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Not a Bad Bag of Bones

Carole Sutton

(Published by Erinrac in Dog Year 2004)

My name is Bosun and I am a bitch.

            For those who want to know what manner of dog I am, I come from a long line of German shepherds, and have a fancy name that no one ever uses. 

            I lift my nose, there’s scent on the wind. That’s my man down the back paddock on his ride-on, with his smells of mown grass, engine oil and general contentment.  My missus, wafts in an aroma of bread and mealy pellets, as she strides away to the emu’s pen, where she goes to feed the big bird every day.  At her heels runs our Jack Russell, Albie From The Dogs’ Home. But don’t get me started on him, he’s another story altogether.  Fred, the cat, you’ll find curled up on the woodpile. What, with my family, a lawn to lie on, a well-chewed bone and a pot of water, who needs anything more?

            Not too long ago I would have been running along with them, but now I prefer to sit on the high ground and watch.  When my missus returns, I’ll move my old arthritic legs and follow her indoors.  We’ve been together a long time now and are never far apart.

            As the runt of the family, I was smaller than my siblings. By the time I was eight weeks old, my breeder had found me a home with people who wouldn’t need me for show purposes, and wouldn’t worry if I failed to make the full height for my breed.

            Education was a big talking point with my new people.  Before I was many months old, they enrolled me in dog obedience classes.  By that time, I was getting big and strong and I could lead my missus anywhere I wanted to go.  They expected me to learn better manners in class. With so many new friends to play with, I pulled my missus this way and that and discipline was hard to take.  I might tell you, it was a bit of a shock when they put me in a Halti.  I mean, I might be big, but I’m not a horse to wear a strap across my nose.  But it stopped me from pulling.  It made me look fierce, like a guard dog wearing a muzzle.  I was such a softy, it made my people smile when strangers steered clear of me.

            Once I got the idea that obedience was not playtime, I started to learn in earnest.  My missus and I gained promotion up through the classes and we earned prizes along the way.  Once we were good enough, we went to Obedience Trials where we performed in front of numerous dogs and their owners.  It was a bit scary for both of us, and we’d sit and cuddle each other on the bleachers while waiting our turn.

            One particular exercise let us down repeatedly. Don’t look at me like that; I wasn’t always to blame.  While I, and all the competing dogs, had to lie on the ground in a row, our people walked away and left us.  We had to remain prone while somebody watched the clock.  Often, one of the dogs, who couldn’t take the tension any longer, would stand up. That would encourage others to get up, and even go in search of their owners.  Only those dogs that remained in place, until their people returned to stand beside them, gained their marks.

            The day we won the coveted Companion Dog Trophy, we were so proud.  My missus pinned the blue rosette on my collar, and we jumped around and hugged each other right there in the ring.

            Then, of course, there was my modelling career.  Not every dog gets to see her photograph on the front cover of a book.   They wanted a picture of a German shepherd in a billabong, or a water hole of some kind, and our searches for the perfect setting spiced up our walks no end.  I learned what to do very quickly, with the result that forever after when we went near water I waded in and looked back for the camera.  My photographs appeared in print, on more than one occasion.

            As a young dog, I needed a lot of exercise.  If my people didn’t want to walk as far as I did, they invented games to ensure I didn’t go short.  A walk through the bush would see them take separate trails.  I’d bound from one to the other and back again, leaping over fallen branches, stunted bushes, dodging around the grass-trees and tall timber, as in turn they whistled for me, and all for the sound of their praise, a hug and a pat.

            I never had pups of my own, but I was very gentle with small, furry things.  One day my people found a lost duckling.  They searched the area for its parents in vain.  So my missus warmed it in her hands and we brought it home.  I loved the smell of that little duck, and given the chance, would snuffle its soft, downy coat.  Its plaintive cry, when left alone, pulled at my barren heartstrings.  To keep it away from my big paws, they put it in a wire run on the lawn.  I lay beside it to keep it company and safe from marauding ravens, kookaburras and of course, Fred.  That earned me the title of Babysitter.

            My missus walked the duckling around our property to find its food.  I followed slowly behind, my nose to the ground tracking its path.  We gave it a pool of water to play in and I watched anxiously as it fluttered around enjoying a swim.  But when it dived beneath the water, I leapt to the rescue.  My missus pulled me back saying it was okay, ducks did things like that.

            Of course, like everyone else I did have my off days. One day, not too long ago, I had an operation to replace a worn ligament in a hind leg.  The vet trussed me up so tightly that the leg wouldn’t touch the ground and forbade my exercise for a week.  It didn’t stop us going out in the car, though.  We stopped in a favourite clearing and they let me out for a sniff-around only.  I looked so decrepit, they said, they wouldn’t even bother with the lead.  But I saw something they didn’t: a mob of kangaroos bopping in the bush.  Pain and suffering forgotten, I raced away after them three-legged and totally deaf to the frantic calls of my people. I was lucky. I got away without further damage. But it didn’t earn me any popularity.

            Then, Albie From The Dog’s Home came to stay. Already an adult, he didn’t get the same education I did, and occasionally needed to be put in his place, especially when he greeted my missus after she’d been out. That was my job, not his. I had to nip his tail a time or two.  He had far too much to say when people came to the door.  He never learned, and why my people continue to put up with him, I do not know.  As I grow older, he grows cheekier.

            Recently, I had another babysitting job. My people took in a five day-old orphaned emu chick.  He was the only one of his family left alive after a dog attack.  Like Albie, he became a permanent resident.

            Unlike the little duck, this emu never stopped growing. In no time at all he was bigger than me. A peck of his beak had me raring to get back at him. After that, my people wouldn’t let me near him.  They built a fence around half the property to keep me and Albie safe from those long, strong legs and that pecking beak.  All I could do was pace the fence when my missus went in there to feed and cuddle him.

            These days I no longer walk the forest trails to investigate their loamy smells, and the sand dunes around the dog-beach are too heavy to wade through, but I love my rides in the car.  Even though they have to heave me into my place, nobody would dream of leaving me behind.  I sit there on the back seat, like a dowager-duchess enjoying her daily outing, while Albie, typical small dog, gets all excited and falls off the seat as soon as he works out where we are going.

            On sunny days, like today, I sit in the shade beneath the trees and lick my feet.  Looking back at my life now, it hasn’t been a bad bag of bones, you know.  Perhaps, one day I’ll even use these notes to pen my autobiography, or should that read autobiDography?

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