Email to:When Dogs Knew Their Place: KJ
There’s already been too much written about the new cultural milieu of dogs in middle-class Australia.
Enough to say, the fact that most are eating and dressing better than me, leaves me cold……
Something new though: I am alarmed at the dramatic increase in husky numbers in my suburb.
It’s becoming downright dangerous.
The other day, I was walking along the pavement lost in my own creepy thoughts when I was nearly mown down by a husky team. The handler, a 48-kilo babe with a Mawson-influenced outfit (faux fur boots, faux fur beanie and a heavy coat which looked like it’d been roughly hewn from fresh roadkill) said nought. Rude AND Green, I thought…..
Nothing more to say except that I’ve written to local council authorities requesting that Mawson Huts be built along our main street so terrified residents can shelter from those fast growing numbers of domestic husky teams.
Which brings me to why this thingo is called When Dogs Knew Their Place.
Bindi – short for Bindi-Boo Major – was our family dog for 15 years until the inevitable. Hec (Dad) got him for next to nought because he was an Australian Silkie Terrier but unfortunately, in breeding circle’s parlance, his coat didn’t ‘break’, so he was never a soft grey or silky.
Sadly, his ‘pure breed’ registration papers bore his official name: Silkalee Shipmate. In reality, Bindi was a ‘filthy’ brown and so wirey that strangers cut themselves badly ’on a pat’.
But, Bindi knew his place.
His diet was of chop fat, chop gristle and chop bones. And he was tough.
One time, Bindi got very ill indeed. We didn’t know what was wrong but clearly, something was: No appetite, no bowel excavation, no neighbour biting, no killing and retrieval of pet birds…..no nothing. Bindi’s eyes bulged and when he looked into the distance it was clear he knew and felt something both magnificent and appalling.
When it was finally clear that Bindi was shutting down, Hec said something in a soft voice we’d never heard before: A bloke can’t stand by watching this – time for the vet!
It was a desperate cavalcade (Hec and the fast fading Bindi wrapped in an old Leeton Redlegs guernsey) that fronted to the vet.
However, there was soon to be a sensational turn of events.
Only about 34 seconds into his examination of the unsedated Bindi, the vet found the very source of the problem.
This is a real first! he cried out.
The nature of the real first was a chop bone lodged in Bindi’s bum. It was quickly surmised that he’d had his usual dinner of chop scraps and when satiated, had sat down hard on the grass – right on top of the chop bone!
Hec always refused to tell us the nitty gritty of how the vet handled this real first on that historic day for veterinary science.
It was a carnival atmosphere at our place that night.
We thought we’d had an obnoxious, overbearing, selfish, give-nothing- back sort of dog. Instead, we had a hero: a dog who’d scaled the heights of pain and explored the lows of gross indignity - but conquered all in good grace.
Can you imagine today’s wimpy dogs doing that?
Another thing.
After what was forever known as the chop bone incident, Bindi respected us even less, if that was possible.
He was to remain in good health until the near fatal Bateman’s Bay tick incident, several years later.
Prawn Cutlet Award
September 10th, 2008 at 11:41 am
My sister & brother-in-law recently rescued two Malamut’s (the husky-ish dogs with the spooky eyes) from certain death on a busy Melbourne road. It appeared they’d escaped from their new home while their owner was continuing moving house. Having kept the very large, boisterous dogs in their very small courtyard for a couple of hours, where the dogs proceeded to tear up the garden, scratch the paint on the doors and leave big nose marks on every bit of glass, the owner appeared at my sister’s home, hooked the dogs on to a lead and left without as much as a thank you. Grrrrrrrr.
September 10th, 2008 at 2:26 pm
Look I came across this blog whilst looking for new lamb recipes on the web and boy was I disgusted. Instead of tonights marinade I find an Australian Terrier with a sharp chop inserted “greek style”. Does Radio National really expect to get away with this? I suppose I should not be surprised. Many times I’ve had to explain to my cousins why Kytherians are very poorly represented at the ABC and now my life will be even more difficult. Luckily for you the majority of my cousins whom I’m still on speaking terms with have been in Bosnia for a wedding – and will be recovering for some time from the effects of alcoholic poisoning. They may not come across this site for some weeks. Did my cousins problems come BEFORE they started listening to the Radio National – OR did their problems come after they had to lie on the couch for hours listening to its programs?
I now have to go and cook dinner. And no, it’s not lamb chops. I could say something about a huskie here but won’t. But what I will say is that there are radio stations, some of whom actually are Greek and I hear that despite the tales chops and dogs they’ve invited you to be a guest one of them this Friday night talking about NSW politics. Ha! At least us Greeks have something to feel happy about this week!
Greek and loving it.
September 10th, 2008 at 5:18 pm
Gee, I write a nice little yarn about Bindi-Boo Major and presto, we all end up finding out so much more! That’s what I like about stories – they provoke so many different memories, so many different emotions in folks.
Your family sounds amazing – simultaneously, both close and distant. A remarkable balance! Well done you all. KJ
September 10th, 2008 at 8:20 pm
Something more needs to be said about Bosnian alcoholic poisoning. You know those people have constitutions like iron bulls. They even have special music and a brass band to play it to encourage the further consumption of the alcohol. If there is even so much as a suggestion of faltering, the band plays louder and encourages the drinker to try harder. And something more needs to be said about those Kytherians and their lambs. The truth is that they eat goat, not lamb, thus giving rise to the reference “goat dressed as lamb”. Where the dogs come into this story is difficult to mention. You see you shouldn’t trust Greeks bearing drinks, or is it you shouldn’t drink Bosnians eating goats? Anyway, whatever, never introduce a Bosnian to a Kytherian or for sure they may sit on more than a bone. And then what would happen to all of those huskies? And the sled driver, not to mention the Malamut. Maybe they could all eat goat and and the Bosnians could sit on bones and the Kytherians could get drunk….or something.
The Kytherian Goat
September 15th, 2008 at 2:50 pm
Congratulations for filling a large gap in the rich smorgsboard that is Radio National. I’ve been waiting for something about dogs for years – and when better than on the 30th anniversary of New York legislating for mandatory pooperscooping?
Just confirms what a wise media man told me years ago in another land – if you want to get folks talking – there’s only two things; The War and Dogshit, and of those two the latter’s a clear winner. Worth a blog in it’s own right.
September 16th, 2008 at 9:12 pm
What a corker of a blog entry. KJ you have real wit. But what about cats that give no respect. We chose the kitten that climbed the cage in the pet shop, thinking it showed pluck and personality. Boy, was that a mistake. Could a black cat look more scornful than this one? She regularly hides around corners, waiting to ambush your legs, for no reason. We don’t even feed her chop bones. She’s just a walking stomach, just feed me and get out of my way, she says with her oh so subtle body language. None of this let me cuddle up to you when you’re watching telly, she’ll just sit around getting bored chasing cockroaches and then hassle us for more food. Any thoughts about what we should do with this animal would be greatly appreciated. Could a psychiatrist help?
September 16th, 2008 at 10:55 pm
Hello there Prickly Armpits – No, a psychiatrist will NOT help. Just ask yourself these questions:
Why is there NO cat on the tuckerbox?
Why were there NO cats at Gallipoli?
Why are there no ’seeing- eye cats’?
Enough said…….KJ
September 19th, 2008 at 9:33 pm
Whilst there’s heaps of discussion here about dogs, cats and blokes I have not read one instance of reference to gills. Let’s remember where we came from. F***the creationists. f**** em all and play for city.