Michael and I rescued two dogs from the local pound. Michael chose Chewy [described as a Jack Russell cross] and I chose Daisy [of the generic Cessnock breed—ie: a Staffy cross]. That was in January 2004 and each was about a year old at the time.
We lived happily, but not ‘forever after’.
About 3½ years later I decided to commit extra time to exercising and training both energetic dogs. They were responding well and coming back to me on the first call—so I decided to risk letting them off the lease in an unfenced area.
I called and called, but after 15 or 20 minutes I tearfully drove back to Cessnock. Michael came back to Kitchener with me. Both of us called the dogs and a trembling, scratched and dirty Chewy emerged from the bush.
‘Where’s Daisy? Show me Daisy?’ Okay, I know Chewy couldn’t understand what I was saying, but he did recognise Daisy’s name. He led me down to the wombat burrows. He ‘danced’ in an agitated manner, trembling violently near the entrances; there was no way he was going to enter a hole!
I never saw Daisy again. Maybe the wombat got her. [A wombat’s butt is pretty impregnable to dog bites—there’s just no way can a dog’s jaw get a grip. The wombat goes into reverse gear and kills the invader by squashing it against the burrow wall.] Maybe it was a snake. [Wombats seem happy enough to share their burrows with snakes and foxes—but presumably not with both at the same time…] Only Chewy knows.
Chewy spent time on my lap, gently patted and cuddled because of his aches and pains, and we shared our sorrow.
I told Michael it wasn’t fair that I had lost my dog, but that he still had his. Therefore, for the sake of ‘justice’, he was going to ‘lose’ his dog too—I was going to take him over. My wonderful sweet silly old bugger simply said with a smile that he would share Chewy with me.
So it is that I have 2 boys as my dear and best friends: one a silly old bugger and the other a silly little bugger—but please don’t tell Chewy that I said he was little…