D is for Dogs

I'm a dog person. I don' t actually mind cats, and I love lol-cats, but I grew up with dogs and would like to have my own dog one day. To me, dogs and my dad are linked in my brain. My dad was responsible for the dog in our family (the dog was essentially his dog), doing all the feeding and training and most of the playing with the dog. The image I have in my mind when I think of my dad is with his dog at his side. We've had three dogs that I remember well, four while I've been alive. The first dog my dad had for his own (his mum was a crazy cat lady so he didn't have a dog until he left home) was called Clancy. They had him when I was a baby, but 'his balls ran away with his brain' when I was small. Apparently, being a male dog, Clancy had an assignation with nice lady dog down the road, and had got hit by a car either on the way there or on the way home. He was a black labrador and a really good dog, according to my dad. Later we got Cleo, she was a border collie cross kelpie, a sheepdog, that we had when I was at early primary school. I don't remember her very well, except that she used to run around us when we were little a lot. Apparently she was 'rounding us up' being a sheepdog. I remember when she died, she'd got hit by a car too, and had managed to get home, so when we got home, she was in her kennel with a mangled leg. Dad took her to the vet himself. I think that's the main time I've seen my dad sad, though he is a pretty heart on his sleeve bloke, this was certainly the first time I remember firmly that my dad was sad, at the loss of Cleo. I remember sitting up crying about her, and my mum coming in and asking me not to make so much noise about it, because that was upsetting my dad. I think that was one of the first 'theory of mind' moments for me, realising that my dad felt bad too, and that what I was doing effected him too. The main dog we had when I was a kid, was Lucy. She was a blue heeler crossed kelpie, and gave meaning to a rule my dad has, 'never get a free dog'. She was a free dog who well and truly made up for that in vet bills over the year. We're still not sure if she had a death wish, or was just not particularly sensible, but she was always doing things that could have killed her, but surviving pretty much unaffected. She ate snail pellets once. She bit through the power cable of the pump to the water tank twice, while the pump was running. Dad had to put a cage around it after that. She jumped out of a moving ute while chained up, hurting her face and butt, more vet bills, but recovering quickly. She was a total ball-maniac - she loved tennisballs, could find them pretty much anywhere, and always wanted to fetch. She wanted to fetch even when you didn't want to throw, bringing the ball to you regardless of what you were doing, including bringing the ball to Taylor on lots of occasions, not just putting the ball near him, but sometimes actually putting the ball in his hand (cue wiping before Taylor put his hand back in his mouth). On only one time was her persistence in putting the ball near Taylor rewarded -- she put the ball near him one time when he coincidentally decided to lift his hand, managing to flick the ball across the shed. She dutifully, and happily, bought it back to Taylor before my dad intervened. I know dad loved her, I think she, as a dog, gave truth to the adage "mans best friend". When St Kilda lost the Grand final, it was to the dog my dad turned. She was 16 when her age finally caught her, and my dad buried her out in the bush. It was a while before we got a new dog, it was November when the puppy Darcy came to us. Me and David had only just got together, so she's tied to that for me. David meeting my family and the new puppy was at the same time. She's also a great dog, a kelpie-boxer cross neutered bitch. She cost $200, and so far, hasn't been the trouble our free dogs were. I think dad was hoping for a smart, friendly dog, since kelpies are smart and boxers friendly. So far she's proved very friendly. But she's smart enough too, for a dog. Clever in some ways and odd in others. Dad told me that one day the dog kept sneaking into the shed while he was working on a car. He couldn't see what she was doing, so he spied her out. She was sneaking into the shed, putting her head lightly into her food bucket and stealthily stealing a few biscuits at a time. Then sneaking back out and coming in quietly a little bit later. Clever dog! Lucy would've snuck in only once then madly chomped her way through the bucket as quickly as she could, but Darcy was sneaky and clever about it. Made my dad laugh and laugh. I'd love a dog like Darcy one day, but right now we're not likely to get one. I think I'm to fragile to look after and love something that I know already won't live as long as I will. But it'd be great to have a dog one day.