a cardboard box at the side of me containing Scamp. Not that Scamp spent too long in the cardboard box, she was soon ensconced in the sleeping bag with me.

Like all very young animals, Scamp craved warmth, companionship, and security She was barely six weeks old, had been torn from her mother and then from her brothers and sisters. Is it any wonder that puppies cry during the night.

Surprisingly, Scamp settled down very quickly, I think we had just a couple of nights of puppy noises during the next few nights after sleeping outside with her, I have known the settling in process to take a lot longer.

So began the start of a 14 year relationship with a man's dog. Memories related are just a few and regrettably they may not have happened in sequence because time warps the human mind.

Earlier on I mentioned about her nearly causing a divorce. Well, it wasn't really that serious but Scamp's activities in the garden when she was left on her own caused very serious arguments between my wife and self.

There is a unique Australian invention called the Hill's Hoist, a system far superior to the old clothes line. It allows you to hang out mountains of washing in a small area and you can do it all by standing in the same spot. The simplest explanation and description of the hoist, is a Carousel revolving round a single pole. Simple, efficient and tantalizingly dangerous to anyone that has a young dog.

Out of boredom, Scamp discovered the hoist, or rather, the clothes that hung above her and a little out of her reach. So what is any self-respecting dog supposed to do when bored? Why, entertain their selves of course.

Over the next few weeks I came home to an assortment of clothing that had been ripped off the hoist and always it was the girls or the wife's clothing, never my sons or mine. Always there was an argument, "Either the dog goes or I do," demanded my wife. Well, I must admit I was tempted, but you can only sleep with a dog, you can do far more interesting things with a wife and those hormones dictated that it was poor old Scamp that would have to suffer.

One day, Scamp committed the cardinal sin, she pulled Janet's best cardigan off the hoist and destroyed it. On returning home from work that night I suffered an amount of abuse that no poor husband should have to put up with, but let me state clearly, the fault was entirely my own.

While I had trained Scamp in all the basics, I had neglected to pay attention to detail, and it was my responsibility to curb her destructiveness.

While my wife had suffered the loss of a favourite garment, it was she that discovered the answer. Australian ingenuity invented a clothes dryer called the "Hoist", a wonderful space saving contraption that looks a bit like an umbrella without the cover. The old clothes hoist even turns with the wind thus aiding the drying of clothing and linen already hung out to dry.

In a fit of anger, my wife tied a length of rope from the outer edge of the hoist and the other end to Scamp's collar, she then began to spin the hoist making Scamp run round in a circle, so fast did my wife spin that Scamp was in danger of losing her footing.

I suppose it was a case of being cruel to be kind, for from that day on Scamp never touched clothing again. She did however find many other ways to let us know that she existed.

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[Paul]

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In our household there were two levels, ‘Human Level’ began from a little over the height of a coffee table and extended upwards while ‘Scamp Level’ was anything she could reach from a normal standing position. My family and I never had a problem with this, if we were silly enough to leave something that was within reach of Scamp - then that was our fault and Scamp was never slow to take advantage. Most of our close friends knew of the ‘Scamp Level’ rule but I'm afraid that some of them were pretty slow to catch on.

Belonging to a social club, we used to spend many weekends doing all sorts of different things as a group. One particular weekend we decided on a trip to Rapid Bay, a popular fishing spot situated on the peninsula, south of Adelaide. The Esky (Cooler Chest) is an essential part of the Australian picnic equipment, it keeps your food and booze cool, doubles as a table top or even a seat. One of our friends decided to use her Esky as a table top that day with dire consequences.

The barbeques were lit, the wiser members of the group keeping their meat either in the Eskys or at least ensuring it was out of harm's way. However, there's one in every crowd, and she placed her meat on the top of her Esky while the coals on the barbeque heated through. To compound the problem further, she had her back to the meat. I suppose it was all just too much for Scamp. The two juicy steaks were within her level and not being supervised, she assumed that they were loitering with intent. Without a moment's hesitation both of the steaks were taken into custody and placed very swiftly in her stomach for safe keeping. I saw the funny side of it but it was a little embarrassing having to scrounge morsels of food from the rest of the group so that the loss could be addressed, while Scamp lay contentedly under my chair savoring the after taste of two delicious steaks.

Sunday at our home was always Roast Dinner day. My wife was in the habit of removing a joint from the freezer early in the day and allowing to thaw on a flat surface. All the kitchen surfaces were above "Scamp level", so it was assumed that the joint was safe, or was it?

Well, under normal circumstances I would have said yes, after all, who would expect a cat to help a dog ‘snaffle’ the Sunday Joint. Unknown to my wife the cat had entered the house while she was watching television in the lounge and attacked the joint which had defrosted on the kitchen table. While tearing at the film wrap to get at the meat - she moved it closer and closer to the table's edge until of course it fell into the waiting jaws of Scamp.

It must have been only minutes later that I arrived home from a game of golf and settled down at the kitchen table to read the Sunday newspaper. Browsing through the headlines I could hear this sort of scrunching sound coming from beneath the table. Looking beneath I burst out laughing, for there was Scamp with the joint between her front paws. Her mask was bloodied from the meat and a very disgruntled cat was looking daggers at her.

While once again I could see the funny side of the incident my wife was not amused, and neither was I when I wound up with Sausage and Beans for Sunday Dinner.

Scamp did not like other dogs so I was pretty careful to keep her apart from her own kind. She never wore a leash except a verbal one and I never had any trouble controlling her. One day I was lying on the beach with Scamp curled up against by legs when I felt her move. I looked up to see what had made her stir only to see two very large Great Danes loping up the beach toward us.

Under normal circumstance I would have instructed her to ‘stay’ but I thought it would be good to teach her a lesson. "When she realizes the size of them she'll soon come back" I thought - Wrong!

With a low throaty growl Scamp sprang forward and as she neared her quarry, she suddenly sat down as she was running and skidded to a halt in the sand. "Ah", I thought, "Now you can see you would have been biting off more that you could chew."

Still sitting Scamp turned her head and looked at me, looked back at the Great Danes, then looked back to me again. The expression on her face said it all, "Arr! Stuff it". Sand spurting under her feet she went in at high speed, it was a bit like a Spitfire engaging two Heavy Bombers in combat. Teeth snapping, she went under their legs. It was over in seconds. The Great Danes made their escape at a high rate of knots down the beach with their very irate owner in hot pursuit.

I had expected the outcome to be different; Scamp should have taken a bit of a beating, hopefully teaching her to treat her own kind with more respect. Instead I had a lesson in sheer guts and bravery. After that episode I never knowingly let her tangle with a dog again.

It was a few years after the Great Dane episode when a few good friends with their families together with my brood were camped down the peninsula enjoying a spot of fishing and country air. Night had fallen and we sat round a huge fire, finishing the remains of our evening meal, drinking fine Australian Wines and telling a few yarns. Into the circle of firelight appeared a German shepherd, who was fed several morsels of food when suddenly with no provocation, Scamp leapt through the fire and grabbed the intruder by the throat. In my mellowed state, I had forgotten that she was lying under my wife's chair. Once again, to take on a dog more than capable of giving her a hammering astounded me, but to leap through the fire to attack her quarry filled me with admiration of her courage.

In the whole of her life only one dog bettered Scamp and that was a Boxer bitch that belonged to a very good friend of mine. She got Scamp on the ground by her throat and Scamp had the good sense to lie in the subservient position until the Boxer was pulled off. I might add though, that this event occurred when Scamp was becoming fairly old.

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[Paul]

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In all her life, Scamp never bit a human being but there was one guy who came very close to being on the business end of her very sharp teeth.

My son was about 10 years old when I decided on taking him on a father & son camping trip down to Kingston in the South East of South Australia. We pitched our tent in the almost deserted Caravan Park/Camping Ground in an area as far away from the closest human possible. Son and I took off to do some fishing and have a drink at the local pub, Scamp dutifully tagging along behind. After my son had won me a bottle of Rum on the beer ticket machine we returned to the camp-site to find another tent pitched close to ours. The inhabitants were three young guys on holiday. Camping grounds being what they are soon had us all talking, sharing our food, beer and chewing the fat.

Night had fallen and Scamp was lying beneath my chair drowsy from the long car journey and the excitement of the day. All of us were at peace with the world. I watched the light of a torch being carried from the far side of the camp-site coming toward us. "Oh" I thought to myself, "someone coming to join us for a drink". Instead I was confronted by a rather bombastic, pathetic little man who purported to be the manager. He stood there and berated me for not having Scamp on a leash and began to reel out rules & regulations.

I attempted to explain that Scamp was on a leash, a verbal one, but the manager’s tone became more aggressive, it was at this point I became very aware of Scamp's emergence from beneath my chair. Teeth bared, hackles raised, head lowered and the loudest growl I ever heard her give. Scamp's obvious interpretation of the situation was that the two people she loved most on this planet were being threatened, never for one moment realizing that she was the cause of the confrontation.

I hate and detest abused authority. My usual reaction at the age I was then would have been quick and sure, ‘A swift punch on the nose’. It was only the fact that my son was with me that prevented a physical confrontation, instead I tossed a length of tent rope at the upstart and said, "You want her on a leash mate? Then you put it on her". Dictating Rules & Regulations was one thing, attempting to leash a strange dog that was showing she would dearly like to sink her teeth into any part of his anatomy she could reach was a different matter altogether.

The manager decided that discretion was the better part of valor and retreated but not before ordering me to leave the camp-site the next day.

Later on that night, my son Adrian, Scamp and I, walked down to the jetty to do some fishing. Having been fishing with my young son many times before we only took the one rod. I always seemed to spend most of my time untangling his line or putting bait on his hook or tying on new traces. Deciding that I would not be fishing, I enclosed the bottle of Rum my son had won for me in the bait bucket, vowing that I would do some serious drinking.

That fishing/drinking session on Kingston Jetty turned out to be a very pleasurable evening and one that I'll remember for the rest of my life.

A lady was on the jetty with her daughter who was about the same age as Adrian. The kids started fishing together and I engaged the mother in conversation. Her name was Karen, she was a local and her husband was away working at Roxby Downs.

I might add at this point, that from an early age I had never been comfortable with the opposite gender that was of an equivalent age to myself. No problems with those a lot younger, certainly no complications with those a lot older. It was just my particular age group. Don't ask me why, perhaps some overpaid psychologist could answer the question. Anyway, Karen and I hit it off (in a totally non-sexual way), she was fun to be with, great to talk too and the only woman I have ever met who could match me swig for swig on the Rum bottle.

Adrian and Karen's daughter were playing happily together; Scamp was lying at our feet and chasing rabbits in her sleep and the level of Rum in the bottle fell lower and lower. At one point Karen sent her daughter off home, and she returned with an old ice cream container filled with honeycomb which oozed with delicious honey, the first time I have ever tried it in my life.

All good things come to an end, Rum Bottle empty, kid’s eye lids drooping; it was time to call it a night. We took our leave of each other never crossing paths again.

Karen, if you should ever read this book, I most sincerely thank you for sharing your company with me that night. You are a Lady of the Bush in every sense of the word. Bright, intelligent with a unique sense of fun, I wish you and your family well.


We returned to our camp-site where Adrian slept like a log. I would have done also but Scamp spent the night patrolling the camp looking for that nasty, horrible little man. I have no doubt that had the manager of the camp had the temerity to return when we were in bed, Scamp would have had his guts for garters.

We left early the next morning, travelling north along the Coorong Road toward the Town of Murray Bridge. Don't tell the Police I said this, but the Ford Falcon cruised the road at 100 mph, Adrian sat along side me urging "go faster Dad" while Scamp lay on her back, all four paws in the air, snoring her head off, for she had done her nights work.

We made Murray Bridge Caravan Park about mid-day and the difference between the welcome we received there to the problems we had at Kingston in the South East was the difference between ‘chalk and Cheese’.

We were all genuinely welcome, including Scamp, only rule I was told was "Don't make a lot of noise after dark". The manager at Murray Bridge was the stuff that legends are made of, friendly, outgoing and when at night my young son was in bed, came across with a six pack (beer), and we enjoyed a quiet drink together. This guy was so good that Scamp paid him the courtesy of having a sleep at his feet. This was praise beyond all.

I have told you that Scamp was brave. At Murray Bridge close to the Caravan Park is a grotto which houses the mythical Bunyip. Feed 20 cents into the slot and it rises, roaring out of the water. Scamp would have none of it, she tried every device she knew to get through the protective fence, and tear its throat out, I kid you not, the Bunyip was 20 times her size. I watched Scamp, bodily throw her whole frame against the fence in a fury of which I never imagined she was capable. This was just one more example of just how much she loved me.

continued......

[Paul]

continuation......

Scamp was but a few years old when my youngest daughter was born, Lynda, my wife’s and my present to our adopted country, was born on Australia Day. Lynda was a very quick learner and as she grew older it was a family must with the other four children that we soon install a swimming pool into our life style. I was adamant, no pool until Lynda can swim, a few swimming lessons and not only could Lynda swim but she was a bloody fish.

My wife blinked, Dollar signs showed in her eyes, and I coughed up for a new above ground swimming pool. I say I, but really it was my wife and I co-jointly, our marriage was and will always be a partnership.

Now, the unfortunate thing about pools is that they need to be maintained. Who maintains them, no secret, Dad does. In relation to the house, there was the house, garden, pool then filter. I was working on the filter on this occasion when Lynda, 4 years old, exited the family room and called Scamp. As previously mentioned, Scamp was never very far from me, she was in actual fact very visible from Lynda's position but Lynda had no idea I was behind the pool cleaning the filter.

Four years old, "Scamp" she called, Scamp looked up but would not move because I was there. Once again, "Scamp", from Lynda. The look on Scamps face was "Yes, I hear you but Dads behind here, so get stuffed".

I could not believe the next string of words that came out of my four year old daughters mouth, "Scamp, you Black Enameled Bastard, get your a** up here.”<br>
Scamp and I both had a sense of humour, I collapsed with laughter behind the swimming pool, I couldn't swear to it, but I'm sure there were tears of laughter in Scamp’s eyes.

I raised my bulky frame into Lynda's view, her face went white, she had not realized that I was behind the pool but she knew well enough that the words she had used were not allowed.

So, who was at fault? Me, and did my wife ever let me know it, Scamp decided she and Janet were no contest and found a place to hide.

Australia is a funny place, you call your best mates a ‘bastard’, you are allowed to embellish those statements, and hence forth my best Canine Mate was known as the "Black Enameled Bastard, simply ‘cos she was black.

My four year old, ever her father's daughter, had decided to emulate the old man, and, got us both in the proverbial sh*t.

I regret nothing; it is a very happy memory of a very young girl, her dog and her father. Lynda would remember none of this, but my mate Scamp and I had a very precious shared experience, a string of language that would have put a truckie to shame, never mind a four year old girl

Who was punished? Me, the Missus had a headache again that night. "Oh well, that's life".

Years passed and I spent many years working for large retail organizations. Long, long hours, and eventually I decided with the invaluable and supportive help of my wife to do it for myself. We purchased a Delicatessen, for the un-initiated, read "Corner Store or Convenience Shop".

I enjoyed the Deli, being my own Boss and if the truth were really known, so did the family. At the time we moved in there Scamp was becoming very old and she was more than confused at the very odd hours we were keeping.

Scamp got through the first year of business ok, but on the approach of the second summer, her throat had grown huge with a cancerous growth. This growth began to effect her breathing, but as old as she was , and as sick as she was there was always a wag of the tail and a spark of "let's do it", in her beautiful brown eyes.

Regrettably, I had grown into my Granddad Jack's shoes, there was no one left to make the decision for me, I had to let Scamp go, the growth was interfering with her breathing and she was uncomfortable and most probably in pain.

I remember the day very well. Even after all these years I can tell you it was a Tuesday. Why? Because I rang the Vet on a Monday to make arrangements.

I had spent a sleepless night on the Sunday, knowing it was I that had to make the decision, made a brave call to the Vet on Monday to tie up the arrangements, then, would you believe, once again, ‘Chickened' out on the Tuesday.

Arising that Tuesday morning, I sat in the lounge cradling my faithful mate; I scratched her in all the favourite places and spoke soft words to her. Basically what I was saying was "Sorry mate, I have to let you go". Scamp knew, if there was one thing Scamp wasn't, it was stupid, she knew her time had come.

I fussed and patted my old friend for over an hour while the family slept, I kept looking into those deep brown eyes and receiving the message " Its alright Dad, I'm tired and sick, I just need rest.”<br>
I took my final farewell of her by kissing her on the funny brown blaze she wore in the middle of her forehead.

In a spontaneous reaction, she lifted her head and licked my face and ears, typical Scamp, "Goodbye Dad.”<br>
Yes, I flunked the test once again, I left for work and at a later time got my eldest daughter to take Scamp down to the Vet.

I was later assured that Scamp had passed peacefully from this life and that the disposal of her remains was correct and in keeping with those of a loved family (they said Pet) I say member.

I believe my wife's reaction was the most remarkable. For as stated before, Scamp and Janet enjoyed a "Love/Hate relationship. Janet’s simple reaction was, "We're not having another dog in this house.”<br>
Janet missed Scamp as much as the rest of the family. Her statement about not having another dog was really a tribute to a very old friend, even if they did fight a lot. The pain and hurt of losing such a dear friend cuts to the very soul, yet those of us that love our dogs do it over and over again.

Dear Scamp,

Just what words do you use to a mate that always knew what you were thinking and how you were feeling? How many times had I returned home when you sensed that I was at odds with world and definitely not, in the best of moods? You would place your head on my knee and look at me with those big beautiful brown eyes which clearly said "Never mind Dad, I love you.”<br>
Love me you did, even when, much to my shame I would vent my anger on you for some trivial sin you had committed. The occasional toe of my shoe at your backside could have been likened to a smack on a naughty child's bottom. Knowing me probably better than any other, you kept your distance for a short while, realizing that my anger subsided as fast as it arose and within a very short period, all was forgiven and forgotten.

My very brave faithful friend, I know you have found Pete and have endless conversations about me. Don't judge me too harshly, my love for both of you is endless and my life has been a better, richer one, for knowing the pair of you. One day I'll be there with you, and if St Peter tries to bar the gate when I get there, "Bite the Bastard.”<br>

continued......

[Paul]

continuation.......

Mature Man and his Dogs

After losing Scamp, my family and I went dogless for several years; I respected my wife's wishes when she said she never wanted another dog in the house. Being heavily involved with our family business I didn't seem to have time for a pet so it would not have been fair either to the family or a dog.

One of our best customers was a young lad named Andrew, a brave young soul who has suffered from a very severe lung condition since birth. Andrew was about eleven years old when we first went into the shop. At the time of writing this, Andrew has attained is majority.

Apart from the bread and milk Andrew picked up for his mother on a daily basis we could always expected him at lunch time if he was not at school. His diet very rarely changed, Balfours Meat Pie with sauce, Balfours Custard Tart and a Can of Fanta. He gave Fanta up for Lent some years ago and has never returned to it. I managed to get him onto Hot Dogs for a while, even got him on Pizza Muffins but he always returns to his old time favourite.

After our first year in the shop, Andrew started to turn up with a small dog; her name was Petty and the breed Shih Tzu, the Chinese Sacred Dog. I could never get Petty to come to me, she would always shied off and hide round the corner of the shop. Years went by then one day Andrew turned up with Petty and a puppy, and so began an association which has brought me a great deal of pleasure over the last few years.

The puppy was named Ada and was the offspring of Petty and a Maltese/Shih Tzu cross that officially made Ada three quarter Shih Tzu. From day one it became the custom to give Ada a meat treat when she visited, in doing so the family also finally made friends with Petty. It was during one of those feeding sessions that my wife put her foot in it and left herself wide open. We had just finished feeding the dogs when Janet said, "If we ever have another dog I want one of those.”

It was my wife's birthday a couple of months after her comment, always at a loss what to get her, then I knew, it would also be a present for me. So began a long task in trying to track down a Shih Tzu puppy in time for my wife's birthday and it wasn't easy.

I spent a couple of weeks looking at Pets for Sale adverts in the local papers, I could have purchased a huge variety of animals from snakes to a Seal, but never any mention of a Shih Tzu.

I rang the local breeders association in an attempt to locate a puppy. Several names and many phone calls later, there was not a Shih Tzu to be had in South Australia, I had no idea that the breed was so rare. "Well" I thought, "If I can’t get one in South Australia, I'll just have to try another State.”<br>
Ringing the Victorian Kennel Club, I was finally given the phone number of Sheila Fitzgerald of Doncaster. Yes, she did have a puppy that would be ready in about three weeks, the price was, and yes we can fly him over and so on.

I really wanted to make the puppy a big surprise for my wife. To get her down to the Airport to collect him I had to become very devious and tell a few white lies.

Using a fax machine at a customers address, I faxed a message to a neighboring business marked for the attention of Janet Springthorpe c/o Chandos Court Delicatessen. The Fax read something like:-

Dear Mrs. Springthorpe,

Congratulations, your store as been nominated as having the best display of Easter Products and was judged to be the best of any small retailer. We are therefore pleased to advise that you have won a major prize which will be arriving on (whatever day) flight no ***, please ensure that you collect your prize when the plane arrives.

I think I signed it as being from the Confectionery Council of Australia. When the Fax arrived at the shop, I then got my youngest daughter Lynda to ring her Mother at the Noarlunga Bowl where my wife was bowling and read the Fax to her over the phone.

My wife was bowling with my married daughter Sue who had great difficulty preventing herself from bursting out with laughter when my wife told her about the prize she had won and that we were the best small retailer in Australia. Sue, Lynda, in fact the rest of the family and most of our customers all knew about the surprise puppy she was getting for her birthday. My wife continued to boast and try to guess what the prize was going to be right up to the time we went to the airport and not one person let on. It had to be the best kept secret of all time.

Before we continue, I have to tell you that had there ever been such a prize, my wife would have won it hands down.

Janet has an ability and creative talent that many would envy. First she organized the eggs to be hand made by a friend, and then with the use of different papers, ribbons, stuffed animals, wines, spirits, artificial flowers, glasses, transparent containers, she created a range of Easter Products that huge Supermarkets would have killed for. Not only was the product range excellent, prices were well below those of the major retailers who were offering more mundane items in comparison. That's the commercial, now back to the story.

Finally the day arrived when we had to collect ‘The prize’ from the Airport. I rang the Airport earlier in the morning and explained the surprise to the Airline, and the gentleman at the other end of the phone agreed to play along. Entering the Cargo Distribution Office we approached the counter, the man behind the counter bent down, picked up a Pet Carry container in the middle of which was this small beautiful ball of fluff. "I wouldn't mind that" said Janet.

"Happy Birthday" said the Guy, "He's all yours".

Several emotions passed across Janet’s face in just as many seconds, surprise, confusion, a glimmer of anger at being duped and while trying not to show it, disappointment when she realized there had been no prize from the Confectionery Council of Australia. It really was a prize though, just simply, a special gift for a wife that I loved.

So, Mudan Masquerade alias Pepe, became a member of our family and never have we regretted a day. Neither has he, as I am writing this now he lays at my feet, content to be close and have my company.

Shih Tzu is a breed of their own and after all this time, I am still trying to work out if they are daft, dumb, plain bloody stupid or extremely clever. Pepe has a multitude of names and I hastily wish to assure you dear reader, I do not have a racially intolerant bone in my body.

"Chinese Pr*ck, A**hole, Stupid, and Dad's Little Boy" are all names he responds to, that's if he feels communicative at the time. He sits there and looks at you with expressionless eyes, sometimes you wonder if there is anyone in. You can almost hear the computer whirring away where is brain supposed to be, eventually the Data is down loaded and he jumps on your knee for a cuddle.

When an animal is about to jump it springs itself, that slight movement either backwards or lower, Shih Tzu’s do not, just an immediate launch from the position they were in, so if you're leaning forward, watch your nose or chin. Do not be fooled by their small size and lack of tensioning before springing, they can jump very high for a small dog.

Janet adored him; I have never known her cuddle a dog until Pepe arrived in our lives. It just goes to prove that you have to match personalities, even with dogs and humans.

For those of you readers that believe Shih Tzu’s are ‘sucks’ I have to advise you that Pepe, under his often cropped coat of hair, is all muscle, solid and the older they get, the more protective they become. Their decorative long haired appearance belies the subtle strength and acrobatic agility that they are capable of. Never, ever look upon a small dog as being ineffective.

[Paul]

continuation....

Sheila Fitzgerald did an excellent job on Pepe, he loves to be groomed. Just hold a comb or brush in the air and immediately he will spring onto your lap. You can pull him around, tug at his coat and you will receive no complaint at all. However, he hates being bathed and detests having his coat clipped.

My garden is filled with native shrubs and trees. Like the Aboriginal people of this country, they are survivors. A long period of drought and wide extremes in our climatic conditions produces very hardy seeds. My garden is full of seeds and what little lawn we have produces burrs during the spring so if I allowed Pepe's hair to grow very long I could expect all sorts of problems.

I once took him on a walk through the Onkaparinga River recreation park, and that was a really bad mistake. We walked for just under an hour. It then took me nearly three hours to remove the burrs and seeds from his coat. Needless to say, that was the last time he ever went near virgin bush.

I am the first to admit, that the pressure of owning a business that traded long hours, does not give me an incentive to care for Pepe's grooming on a regular basis. I used to get very uptight grooming and bathing him, so I looked for the easy way out.

I thought that I had found the perfect combination in a mobile groomer called Gerry and a mobile dog bath service. Pepe adored Gerry and she could do anything with him. He hated the mobile bath and when he heard the trailer being backed into the drive Pepe would go right off his trolley. He became so upset that I once again took to bathing him myself.

Sheila Fitzgerald, had told me to let Pepe get as many experiences as he could in his early life, as this makes for a more stable adult. So I walked him where there was heavy traffic and lots of noise. Nervous at first, he soon became accustomed to loud noises and never got frightened. As a little pup he was timid, and I think a great deal of that was due to him being snatched away from his mother and the 500 mile flight to his new home.

As a young pup he went for lots of walks, then I got slack for a while and like me, he just stopped at home and enjoyed our very large garden. Then one day my conscience got the better of me, hooking him up to his lead, off we went. I never realized that such a little dog could hold so much water.

First tree, cock the leg, sprinkle, hydrant, sprinkle and so on, being young he had not learned to pace his sprinkles, so he ran out of fuel half way round the block. That didn't stop him from lifting his leg and going through the actions though and when just before reaching the road where we lived he found a tree that smelled very interesting.

That tree must be the message post for every dog in town, and there was poor Pepe with an empty pen. If anything, the Shih Tzu is a resourceful dog, so Pepe left a much more lasting message.

Shih Tzu's tails are normally curled over their back and waved like little flags, but when in a straining position to do a number two, they squat and their tail straightens out toward the ground. Pepe did not really want to do a number two but he managed to find enough in him to deposit right on the end of his curled, down turned tail.

I did not notice until he stood up and started to walk again, the weight of the sticky blob holding down the end of his tail, I was not amused.

With the help of a stick and a couple of Gum leaves I managed to remove the bulk of the mess, then when I got Pepe home, he was introduced to the hose pipe for the first time.

The breed normally manages to keep their exit points very clean except when perhaps they have had too much fat in their diet or they are not well. On the odd occasion I have had to clean up the mess it was always easiest with the hose pipe, strange how Pepe's eyes always watered after such treatment.

While still on the subject of number 2s, I have already mentioned that my garden is of the native type. The ground cover under the vegetation is covered in pine bark and it seems that "His Lordship" doesn't like pine bark. Scattered around the garden producing a natural bush type scene are landscaped logs and branches, with little piles of dog pooh all over them.

One of the most amazing things about Pepe is his ability to sit for literally hours in a begging position. No one ever taught him to do it; we would often catch him sitting at the lounge window spending ages just looking out into the front garden. Being a small dog this obviously elevates his field of vision, the only other time he does it is when he wants attention from a member of the family.

I remember the first time Pepe barked, he not only surprised me but himself as well. I have never heard such a low bark from a little dog. He was in his favourite position looking out of the window when a strange cat walked by. Standing up with his tail going madly from side to side "Woof"! He then turned to me with a look as if thinking, "Sh*t! Did I do that?"

Next he learned to first walk and then run along the window sill. To do this he had to negotiate a path under the net curtains, and inevitably from time to time he became trapped but this never stopped him from barking at a visitor or feline intruder.

Pepe's breeder supplied me with a diet sheet for him. This I followed faithfully for a while until I realized the little bastard was eating better than I was - that's if he bothered to eat at all. In the years that we have had him I have never known him to gorge himself or bolt his food down unless of course, the food belonged to the family cat.

Pepe has very definite views on cats. They are not allowed in his house and they are most definitely not allowed to partake of food or drink. We were always in the habit of feeding the animals together, well, Janet was, but we soon changed our minds when we saw the way that Pepe reacted to the cat.

Missy the cat, like most of her kind is very fast and quick to dole out a beating to any low life dog that tries to attack her, perhaps that was her mistake. When Pepe first arrived I don’t think he’d ever seen a cat before, so when he approached Missy to say "hello" and she spit and took a swing at him, she had in effect declared War. Over the next couple of months she caught Pepe twice, once on the eye and the other time sinking her claws into his back. She has however never been able to lay a claw on him since.

Now it's a case of the cat being cornered. Cat swings paw which doesn't connect, Pepe is fast, very fast and always the cat beats a hasty retreat. Pepe generally celebrates by scoffing the cat's dinner and drinking her milk.

continued.....

[Paul]

continuation.....

A couple of years passed and finally Pepe's thoughts turned to Spring, well actually his thoughts had turned 12 months earlier but he suffered the major embarrassment of ‘not being able to get it up.’ Oh he had all the actions, was at the right end but he just couldn't get it out, so we had to leave it until his partner came on heat again. Pity, 'cos she was one frustrated lady.

The target for Pepe's amorous intentions was none other than Ada (short for Miss Adelaide), the pet belonging to Andrew, he of Pie and Custard Tart fame. Andrew's mother Kath wanted her mated, and Pepe, ever the Gentleman was willing to comply.

When Ada came on heat again, Kath's judgment was perfect; Ada greeted Pepe with girlish displays and was hardly subtle about presenting herself to him. Regrettably I couldn't stay and watch if they connected and there was no one at Andrew's home. All I know is that when I picked Pepe up at 4.40 that afternoon, he was knackered. He fell into his basket and slept solidly for at least 12 hours.

The next day I arranged to pick Ada up and put her in our back garden with Pepe so that Janet could monitor them. Ada followed me down the drive and was greeted by Pepe at the back gate. Down the garden they went while I took the opportunity to go and have a shave before returning to the shop. It took me only minutes but when I returned Pepe and Ada were connected; the deed had obviously been done. They were standing side by side waiting for Pepe's
bulb to subside.

Two of the prettiest sights I have ever seen in my life have been human mothers suckling their babies. When I see a young mother with guts enough to do that discreetly in public, I feel that all is right with the world and the human race will live forever. The other, Pepe and Ada joined after coitus, passion over with, Pepe was the attentive lover gently licking at Ada's ear, both looked at me seeming to say "We did it for you.” While Pepe actually thought he did it for me, he also did it for himself because on October 28th 1992, my birthday, we welcomed a new family member, ‘Boot.’ So, Pepe now had a son to bring up and I suppose I had a Grandpuppy to care for.

Long before Boot was even thought of, I kept Pepe supplied with an endless string of stuffed toys. The smaller ones he chewed and played with, the larger ones were used as love dolls, when he felt randy, he screwed them. When Boot was brought home he wasn't sure whether he should chew him, or screw him, he tried both.

Boot was confused by the sudden loss of his mother, his new home and the boisterous antics of his father. Boot is the only dog that never gave me any trouble on his first night home. Sharing his dad's basket he spent a peaceful night and comfortably slotted right into the family.

From day one, Pepe became Boot's hero, like every father and son should, they do everything together. One is never far from the other and when you walk them, you would swear that they were joined together. While Pepe, like most parents would like to be without his son's company for a while, Boot always actively seeks his dad out. He will not even go out the backdoor for a Pee unless his dad's with him.

Pepe didn't stamp his looks on Boot, he looks more like his mother, while Pepe is an attractive dog, Boot is beautiful.

Now why would a sane sensible fellow like me call a dog ‘Boot?’ About 34 years ago plus, I used to read a cartoon strip in England's Daily Mirror Newspaper called ‘The Perishers’. The active dog in that strip was an Olde English Sheepdog whose name just happened to be Boot. His sense of humour and intelligence has had no equal except for probably ‘The Dog’ in Footrot Flats, more of these two and others later. Apart from any other consideration, since reading the "Perishers" so many years ago, I have always wanted a dog called Boot, not one dog ever fitted the bill until Pepe's son came along.

My Boot is a perfect ‘Perishers’ Boot in miniature, if the little ‘sh*t could talk he would have the same sense of humour. He is far too pretty to be a male but he is, his best feature, you've guessed it, big brown eyes that talk too you, only Boot has a habit of looking ‘under his Specks’, rather than looking over them.

Pepe and his Son, Boot.

I picked up Boot on my birthday in 1992- that little scrap of Dogmanity that was to bring my family, Pepe and I continual joy. Even though his father Pepe, attempted incest, they bonded in every sense of the word. In short, they loved each other, as father and son, mates, pals, and companions. After 2 years they would be totally lost without each other and I would be lost without them. The Cat however, couldn't give a ‘stuff’ if she never saw either of them again. Double trouble makes for twice the amount of misery.

Boot inherited very little from Pepe except perhaps his loyalty to me, his quiet contentment just to bask in my presence, courage and his hatred for cats. On the other hand he gained his looks from his mother and even though the bloodline was watered down; the terrier's intelligence and speed.

Continued....

[Paul]

continuation.....

A Typical Day.

My ‘Body Clock’ wakes me at 2am each morning, lights out so as not to disturb my wife, I negotiate my way round the bed attempting to avoid the unintended booby traps that the wife has laid for me the previous night, the worst one being the bedroom door. I suppose it comes with having had five children, but we would sleep with the bedroom door open should they have awoken during the night. My youngest baby turns 21 next year; you would think that she would close the bedroom by door now.

No chance! The only problem is, has she left the door fully open or is it at an angle of 45 degrees which means I would walk into it head on. It can get very exciting if the phone goes between midnight and 2am, as it is sure to be our Security Company ringing to say that the shop is in an Alarm Condition. Because of the urgency, I seem to stumble over everything. After safely negotiating my way to the toilet on goes the first light.

Enter the kitchen, on goes the kettle, look at the dogs asleep in their basket, because their colours are so similar and the way that they sleep entwined a different sight presents itself each new morning, dog with 2 heads and 6 legs, dog with 1 head and 8 legs, dog with 2 heads 2 tails no legs, on very cold nights you often get the combination of, dog no head 2 bums and 2 tails and so it goes on. The prettiest combination I ever saw was the two of them with Pepe lying on his back which was raised by the sides of the basket, Boot lying on his back between Pepe's paws, coincidence or a caring father cuddling his son?

I treasure those few precious moments I have first thing in the morning, I am at no ones beck and call. I have time for a very strong cup of coffee, a couple of Cancer Tablets (smokes) and an hour in front of the TV. It never lasts, both dogs seemingly fast asleep, wait until I have made my coffee, turned on the television and lit my first cigarette for the day and then it starts.

Sitting on the edge of the settee in my underjocks sipping coffee, I hear Pepe get out of the basket. He does not even look at me, but following a predetermined path walks between my immodestly wide spread legs, sniffs my balls, then spends the next ten minutes trying to lick them while I keep warding him off. I suppose it is his way of saying "Good morning Dad". Finally giving up the attempt to pay me his ultimate compliment, he then results licking and sometimes slurping his own balls, this of course wakes Boot who has his own way of saying good morning.

Boot is a stretcher. He wanders in, puts his front paws on the highest point of your body he can reach, and then flexes his body dragging his paws and very sharp claws downward. After a scratch on the ear from me, he then joins his dad for some serious ball licking. At 2.10 each and every morning, try to get serious with the world and watch TV., relax and enjoy special private time when you have two dogs going Slurp, Slurp, lick, lick, it doesn't work.

Both dogs intently watch the television and judge right to the minute the most interesting part of the program, that's when Boot does his little run to the door, gives a swift "woof" then runs to me with the expression, "I need to go out Dad", Pepe watches until I stand up to let them out and that's when we go through the ‘Rolling Thunder’ session.

To let the dogs out, I have to walk the length of the lounge, pass down a very long hall, enter the family room cross that and open the door onto the back veranda and the garden. Right from the moment I stand up, the play fight starts and rolls under my feet all the way through the back of the house until they clear the back door. The sound they make resembles ‘Rolling Thunder’.

Leaving the back door open I usually beat a hasty retreat back to the TV. but... it's already over, best bit of the film has gone. ‘Rolling Thunder’ back to the lounge again, then a full on demonstration of Martial Arts Shih Tzu style until I go and have my shower and prepare to leave for the shop. When I return, no dogs, Pepe has usually joined Janet in her bed and Boot, is with my youngest daughter in hers. I often joke to customers that my wife and daughter were in bed with two Chinese fellows. Jeez I used to get some strange looks.

I always remember one morning, when I could hear the very heavy rain beating on the roof and the wind blowing the trees in the garden when Boot came and said "I need to go out Dad".

Opening the back door Boot went to go and realized that Pepe was not going to follow him. He returned to Pepe, gave his little dance and said "Let's go".

Inscrutable Pepe looked at son, expression read "Get F#%ked, it's raining.”<br>
Boot made another couple of attempts to entice Pepe out. Then looking first at me, then back to his dad, body language said, "F#%k this.” Going up to Pepe he grabbed him by the ear and physically dragged him through the back door, Pepe was not impressed.

This was usually how my few precious moments for myself began and ended, once again demands were being made upon me, but I didn't really mind.

It is however worth mentioning, that on odd mornings both dogs went into ‘Suck Mode.’ I had the usual ball licking but then Pepe would sit up in front of me in his begging position asking to be loved, then Boot would get jealous nip his dad and fight to ensure he got his fair share of affection, Pepe would nip back and a free for all would commence. As small as Boot is, he is no quitter, he stands up to his father and gives as good as he gets, but you do have to separate them just as you would two children who are fighting. Ten minutes later, all is forgiven and they lay side by side, fast asleep.

I generally arrived home just after 1pm, and always both dogs would be waiting to greet me in their own individual way but always together. I reckon Pepe could recognize and hear the engine of my car long before I got to the house. He was always in the window seat waiting for me, his flag of a tail wagging fiercely. Both would race to the door to assail you on entry, it didn't matter if you had been gone 10 minutes or 10 hours, I always had the same level of welcome. Boot's welcome was quite laughable though.

From a very early age Boot discovered Tennis Balls, they can be likened to a baby's comforter, he is never far from one of his vast collection and he knows them all individually. When I enter the front door I get the initial welcome, then you see panic on his face.

"My God, a ball, where's my ball? I need to have a ball" Point two of a second later a ball is dropped at my feet, "Throw my ball dad.”<br>
Boot has a memory that I have never encountered in another dog, I have already said that he knows each and every ball he owns even though they all may look the same to me and the rest of the family. One day for no apparent reason Boot began to paw at the double fridge/freezer. On opening the door I offered him some food morsel, not interested, door closed again he began the pawing motion. We finally ‘twigged’ the fact that he was looking for one of his balls.

Now because of the pressures of business and the huge capacity of the fridge, my wife does not always have time to look after the fridge the way she would like. The kids and I are certainly no help to her; we just push the new food in at the front which in turn pushes the old food to the back and the even older food much further back. When clean out time comes around, it is not unusual in the depths of the fridge, to find the bacon grazing on the lettuce, sausages laying eggs on the tomatoes and the margarine has turned into an intelligent life-form.

Boot persisted in pawing the fridge for a couple of days until my wife could stand it no longer and cleaned out the fridge. Boot stood and watched her from start to finish, but no ball was found. The door was barely closed and Boot was back pawing the door again, what a persistent little sh*t that dog was.

When Boot wasn't looking, we placed one of his other balls in the fridge, next time he pawed the door it was opened and a big show was made of finding the ball and handing it to him. He suspiciously took it in his mouth, dropped the ball and sniffed it, then began to paw the door again. We moved the fridge and let Boot look behind, we took off the kick plate and let him look under the fridge but still the pawing continued. After another couple of days I finally removed the kick plate, got down on my belly, and there trapped on top of the evaporator pan, was Boot's ball.

A similar incident occurred later but this time it involved the built-in cupboard where the microwave was fitted. First my son Adrian cleared out the cupboard, then my wife, nothing was found. I arrived home and he was still pawing the cupboard. I ignored him, still later my youngest daughter arrived home and putting up with the scraping until she could stand it no longer, she searched the cupboard and found the ball lodged in one of the saucepans.

If the Australian Customs ever have trouble with illegal imports of Tennis Balls, I've got just the dog for them.


continued.....

[Paul]

continuation....

So a typical day in the ‘mad house’ continues, I arrive home and then after my magnificent welcome home wend my way to the family room and face "Fred", my computer.

Fred and I have known each other since February 1994 and we have enjoyed a very solid love/hate relationship ever since. There have been many times Fred has found he was close to being ‘drop kicked’ down the bottom of the garden. The only thing that has saved him is the realization that Fred's inability to perform was due mainly to my shortcomings.

About two months after Fred's arrival I was involved in a fairly complicated document, which I was writing to the South Australian Government and fighting against extended Trading Hours for shops. I had prepared four very good pages of solid facts and information when my computer screen went dead. Someone once said, "There are two sorts of Computer Operators, those who have lost data, and those yet to lose it." I joined the latter that day.

I stared at the blank screen and shouted "I don't F#%kin' believe it, "F#%k ETSA (Electricity Trust of South Australia) what a load of mongrel bastards.”<br>
I was sitting in front of Fred bemoaning my fate when I noticed that the kitchen light was on. I could also hear the TV in the lounge room, what was going on. I pushed back my chair to look beneath the desk on which my computer equipment was arrayed, seeking to see if my power supply was still connected and there,....there was this highly expensive pedigree mongrel bastard in the shape of Pepe, with the Computer Power Supply Cord in his mouth, and he was just sitting there looking at me.

When I am working I become totally lost in the task at hand. I had vaguely felt the odd taps on my feet and legs but had ignored them. Those taps were from both dogs asking for attention. Then the ‘Not so thick, Chinese Pr*ck’ had worked out that if the odd tap didn't get through to me, perhaps the removal of the strange white worm would. Annoyed as I was about the loss of information I could not be mad with him. Indeed I was concerned, had his very sharp teeth penetrated the cord I would have been short, one very good mate. The amazing thing was he had never removed a cord before or since. He just seemed to know what would grab my attention.

When working at the computer now, I pay attention to their taps, short break to scratch behind the ear or their back, bit of a natter,’ then back to work.

Now approaching, the best time of the day, a few Scotches a quiet seat in the garden with the two dogs like bookends, either side of me, does not matter if it is Winter or Summer, the three of us are just content in each other's company.

Shih-Tzu's are an arrogant breed, they will do what they want, when they want, and those owners I have met report the same behavior. Yet, it is that very behavior that attracts the owners to those dogs in the first place. My two dogs will literally ‘P*ss anywhere,’ the secret is to catch them doing it and prevent the same action in future. Catching them is a problem, they're real sneaky bastards.

When we sit in the garden at the end of the day for our special session together, they wander off at intervals and leave their markers all over the place. However there is one place which is very special and sacred to my family that they do not.

Through tragic circumstances, my wife and I suffered the same fate as Granddad Jack and my Grandmother, we lost our second eldest child, Wendy.

I have to make certain facts plain to you Dear Reader, because of my upbringing, my work on the Ambulance Service and all the other factors that I have experienced in life there are several things that makes my character formidable.

I do not suffer fools gladly, I detest racial hatred, intolerance of religion, and I despise disloyalty and I had a very definite phobia about people who pretend sickness. It is regrettable and much to my shame, that I lumped all of those people into one category. I have always having followed the ‘work ethic’ and most times gave more than ever was asked of me. In my own mind I set impossible high standards for those who worked with me and for me. If I could do it, so could they.

These standards were applied to my family because they were stamped on me from a very early age. I was wrong. I am a self confessed autocratic person, a seeker of power over others with little compassion for their problems which always seemed to be so insignificant with the greater problems of life. What I forgot was, those problems to the everyday person, were mountains, not the molehills I considered then to be.

In my eyes, Wendy feigned illness, her medical bills ran to an unbelievable amount and as her supposed medical problems grew I became more and more angry. I tried to use what I supposed was my strength to snap her back to reality. I'll never know, but what I believe I did, was to drive her deeper into despair. Poor Wendy, as capable as she was, she could not live up to the standards that I had come to expect of her.

Matters came to a head one day when we had a major falling out, I told her I was fed up with ‘her sickies’ and that it was long past the time ‘she got her act into gear.’ Already living in her own home, that day, she walked out of the shop, never to return to the business.

I love each and every one of my children with an intensity that is hard to describe. I have never been able to put that into words and tell them, that they are the very purpose of my life, that they were my greatest achievement. All I ever wanted for them was to be safe and happy.

Wendy had severe psychiatric problems, I thank my God that finally, we got together and she appeared to be getting better. It seemed that once again she was returning to health, and all I ever wanted was my daughter to come back. The daughter who when fit, could charm the Fairies from the bottom of the garden and hold a conversation with all ages. The little girl with ‘droopy drawers’ in a chequered dress, who used to sit on my knee and sing "Driver Drive the Engine...", God, that I could turn back the clock.

Toward the end, for the first time in my life I was unsure of the action I should take, and I knew in my own mind that Wendy should be protected from herself. I was not only frightened but terrified of what may happen, I sort of, talked to my wife about having Wendy ‘committed’ for her safety, but because of my past performance, I did not press the issue.

continued....

[Paul]

continuation....

My wife and I lost our baby on a Wednesday 5th February, 1992; we did not become aware of out loss until Sunday 9th February when my eldest daughter Julie and I discovered her lifeless form on her bed. Julie entered the unit first, I, a close second. As soon as I entered the door my nostrils smelt that all too familiar smell of death from my Ambulance Service days, I called in vain for Julie to come back.

Five years working as an Ambulance Driver, handling the dead, dying, injured and sick, the loss of family loved ones did nothing to prepare me for the pain of losing my daughter. I was devastated.

My grieving process went through several stages. First was the numbness, knowing the loss but refusing to accept it. Then came realization and anger. Anger at Wendy for leaving us, then anger with myself for allowing her to leave us. I felt as though I'd failed as a father, not being there to protect and keep Wendy safe. It took me a long time to come to terms, both with the loss of my daughter and myself.

Three people deserve special mention for keeping me on an even keel at that very trying time of my life. First, my wife Janet, she of course had suffered the same loss, but too me, she became a tower of strength. She comforted me, gave me a prop to lean on and ensured that until Wendy's funeral I was not left on my own. No bereavement leave for either of us, the business still had to open. Coping with a grieving husband and her own grief exposed a resolve and strength that I didn't realize she was capable.

The other two people were Barry and Dawn Jessen, two very good family friends who rallied around instantly. They unselfishly gave their time, love, understanding and the use of their home for the wake. Would that everyone in this world have two such very good friends.

Wendy was cremated and I was able to collect her ashes three days later. Reporting to the memorial park office I was presented with her remains encased in a plastic container which they put in a paper carry bag. I wept most of the way home; the indignity of carrying my daughter home like some last minute shopping was just too much for me.

On my own, for it was something I had to do for myself, I interred her remains into a very beautiful spot in our native garden and topped them with a small memorial. Only after I had brought my daughter home, did I get some measure of peace. Janet at first was not comfortable with the memorial but she understood that I needed to have my daughter home and somewhere on which I could focus my grief.

So, back to the plot. Pepe and Boot seem to be very aware that the stone Angel on a single slab is very special and while they cheerfully ‘peed’ everywhere else, the memorial is left alone.

Whatever the season, the end of the day for me is to sit with my two good mates in a garden that is designed to create an atmosphere of peace and harmony, I have never been a keen gardener but everything I planted in that garden grew, because I loved it.

Pepe, Boot & Gerry

I have already mentioned that Pepe loves to be groomed and Gerry used to make a weekly visit to groom him, Boot does not liked to be groomed, bathed or clipped and he had a hate/hate relationship with Gerry.

The amazing thing was that Gerry handled Boot much more than I did. Before he came to me, Gerry used to groom Boot's mother and grandmother. They just didn't see eye to eye. Gerry would hold on to Boot while running the comb through him, he would be eyeing up her more than ample breast with the expression on his face reading "Now we're not going to hurt each other are we?"

Gerry hurt him once, and he hurt her once, it didn't matter how much she fussed him, there was no way that Boot was going to form any sort of relationship with her. Eventually Gerry became ill and I had to make arrangements for the dogs to be cared for elsewhere. Now Chris looks after them on a weekly maintenance program. She decides when they are clipped and bathed.

Pepe, Boot and other Dogs.

Now one would think that Shih Tzu’s when dealing with dogs much larger than they are, would display some discretion in dealing with them.

I was working with Fred (the computer) one day when a voice called out, "Are you there Paul?" Looking out the family room window I could see a good mate of mine heading toward the back gate.

"Come through Brian" I shouted. Getting up from my chair I went through the back door to meet him.

"Thought I'd come round and have a drink" he said, "But I've got the dog in the car.”<br>
Brian's dog was a Boxer, very big and muscular as with that entire breed. "Bring him in, my two aren't going to hurt him.” I was however, a little concerned that he might just hurt them but I had every confidence in Brian's ability to control Max. Don't you just hate it when you're wrong? You would think that a guy as old as I am, having been associated with dogs for most of my life would have got it right.

The minute Brian brought Max through the back gate he was subjected to a very determined ‘Pack Attack’ by Pepe and Boot. Their combined aggression left poor old Max in no doubt that he was under threat. Under normal circumstances my two would not have stood a chance against such a magnificent dog as Max, but they had the clear advantage, they were defending their home ground.

Had I taken my two dogs round to Brian's home, Max would have reacted in the same way, so it would have been them running for cover. I have generally found that all male dogs get on well together providing the following criteria is met. They meet on neutral ground and there is no female involved. You cannot however, do the same with female dogs, for any strange female is a threat and competition, and therefore, must be got rid of at all costs.

Pepe of course gets on well with both his ‘missus’ Ada and his Mother-in-Law, Petty, I suspect that he sometimes dreams of fulfilling the lustful fantasy of getting both Mother and daughter in bed together. Never will it be achieved because Petty is now too old but it doesn't stop Pepe from trying. Boot on the other hand will have nothing to do with either his mother or grandmother. He is not aggressive with them he just keeps well out of the way. Boot has not yet come across a female in heat, so it is going to be very interesting to see how he copes when the time comes.

Meanwhile he continues to practice on his dad at every available opportunity.

continued....

[Paul]

continuation.....

SOLO BOOT.

Now some three years old, Boot has developed a personality all of his own but he still will not go anywhere without Pepe, the bond is as strong as ever.

As far as his tennis balls go, Boot has become somewhat of a larrikin and keeps Janet and myself in a constant fit of laughter with his actions and expressions.

Our kitchen window looks out onto the extension of the family room built some years ago and that window allows clear access through to the back door which is usually open all year round.

Adrian my son developed a whole new game for Boot by throwing the ball directly through the kitchen window, through the back door into the garden. To gain access to the ball, Boot had to run out of the kitchen, turn left into the passageway, turn left into the family room, throw a sharp right to exit the back door and down the steps into the garden.

These days Adrian only has to raise the ball in the kitchen and Boot is off before it is even thrown. It wasn't too long ago I was coming in through the back door when Adrian was preparing to throw the ball, the ‘rolling thunder’ coming from the passageway indicated that Boot was already on his way.

What really cracked me up and brought tears of mirth to my eyes was Boot's actions as he came screaming round the corner.

He was running the path from memory, his head turned over his shoulder watching for the ball to come hurtling through the window while still running at full tilt. His very actions reminded me of a footballer racing to receive a pass.

Apart from the fact he nearly took my feet from underneath me, it was just as well the backdoor was open, because at the speed Boot was travelling we would have certainly had a new rear exit.

For some considerable time, Boot has been having problems with his ears. Diagnosed as a yeast type infection by the vet, special ointment was prescribed and duly administered.

We would just seem to clear the infection up when Boot would start to scratch his ears again and a couple of weeks later we would be back to square one. Finally the vet decided it was time to take aggressive action otherwise an operation would have to be performed which would leave Boot deaf.

I took Boot down on his own to the Veterinary Hospital where he was to be kept for the day, put under anesthetic and have his ears scraped. Sounds simple doesn't it.

My daughter went and collected Boot at 6pm and he arrived home very groggy from the anesthetic. He then did two things in quick order, he went and found his favourite ball then promptly ‘Beat the sh*t’ out of Pepe.

Now Pepe and Boot often have their spats, but Boot on this occasion and for the next 36 hours was deadly serious so we had to watch the situation very closely.

I believe I ‘nutted’ out the problem in the end. Boot has never been anywhere without his Dad. To be taken to the vet and left there on his own was in some way a betrayal in Boot's mind and the target for that betrayal was Pepe. When Boot had to go back to the vet a week later to have swabs taken, I ensured that Pepe was right there with him. Since then we have had no further conflict problem, who says dogs can't think?

A few days later the results of the swabs came back, not only did poor old Boot have three different types of fungus infection, he also had several other little nasties in there. His poor little ears were closed over and he discharged a very smelly puss from both of them.

The vet prescribed a more powerful concoction which I had to apply twice a day after swabbing out his ears. This was not a job I relished doing because I knew that inserting the swabs was going to cause my little mate a great deal of pain.

Once again in my life I was taught a lesson in trust. While during the initial stages of treatment the insertion of swabs caused Boot pain, he never attempted to get away, snap, snarl or bite. He whimpered occasionally but I am sure that he knew I would never intentionally harm him, and that if I was hurting him, it was for his own good.

Within a week the ears stopped weeping and the swabs were coming out nearly clean. The ear canals were opened once more and Boot came to me of his own accord for treatment. His reward after the ointment was applied, the gentle massaging of his ears so the ointment could work its way down the canal.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Pepe watched all the treatment Boot was receiving and being the hypochondriac that he is, decided to have a sudden massive ear infection and demanded equal treatment. I really must be stupid, here was a grown human, tending to the imaginary ailment of dog. Twice a day I had to pretend to swab out his ears, apply the ointment tube (lid still on) and massage his ears. Who says Shih Tzu’s are stupid.

Two weeks later I returned to the vet with both dogs to see how Boots ears were going. Placing Boot on the table I explained the new treatment rules to the vet, "You hurt Boot, and Pepe bites you". Boot’s ears were much improved but both still come to me for their twice daily ear massage. Standing on the garden seat in front of me, paws on my chest, they snuggle their nose in against my throat and love me to death.

Boot is now three years old and still searching for the female in his life. Many times we have caught him attempting incest on his Dad but not until the other week did I get to check out his mating equipment. When they handed out the ‘love machines’ Boot must have been the first cab off the rank with the first choice. Pepe is well equipped but Boot puts him right in the shade. If size has any bearing, he is going to make some lady dog very, very happy one day.

Pepe & Boot up to Date.

At the time of writing this, Pepe became a Father to six just less than a week ago. The object of Pepe's amorous intentions this time around was Fuji, a full bred Shih - Tzu belonging to a couple in Hackham. Fuji is a delightful little dog and when she met Pepe, it was love at first sight. We arranged for the mating to take place over a three day period, the first day of which Pepe was left at Fuji's home.

The next day we had Fuji at our home, I have never known that a female could be so demanding of sex. Pepe appeared to be constantly panting and half the way through the day was actively seeking refuge away from Fuji. During this time of course Boot was doing his hardest to take Pepe's place. Separating all three dogs into different areas was a complete waste of time; Fuji was constantly whinging for Pepe to perform and banging the door to get to him. Boot was barking, banging the doors trying to get to both of them. It was worse than having a load of kids round for a party.

Still, the effort was worth it, Fuji produced six beautiful pups, a credit to both her and Pepe.

continued.....

[Paul]

Tail-end of a Tale.

In January 2004 I awoke one morning to find Pepe sitting in his basket in a very distressed state. I knew instantly that I had to let him go.

As sick as he was... he stumbled from his basket and followed me to the phone. The vet was already at the Animal Hospital... all I had to do was take Pepe there.

His little heart was racing and his breathing was labored. Thankfully the hospital wasn't far and less than 30 minutes after I found him... Pepe quietly went to sleep in my arms.

The little body that brought endless joy to my life was so still and it broke my heart.

What was even more heartbreaking was Boot searching for his Dad.... he searched the house over and over again for days on end and when he finally gave up... he took to sleeping where Pepe's scent was the strongest.

Tonight... little Boot lies near my feet... time has not been good to him. He's deaf and almost totally blind with growths starting to form on his tummy.

He still brings his ball for a throw and uses his nose to find it but mostly... he just sleeps.

It's a sad time for me... I know soon that Boot will be making his final journey and that terrifies me.

What am I to do without a dog in my life?