A Day at the Races – Part Two

Posted on May 19, 2014 by Samantha Rose

West Coast Dog Sports – a Day at the Races May 2014

(This is a long story so you might want to make a cuppa and put your feet up)

The Night Before the Race

It was the night before the Lure Coursing event with West Coast Dog Sports and excitement could be smelt at home in the form of anal glands.

‘Why are you tidying up your ears, you are running not trying to impress someone’ Rocky sniggered at Brutus who was busy putting his mums hair products in his ears to make him look less like Scooby Doo.

‘If I suck my belly in, do I look like a greyhound?’ Brutus asked Rocky as he held himself in and looked in the mirror.

Gordon sat near by and snorted with laughter and muttered something about ‘you can’t polish a turd’.

‘Look like a greyhound? What the hell are you on about?’ Rocky burst out laughing.

After a few seconds it clicked and Rocky opened his eyes wide and shouted out exceptionally loudly ‘Oh my god, it’s true what everyone is saying, you are trying to impress Mouse Norris aren’t you?’

Brutus blushed and pursed his lips together looking mortally wounded and said rather too loudly ‘No, I just fancy the greyhound look, it’s said to be more athletic’.

‘Fancy Mouse more like, as if she would ever look at a turd legs like you!; Rocky said whilst laughing his kelpie head off.

Brutus pretended that he didn’t care but he did and it was true, he loved Mouse, she was so pretty but last time he met her and tried to talk to her, she told him to ‘piss off’. She was the most popular dog and all the greyhounds would hang around her and the Italian Greyhounds and Whippets were all in her gang.

She was the fastest dog on the track and rumours had it that when Mouse Norris races, that she leaves flames in the grass burning because she is that fast. Someone else said that she runs so fast that she can power a road train but that also could be just a rumour.

Either way Brutus liked her and had her photo on the wall in his room. He had been practising greyhound poses all week – sucking his face in, trying to hold his belly in and more drastically, shutting his own snout in the door in a bid to make it more pointy like a greyhound.

He thought of changing his name to ‘Fly’ as that seemed very greyhound-like but to be honest he looked just like a ‘Brutus’.

Later that evening Brutus was on the phone to Vader, they were planning their day for tomorrow. Brutus was trying to show off a bit as he had been at the last event when Vader hadn’t.

‘Don’t worry Vader, I know Dee’s ridgebacks now – we are best friends’ Brutus told Vader over the phone.

And before you ask, yes dogs do have their own mobiles, it’s just you haven’t seen them using them yet.

‘You said hello to Dee’s ridgebacks?’ Vader said sounding suitably impressed.

‘Yep, I think we are best mates’ Brutus replied, feeling happy that he had impressed his flappy jowled friend.

Brutus did in fact meet Dee’s ridgebacks but the male told him to ‘get his brown arse away from the puppy cage’ as he was protecting the pups.

Brutus blushed and said ‘Yeah, no worries – call me, we can do drinks sometime’ and did a telephone demonstration with his paws and walked off.

Anyway, Brutus was demonstrating to Vader his ‘knowledge’ about the last event and even got Vader to believe that he had won a trophy. Vader was drooling, he was so jealous as he wanted to win a trophy too – for the largest jowls; now that would be nice.

But Brutus was just adding to his own story because it sounded better in his head and was far nicer to believe.

‘I am going to ask Mouse on a date’ Brutus said to Vader on the phone.

‘You are going to ask Mouse?’ Vader gasped.

‘Yep, I am going to offer her my Tony Abbott doll’ Brutus said sounding quite determined.

‘Ha ha haha! That will go down well’ Rocky shouted as he overheard the conversation.

After about ten minutes of talking about whether or not Vaders tongue would have to race on its own, Brutus ended his conversation telling him he would see him tomorrow and they would be doing some squat jumps to warm up.

‘Come on Brutus, big day ahead for you – go and lie down’ I said to Brutus.

Brutus took himself off to his bed and I took a few seconds to spy on him as he said his ‘puppy prayers’.

Sitting on his bed with his eyes tightly closed, Brutus said his own little prayer, he said it so quietly that I could only just make out the words.

‘Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for Mouse my heart to keep,
And if I win the big dog race
I give my bum for Mouse to chase’

Curling up in a tiny ball on his fluffy pink blanket, he snuggled down and wriggled his head on the blanket to get comfy, closing his eyes, leaving the little black tufts of fur on his eyelids visible as though he wore eyeshadow.

And within five minutes, Brutus was fast asleep dreaming of Lure racing with his best mate Vader, making friends with the ridgebacks and having his beloved Mouse cheering him on at the sidelines.

Racing Day – May 17th 2014

Lexie and I had just arrived at the Polo grounds for the lure coursing event. Brutus was quivering with excitement, his back twitching, stomping his feet, snorting like a pig – he could barely contain himself.

Vader was looking around taking in the atmosphere, he had only been once before but knew that as well as getting to run a big distance off leash, he would also get some of his Mum’s hot dog and whatever treats his Dad had packed for him so he was pretty stoked at that thought.

It was a scene of heightened activity, dogs were prancing around, some were in their breed groups, some were in crates, some were burning off excess energy to bide their time until the afternoon race and some like Mouse, had done the big race with twists and turns which was reserved for members.

‘Can you see Mouse?’ Brutus asked, straining his eyes to keep an eye out for the beautiful white greyhound that as you know was rumoured to be the fastest dog ever and had powered rockets with her speed.

‘Nope, can’t see her – why are you interested in girls for? They all smell’ Vader said looking hurt that Brutus didn’t want to do ‘boy stuff’ with him like fart and belch.

‘Oi, piss off!’ A little dog growled at Vader as he walked by. Vader pretended he didn’t care and just ignored him.

We made our way to pay for our races where we were met with some whippets and some Italian greyhounds who were all talking very fast and in high pitched voices because that is the way they speak you see and it is a very posh accent if truth be known.

‘Oh my god, here he comes!’ One of the whippets giggled and then blushed becomingly.

‘That’s him, that’s him!’ Another whippet whispered and then placed a paw over her mouth and looked embarrassed.

‘Hi Brutus!’ Pip the Italian greyhound said confidently.

Brutus looked around him, having been an outsider in the beginning; he wasn’t familiar with other dogs greeting him.

‘Mouse Norris is here, she knows you are coming’ Pip said and then nodded his tiny little head vigorously, his pointy snout looking like the nib of a fountain pen.

Another Italian greyhound in a smart green outfit was also highly excited about the whole conversation and kept lifting one paw off the ground and then placing it back down again.

You see Mouse Norris is like the Victoria Beckham (aka Posh Spice) of the dog world, all the sight hounds know here, all the greyhound bitches want to be with her and we won’t even talk about what the boy dogs want to do with her.

‘Hi Pip’ Brutus said nervously, he remembered Pip from last time, and had met him before but never classed himself as part of any gang – except Vaders gang and that contained just him and Vader. Even Rocky wasn’t part of that gang, mind you Rocky hates Vader with a passion, actually aside from Tess, Rocky hates every dog with a passion and the only one in Rocky’s gang is Rocky himself.

Pip – the Italian Greyhound

‘What did you say about Mouse?’ Brutus asked, he had to know, he NEEDED to know.

‘I said Mouse Norris knows you are coming, all the whippets are talking about it too and the Italian greyhounds!’ Pip said, so excited that his already high pitched voice was going even higher.

Always remember that no dog gossips as well as a whippet and Italian greyhound, they are the ‘canine newspapers’ of the dog world and are messengers to the greyhounds. If you want something kept a secret, never tell an Italian greyhound or a whippet. But saying that, they are all so damn cute they could get away with anything.

Brutus didn’t know what to make of it, how could Mouse be interested in him if he wasn’t a greyhound? Having tried very hard to change his shape to be like a greyhound, Brutus had done things like starving himself to get extra ribs to show, shutting his own snout in the door to make it pointier, right down to chasing invisible rabbits around the garden.

But in the end he resigned himself to the fact that he would never be a greyhound. And to be honest, his ‘inner-kelpie’ that had been trying to emerge lately in the way of crouching down and herding Rocky up, had been taken over by his ‘inner ridgeback’ in the way of a deep loud bark, clumsiness, dislike of cold/wet weather and a love of his warm bed and big bowls of food.

‘Brutus are you coming?’ Vader shouted, just as a red kelpie called him a ‘fat tongue pig-dog’ and shouted other obscenities at him like ‘Vader no balls’.

‘Why is everyone telling me off today?’ Vader asked Brutus who shrugged his shoulders because he didn’t know.

‘Vader, hold on a sec, Pip is telling me something about Mouse’ Brutus replied, he was shaking now. He had dreamed of this moment for a long time. The first time Brutus met Mouse she barked at him, the second time she was too busy to bother with him and was holding court to her beautiful pointy snouted friends looking like Liz Hurley at a party for cool people.

Whatever was going on, all the whippets were interested in Brutus and they were all sniffing him and allowing him to sniff them. Brutus couldn’t believe it.

Brutus and Vader gossip with the the ‘pointy snout’ brigade

(Photo by Lexie Goldsmith)

‘How come they are talking to you?’ Vader asked, his tongue hanging out to get in on the action. (His tongue has voting rights)

Brutus was showing off now and replied ‘Oh, I saw them all last time’.

Vader looked boot-faced, let out a fart and then pretended that he didn’t care, after all; girl’s smell. He didn’t need a girlfriend; he had Brutus, all boys together and let’s sniff each other’s bums.

‘Come and see Mouse!’ Pip shouted and as some of the whippets stood aside to form a ‘corridor of whippet’, there was Mouse in all her glory. She had already run her races and was watching some of her friends run.

Mouse sets the field alight with her speed

(Photo by Samantha Rose)

‘Hi Mouse’ Brutus stuttered. He was going to embarrass himself, he was sure of that.

Mouse looked aloof for a second and then stuffed her pointy snout under Brutus’s belly. Brutus still being a baby at 18 months old adopted a submissive posture and allowed Mouse to do her inspection.

‘He has respect, I like that’ Mouse said in her posh voice to the whippets who giggled. The Italian greyhounds hid behind the whippets, except for Pip who wanted in on the action and stood there for a good look.

Brutus was thrilled; Mouse even let Brutus have a sniff of her bottom which went down very well indeed.

‘Vader – did you see that, did you see that?’ Brutus whispered loudly to Vader who was looking disgusted with his friend.

‘I have seen it, I cannot ‘un-see’ it, what have I told you about all girls smelling!’ Vader snapped and then walked off with Lexie to be measured for some doggy pyjamas that the IGGY stall were selling.

After Vader had been measured for his pyjamas, we walked up to the terrace to see the ridgebacks who were sitting rather chilled out in their crates, some were reading magazines, some were listening to music.

The Ridgbacks in their crate – ‘the cool gang’

‘Piss off’ One of the male ridgies said to Vader who stuck his tongue out in response.

‘Hi Brutus’ the male ridgie said to him, it was the same male that told him off last month for getting too close to the puppies. But today it appeared that Brutus had ‘earned his stripes’ and was getting some recognition and that meant the world to Brutus just to be accepted.

‘You are such a brown nose’ Vader muttered to Brutus who was now so happy all these dogs had remembered him and if nothing else nice happened today, Mouse had acknowledged him and the whippets had flirted with him. He would go home a King today, King in his own imagination.

‘Come on Vader, let’s go and drool over our Mums hot dogs’ Brutus said to Vader. Vader looked at his mate, stuck his big fat tongue out and grinned.

‘OK then’ Vader said and gave Brutus a gentle nudge as they walked up the hill together.

By now it was getting crowded and you could feel the excitement in the air.

The red kelpie that had told Vader off was now having a meeting with some other dogs, I think they were discussing sheep or something but it was getting rather heated.

‘She thinks that sheep are intelligent’ A cattle dog said whilst laughing at the very thought of sheep being clever.

‘The only thing she has herded up in her life are her toys’ a border collie said bitchily.

‘I vote that we don’t let her into obedience until she admits sheep have no brains’ The red kelpie said firmly while the other dogs in the gang barked their approval.

We managed to find a table and ordered our hot dogs and cold drinks and the dogs sat near us. Brutus was telling Vader that Mouse let him sniff her and she sniffed him and two whippets had asked him for his mobile number.

‘Well I have new pyjamas’ Vader said firmly and then added ‘Wanna pull my paw?’

Brutus pulled Vader’s paw who then promptly farted and then laughed and snorted at his own daring.

Brutus shook his head trying not to laugh. He was trying very hard to be a good boy and make friends and so far, this was the best day of his life with all these dogs talking to him and the best of all, Mouse acknowledging him.

As I was eating my hotdog, I could hear sounds from under the table.

‘Good day to you, Vot eez your name?’ A strong German accent came from near where my bag was by the table.

Brutus stopped talking to Vader and glanced down to see who was speaking, and there was the cutest little Schnauzer ever.

‘Nice clip, did my Mum groom you?’ Vader said approvingly at the little dog and then added ‘Mum likes Schnauzers’ Vader nodded at an elderly dog who was lying nearby.

‘My name is Franz and I am German’ the schnauzer said in his broken English accent.

‘Are you running?’ Vader asked Franz the Schnauzer.

‘I vood like to run and perhaps I vill, but I prefer to clean up leftover hot dog’ Franz replied and then true to his word, started scooting about the floor looking for a stray sausage like a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

‘My good man, your nose impresses me’ Brutus laughed at the skill of the little Schnauzer as he neatly checked the floor for food.

‘One never knows when one will need ones nose’ Franz said firmly.

‘And may I add, that is a good tongue, in Germany we vood be jealous of such a tongue’ Franz said to Vader who looked pleased at the complement.

Meanwhile there was quite a line up to wait for turns to run so Lexie and I thought it best to take our place in the line.

Brutus’s friend Millie the border collie had turned up for her first attempt at lure coursing and Brutus was trying to explain to her how it is done. He felt that he knew enough to show her the ropes at least.

‘Always remember, don’t kill the lure – it’s a plastic bag and it’s not alive’ Brutus said patiently to a wide eyed Millie.

Millie the border collie

(Photo by Melissa Jones)

‘Come on Brutus, we are going to take our turn’ I told him and we took a slow walk down with everyone else while Lexie and Vader waited at the side to take photographs.

The tiny dogs totally ‘owned it’, full of their own ‘inner-big-dog’, they ran down that track with their tiny legs barely touching the floor.

A sweet little Westie puppy gave half hearted chase but thought it would be such fun to skip and frolic down while keeping an eye out for his Mum.

A dog at the sidelines was a bit of a hooligan and each time the lure went by, he shouted and cheered and if you can imagine a footy fan yelling at the top of his voice, you just about get the picture.

‘Come on, kill it, get it!’ The little dog shouted loudly while his Mum tried very hard to make him stop. He sounded a bit like a donkey with his loud yell.

‘Come on, nice butt, look at that, nice legs, lovely snout, cute ears!’ He yelled to each dog running by, his owner tried so hard to make him stop but he was enjoying himself so much and looked so cute making his donkey like sounds as he screamed.

We were standing next to an English bull terrier was going in for his first time and was looking somewhat puzzled at the course.

‘What’s the point in it?’ He asked Brutus.

‘You chase the lure and you try and win the race’ Brutus replied happily. He knew the ropes now, he had friends, he was a dog going places – you just see!

‘Win what race? I am running alone’ The English bull terrier told Brutus in his posh English accent. EBT’s tend to speak like Prince Charles if you want to know what they sound like.

‘What race? Why it’s the most important race in the world – the race in your head, the race of your life’ Brutus replied, proud that he could offload some of his knowledge.

And with that, the bull terrier nodded approvingly, as though it all made perfect sense.

He wasn’t particularly fast but he had a look in his face, a look of determination that every other dog knew, he was running for himself, he was running because he wanted to and he was running because he loved it and that my friends, is the real meaning of ‘running the race of your life’ – doing things because you love them and because you want to.

Brutus had started to shake, I could hardly hold him and when it came to my turn, I handed him over to the guy to release him while I went to the other end to catch him.

‘Come on Brutus, you can do it!’ A ridgeback shouted over to where we were standing.

A couple of fluffy dogs also shouted out words of support and some of the bigger dogs too.

Brutus looked so proud, he finally had some ‘mates’ to call his own and a beautiful girl had taken notice of him – his beloved Mouse.

He was now feeling almost – but not quite grown up, I say not quite as he still reserves the rights to temper tantrums but hey, we all have our quirks.

‘Right Brutus, see you at the other end’ I whispered in his ears and then made my way to the other end to catch him.

It’s always a bit nerve wracking wondering if your dog will run and if he does run, will he run to you or will he make his bid for freedom like the Afghan did at the last event and was careering round the field happily avoiding his owners, frolicking around like a gazelle, his fur blowing in the wind and in a grand finale of finding some horse shit to roll in. Now that, I did not want Brutus to do so you can see why I was worried.

The guy let Brutus off and I will say that this is the fastest I have ever seen Brutus run and he has done 6 runs in total now at 3 events. He was like 34kgs of brown bullet the way he shot down that course.

‘Come on Brutus, you can do it! A gang of Italian greyhounds shouted from the sidelines. Now Mouse had checked Brutus out and had approved him, all the whippets and the Iggy’s saw him as a friend as well. He had never had so many girls after him before and despite Vader telling him that girl’s smell, he rather liked it.

A couple of cattle dogs were yelling from the sidelines and I think that the dog that sounding like a donkey was also shouting ‘Go on my son!’

‘Go on turd legs, you can do it!’ Vader shouted from the side as Lexie tried to take photographs.

Brutus turned round and grinned at Vader while continuing to run.

Brutus grins at Vader as he runs by

(Photo by Lexie Goldsmith)

His speed shocked me, he put everything he had into that run and I would have loved to have known his times because he was that quick.

Just as he got into the swing of it, the course ended and he had to stop, except that he didn’t as he was going too fast.

‘Go Brutus, my hero!’ Millie shouted while bouncing around.

‘Oh god, he is going to hit the barrier!’ a border collie said and then covered her eyes.

‘Bloody hell, he has improved’ One of the ridgebacks said to her friend.

‘Watch out Brutus – too late!’ a little terrier cried with a pained expression on his face.

‘Shit, I don’t think I can stop!’ Brutus shouted looking alarmed and then sighted Millie, looked momentarily excited before he not only crashed in to the barrier, but tore right through it, leaving a gaping hole.

I needn’t have worried about him running off; he couldn’t exactly go far with all that netting around his neck.

Everyone laughed at the clumsy brown dog tangled up with orange plastic netting around him and I untangled him so the fence could be repaired.

‘Did you get a photo of him?’ I asked the photographer who was standing at the end.

‘I am not sure’ she laughed as she looked at the ripped netting and Brutus standing next to it.

‘Well done Brutus!’ dogs were shouting to him, congratulating him. Millie was so proud; she wanted to claim him for herself, totally unaware that his heart belonged to Mouse. And talking of Mouse, oh how he wished she could have seen him run, he might not set the field alight like she could but he rather hoped she would be proud of him.

‘My hero!’ Millie said happily and then proceeded to lick round Brutus’s jowls to congratulate him. That is just how some dogs congratulate each other you see – by a good jowl licking.

Just as we were about to prepare for Vader’s race, another border collie tried to introduce himself to Millie.

‘Well hello there little lady, fancy a drink of water with me?’ He asked in a smooth voice with a hint of Devonshire accent.

‘Piss off, she is mine!’ Brutus snapped back and for the first time ever, puffed himself up and displayed some jealousy in protecting Millie whom he had declared his true friend a couple of months ago.

Well it took me by surprise, Brutus being protective of Millie. Probably because she comes into his garden for play dates and he has known her since she was small. But either way, Brutus sent this border collie away with a flea in his ear and then called him ‘turd face’ for good effect.

Before long it was Vaders turn so we got ready to cheer him on.

‘Come on Professor Jowls!’ A white fluffy dog shouted from the side.

Several dogs were heatedly discussing whether or not Vader’s tongue should enter a race on its own and some were even saying it was the longest tongue in the world and could be used as a red carpet for royalty; others compared it to a yard of wet ham.

A couple of Italian greyhounds shouted in their high pitched voices words of encouragement and an elderly boxer also cheered in his ‘rusty dog bark’ (you know all elderly dogs have a rusty bark, you just have to listen out for it).

‘Come on Vader!’ Brutus shouted as he danced around from paw to paw whilst beating his tail on my legs.

Vaders jowls flapped in the wind and the little brown and white boxer romped to the end and straight into his Mums arms like a good boy complete with snot over his face like all good boxer dogs.

‘Let me lick your jowls’ Brutus said enthusiastically and set about cleaning the mucous from Vaders mouth to congratulate his buddy.

‘How did I do?’ Vader asked Brutus in his boxer voice speaking with a ‘fat tongue’.

‘You are the jowls of fire Vader, you are the jowls of fire’ Brutus said and then held his paw up to ‘high five’ Vader.

Vader grinned and the two boys walked back to the terrace speaking over one another in excited voices about their race and how they ran it.

When we sat down, a very nice lady came up and offered the boys half a sausage each which they both had, probably not a good idea as they were going to run with each other in their next race but as Brutus was eyeing up the sausage on the table like a starving person on a diet, I relented and so did Lexie and in the end, the boys enjoyed the sausage.

‘Hmm, nice bit of sausage’ Vader said as he chowed down on his piece.

‘Very nice indeed’ Brutus replied and then sucked his teeth to get the bits out.

A bit later Lexie and I took the boys down for their final run of the day and took our place in the line where Vader was chatting to a Springer Spaniel puppy and Brutus was making friends with a beautiful fawn whippet.

A ridgeback was shouting, the Italian greyhounds were raring to go, Millie was waiting for her place in her first ever run, and Brutus I believe, was starting to tire and when he gets tired, he goes right back to baby behaviours.

Nothing like a temper tantrum when you are a tired pup!

(‘Mum, I am tired, can I have a sausage?’ Brutus asked. Honestly, that dog never made sense half the time.

‘No Brutus, you cannot have a sausage. You will do this run and then we are going home. I told him.

Before I could stop him, Brutus started to roll on the grass and he did it with such passion that it could only mean one thing – horse shit. With it being the polo grounds, the scent of horses is too much for any dog to cope with.

‘Oh this is fun!’ As Brutus rolled over and kicked his long legs in the air rolling in every bit of scent he could find.

Brutus rolls in horse scent while Vader chats to Franz the Schnauzer

I suppose I ought to be grateful it was scent of horse shit rather than horse shit itself and I should be even more grateful that it wasn’t fox shit as I still have memories of my old whippet in London who loved fox shit so much, she would actively seek it out to roll in it and spent more time in the bath than she did on the field.

‘Loose dog!’ Someone shouted and as we turned round, we saw a whippet happily galloping across the field and let me tell you, there is nothing quite as joyous as a loose whippet or Afghan hound when it has slipped its leash.

‘Life so wonderful, look at the trees, and watch out world I am here!’ The whippet said in a high pitched ‘sing-song’ kind of voice as it announced its arrival.

The dog was eventually caught but not before the other dogs gave it a round of applause for its bid for freedom which whether or not you like it, all dogs like an illicit gallop around the field knowing that their owners don’t have a hope in hell of catching them.

Anyway, Brutus and Vader were being held for their run while Lexie and I went down the bottom to catch them.

‘Oh shit, I should not have had that sausage’ Brutus said to Vader as they ran.

Vader belched and replied ‘I know what you mean, I think I have wind’

We cheered them on, but you could just tell they were having a chat as they ran down the track because I could see them both laughing at times. God knows what they were chatting about but I guess they were tired and ready for home.

Brutus and Vader in their race

(Photo by Melissa Jones)

We caught them with no problems and their friends cheered and clapped at their effort.

And that was that, they had done their two races and it was time to go home so we said goodbye to Millie and her Mum and a few others and put the boys in the car to drive home.

‘Did you get Mouse’s number?’ Vader asked Brutus.

Brutus sniffed and put his head down ‘Nope but Pip gave her mine, so he told me’ and then added ‘I like Pip, he’s cool’.

Vader went quiet and then said to Brutus ‘If you get a girlfriend, will you still be my friend?’

Brutus looked at his flappy jowled mate, whom he had known ever since he moved to his new home. He was his true friend, they urinated on each other, humped each other, shared toys, shared owners – shared everything.

‘Vader, you will always be my friend, actually you are sort of like my brother’ Brutus told him while nodding his head.

Vader grinned back and without any warning, licked Brutus on his face before settling down.

Friends for life!

On the way home Vader kept farting in the car, Lexie nearly vomited and I didn’t smell it till we pulled up outside the house and then it was like Vaders stomach had fallen into his butt. Honestly it was that vile, I actually think that we nearly died from the smell of Vaders farts.

Brutus is overcome by Vader’s farts!

When I got into the house I let Brutus out to catch up with Rocky as that is what they both like to do when they have been apart.

Sleepy Brutus!

Then Brutus was put to bed for an hour so I could let him settle down before feeding him.

Brutus was so tired he could barely hold his head up. He glanced down and saw that on his mobile phone was a message from Mouse Norris.

‘Hi Brutus, see you at the next event, we can share a bowl of water if you like. Mouse’

Brutus gasped and looked at the message again, nope – he wasn’t dreaming, it was there for all to see.

Mouse Norris had messaged him – Brutus, she had messaged him and he would never ever delete that message.

It was a very proud Brutus that went to bed tonight. Proud because he has overcome his ‘in your face’ and ‘over the top’ puppy behaviour that has seen him told off a few times and now he has made some friends.

He was proud that Mouse had sent him a message and finally, he was proud that he has found something that he loves doing and that he is good at – lure coursing.

You see that is what lure coursing is about – dogs socialising, racing, taking part, discussing the day’s events, being spoilt with treats of sausage, forging friendships and relationships with other dogs and going home so exhausted that in their sleep, you can see their legs moving, tails wagging and eyes twitching because you know, you just know that they are re-living the day’s events in a wonderfully fabulous technicolour dream.

And while they are asleep, their owners all come on to the West Coast Dog Sports Facebook page to discuss the day, admire the photos, chat to old friends, make new friends and enjoy the memories while counting down the weeks until the next lure coursing event where the fun will start again.

Lure coursing – it’s the place where your dog wins ‘its own race’ and you make friends into the bargain.

Making friends is what it’s all about!

My thanks go to Dee and the team at West Coast Dog Sports for organising the event and making it such a brilliant day.

And to all the lovely dogs that have tapped into my imagination and made themselves heard in the most human way possible.

Until next time

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright May 2014

A Day at the Races

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Samantha Rose

Brutus and Vader enter their first Lure Coursing Event (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

This is a story of Brutus and Vader and their first attempts at lure coursing at Guildford Polo Grounds, Western Australia.

The next coursing event

Brutus is my dog – a kelpie/ridgeback mix and I also have Rocky who is a kelpie. Vader the boxer is my friend Lexies dog and also Brutus’s best friend.

We decided to take them Lure coursing which is a totally fun event aimed at all breeds of dog, they can run solo or with other dogs.

This is the story as how I see it, as usual if you have followed my previous animal blogs, you will see that I animate my animals, make them talk, have an adult sense of humour and yes, at times they use bad language. I aim my stories at adults to indulge the child within and make them laugh.

Warning – this blog is not suitable for children, or if you would like to read it to your child, that is fine but you will need to remove some of the language that my pets tend to use.

In the car with Lexie – Vader’s owner, myself and Brutus

‘Are we there yet?’ Brutus asked impatiently and for the millionth time as Lexie drove us to the Guildford Polo Grounds for the lure coursing event.

‘No Brutus, we are not there yet’ Lexie replied patiently.

‘Are we even nearly there yet?’ Vader asked in his boxer voice – any boxer dog owner will tell you that boxers talk in a certain way which is with an exceptionally fat tongue and rather slow. Just like kelpies talk really quickly and manage to throw the words ‘tennis ball’ or ‘sheep’ in between each sentence.

Greyhounds/whippets/Italian greyhounds tend to talk in a posh English accent whilst Jack Russell terriers speak in a sort of eccentric public school accent and discuss rabbits and stuff.

Anyway as usual I digress – I am terrible for doing that so you must all excuse me.

‘No Vader, we are not nearly there yet’ I told the impatient boxer who looked quite upset at my response.

‘I am bored, I am so bored – can anyone help me, I am bored’ Vader said with his tongue getting caught up in his mouth as it was far too big.

Brutus looked upwards as though it would have all the answers ‘Lick the windows, that’s what we usually do when we are bored’ he said happily and then began licking the windows of Lexie’s car.

Vader looked thoughtful and after a few seconds, decided that yes, licking the windows constituted a sport and one that he was quite good at.

Two special dogs licking the windows – very nice until Brutus realised that Vader had some sort of skin irritation under his mouth and thought that he could clean it very well thank you while Vader patiently let the young pup wash him.

‘Brutus cleans Vader’s jowls’

On arrival at the polo grounds the boys were met with an array of strange but exciting smells including “fresh bitch”, dog urine and hot dogs.

‘Are we there yet?’ Brutus and Vader yelled together, they were so excited that one of them farted and neither would own up as it smelt so foul, in fact I was sure that one of them had shat themselves except there was no evidence.

The scene was a hub of activity – greyhounds jogging round the track and showing off to all those slower than themselves, Italian greyhounds doing test runs; a couple of Irish wolfhounds were also warming up by jumping around and bouncing in a way that only an Irish wolfhound can do.

Some huskies were barking their heads off and discussing sled dog racing and a border collie was doing squat jumps whilst a Jack Russell terrier timed him on a stop watch.

‘What was my time?’ The border collie said in a breathless voice.

’40 secs’ The JRT replied looking very important with the stop watch round his neck.

‘Bollocks, I am down on my last time’ The collie said looking disappointed.

‘Yep but only by two seconds, you will beat the arse off the huskies for sure’ The JRT said confidently and then mouthed ‘Fuck off’ to the huskies that were eying him up in bitchy fashion.

A couple of Rhodesian ridgeback bitches sat in their cages, looking rather regal and majestic as they were sipped their water while discussing the lions in Africa, not that they hunted lions but it was what their ancestors used to do so it was only fair that they discussed it.

‘And she reckoned she brought down 14 lions in one day’ One of the bitches said to her friend in the next cage.

‘Well I heard it was only 10 but you know what she is like, prone to lying of course’ the other dog said.

Glancing round for a distraction, one of the ridgeback bitches spotted Brutus who was literally glued to the spot in awe of all these other important and athletic looking dogs all doing their own prep for the race.

‘Well hello there, and who is your father?’ The ridgeback bitch giggled at Brutus who looked like a cross between a kangaroo and Scooby Doo.

Brutus blushed and elbowed Vader in the ribs for support, he had never in his puppy long-legged life seen quite so many dogs at one point and to be honest, he felt more than a little intimidated and he also felt upset about being asked about his father who was rumoured to be very good at herding sheep I’ll have you know.

‘Hey, Scooby Doo, I said who’s your father?’ The other ridgeback bitch giggled from her cage.

It was no good, Brutus would have to answer the question, feeling totally out of his depth he really wanted Vader’s support in this matter but Vader was busy being admired by people and proudly displaying his long tongue.

Taking a deep breath, Brutus replied in his surprisingly deep voice ‘My Mum is a ridgeback and my Daddy is a kelpie’

The two ridgeback bitches stared at each other in surprise and after what seemed like ages, nodded approvingly and smiled at Brutus.

‘Well you do look a bit odd but I guess you can join our gang’ the large bitch replied.
‘Where’s your ridge?’ the smaller bitch asked accusingly, she had a ridge and rather a splendid one at that, where was Brutus’s ridge?

‘Oh I only get my ridge on for special occasions’ Brutus blurted out. He didn’t actually have a ridge and it was his hackles that he got out for special occasions but his response was enough to shut the dogs up and keep them happy.

‘Never heard of that before but that’s OK, we like you’ the smaller bitch said happily before taking another drink from her water bowl. Really she was rather glamourous.

Brutus smiled gratefully, he had always wanted to be in a gang – anyone’s gang would do.

‘Do you chase lions?’ The bigger of the ridgeback bitches asked Brutus.

‘No, I don’t’ Brutus replied and then added ‘Do you have a Tony Abbott doll?’

Brutus is very proud of his Tony Abbott doll

The ridgebacks looked at one another confused; ‘Tony Abbot – why would I have a Tony Abbott doll?’ One mouthed to the other and the next minute they had decided that they were bored with Brutus and went back to discussing lion hunting in Africa and in their own unique way, dismissed Brutus leaving him clumsily fiddling with his collar and kicking the grass wondering what to do next.

Vader in the meantime was busy taking in the scenery; he was the only boxer there and was quivering with excitement. He didn’t know whether or not to greet the other dogs, bash them up, snot on them or shit himself. Standing there with his tail held erect, he did his best ‘village idiot’ impression and let his tongue hang out of his mouth like a yard of wet ham.

Vader the boxer (and his tongue) (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

Team Kelpie

A group of kelpies sat in the corner whilst discussing sheep trials. They barely showed any interest in the course and positively scorned at the greyhounds who were still doing squat jumps and warm ups for the race. Several of the kelpies were throwing tennis balls at one another to test their speed and reflex, each time a dog dropped the ball the others would laugh and cheer loudly.

‘I heard that the sheep were all disabled to give them the best chance’ said one tri coloured kelpie who was holding court to the rest of the kelpies.

‘Well I heard that she can’t even do backing and is meant to be a started worker’ a red cloud added to the conversation.

‘She can’t even herd up ducks so I have been told’ said a black kelpie in a sarcastic voice causing the other to laugh at the shock of it all.

‘Have you seen them – over there are a group of Alpacas?’ the tri coloured kelpie said in excitement whilst nodding to a group of Alpacas in the next field.

It was true, over the road was a group of Alpacas hanging out by the fence, just begging to be herded up and once Team Kelpie had spotted them, all thoughts of the race was abandoned.

Team Kelpie all ran over to where the Alpacas were and before you knew it, were discussing the logistics of herding and how quickly they reckoned they could do it. The Alpacas were quite antagonistic in their response and knowing that they were safe in their field, started moving around to annoy the kelpies who were barking in frustration at not being able to herd them up.

The sight-hounds were totally acing it really, they always did, they were so fast and effortless as though they ran down the track whilst chatting about shopping and stuff.

Making it look easy! (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

The smaller dogs were arguing heatedly about who was going to go next and some were literally smiling as they were enjoying themselves so much.

It was all so distracting and exciting for our boys, it was a wonder they didn’t piss have a meltdown with all the fuss going on around them.

Little ones enjoying the day (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

Brutus and Vader

Brutus and Vader were looking nervously at the other dogs around them. Neither of them knew what to do or how to race and everyone else seemed so professional, they all knew what to do and just fitted in with everything while Brutus and Vader like new kids on the block, felt awkward.

‘If he doesn’t stop doing squats I am going to fart on his head’ Vader growled at a greyhound who was bouncing around like a twat.

The Greyhounds showing off with their fitness (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

Brutus wasn’t listening; he had sighted a beautiful Weimaraner bitch who was flirting with him. Blushing furiously, Brutus plucked up the courage to ask for her phone number which she willingly gave. Suddenly a vigorous game of ‘play bow’ and ‘sniff the genitals’ took place much to the jealousy of Vader who was barking hysterically asking Brutus to stop embarrassing him.

Brutus and his new girlfriend (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

Vader isn’t really in to girls like Brutus and feels quite disgusted when Brutus looks up girls’ bottoms and has been known to throw jealous fits over it. Girls smell in Vaders eyes and the only thing girl dogs genitals are good for is to store your bones in.

Sitting down in the little chairs that Lexie had bought for us, we enjoyed a hotdog and a can of coke which I shared with Brutus. I knew it could give him diarrhoea but it was a treat and he enjoyed it so much and it was lovely to see him with sauce on his snout.

Brutus was very puppy like in his behaviour and spent a lot of time play bowing to other dogs and being very submissive which was nice as he posed no threat and there was no aggression shown to him by other dogs.

Brutus gets her phone number! (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

Team Kelpie had now isolated themselves in the corner and were making elaborate plans for the Alpacas, there was even talk of breaking in to the field to herd them but that was only talk at that stage and I don’t think it actually happened.

We all registered for our races – we entered Brutus and Vader in for two races each – one solo and one with each other.

‘I am scared; I don’t know what to do’ Brutus whispered to me, and then stuffed his nose in my face and said ‘tell me what I have to do’.

‘You run Brutus, you chase the lure and you run’ I reassured him.

Vader and Lexie had gone down to the bottom for Vader’s first solo run and a guy very kindly held Brutus for me whilst I waited to catch Vader.

‘Mum, where have you gone – who is this man?’ Brutus shouted from the sides as the guy held him.

I had no time to placate him – the excitement had built up amongst the dogs.

The greyhounds quivered in excitement, some dogs were yelling and shouting at no-one in particular, there was barking and crying, even the ridgebacks had stopped gossiping to see what was going on.

‘Jesus Christ on a bike, would you take a look at the mouth flaps on that!’ A large husky shouted as Vader thundered down the track like a champion.

He was proud, his heart was bursting – he ran as though his life depended on it and he took his jowls with him as they flapped in the wind. He could hear his very own music – ‘Chariots of Fire’ and it was playing in his mind, he could hear it loud and clear.

People clapped and people cheered – we all did, it was pure joy to watch each dog run his/her heart out down that track and I was so proud of Vader.

‘They are clapping for me; I am going to win my race!’ Vader thought to himself, totally exhausted by his run but the applause just made him go faster until he and his jowls reached the end where he was caught.

None of us dared tell Vader the only one in ‘his race’ was himself and there was no-one to beat, we didn’t want to ruin it for him and he was so proud of himself and rightly so as well.

‘Well done Vader!’ Brutus shouted, he was thrilled for his friend and even the ridgeback bitches congratulated him.

It was a while before Brutus went down for his turn but while we were waiting; he made friends with a couple of whippets and enjoyed sniffing out their genitals and handing out his phone number. They seemed quite taken with the gentle giant and were amused by his baby-like behaviours to make himself non-threatening to the bigger dogs and utterly cute to the smaller ones.

Two large male ridgebacks sat in their cages – full of their own self importance, they were reading copies of dogs’ magazines and discussed dog shows and stuff and barely acknowledged Brutus as he went down for his race.

Brutus smiled at them nervously and was met with a brief acknowledgement and a nod from both dogs that then carried on with their conversation.

Soon it was Brutus’s turn and one of the ladies released him for me while I went to the end of the course to catch him.

‘Go on lad, you can do it’ A couple of greyhounds shouted in a sudden display of support and solidarity.

Team Kelpie barely lifted their heads to show interest, I had only seen one kelpie down the track while his mates yelled insults about sheep to him resulting in him mouthing ‘fuck off’ and flipping them the bird.

‘Everyone is looking at me’ Brutus sobbed as I started to run down the track and then added ‘Don’t leave me!’.

Ignoring him, I ran to the end and gave my hand signal to the lady that was holding him, he was released as the lure was set off and started to give chase.

I was so proud of my boy running down, somewhat distracted by the other dogs but he did his best and people cheered him on.

‘I did it, I won! Do I get a prize?’ Brutus shouted breathlessly as I put his collar back on.

It took some explaining to tell him that he wouldn’t get a prize and as we walked back, other dogs were telling him he had done well which pleased Brutus as he loves praise.

We rested the boys up to prepare them for their run with each other and Brutus played with his new girlfriend the Weimaraner bitch while Vader barked on in jealousy and flicked his snot everywhere.

‘That was fun, I loved that’ Vader said happily as he took treats from Lexie.

Boys taking a rest (Photo by Lexie Goldsmith)

Because I had a thumping headache, I was consuming rather too much caffeine in the form of a can of “Mother” which always seems to help with headaches but suffice to say the rest was much needed.

‘Did you see the Italian greyhounds?’ Brutus asked Vader, he was over excited and talking super fast because he wanted to get all of his words out.

Italian Greyhounds getting into the spirit! (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

‘Legs that snap like carrots’ Vader muttered, he had no time for such tiny dogs that couldn’t take the rough and tumble of boxer-games.

The next race

Before long it was our turn for the next race and both Brutus and Vader were going to run together.

‘Right boys, let’s go’ Lexie and I announced to the dogs.

It was all getting rather serious and the other dogs were now drinking sports drinks and discussing the Olympic Games and agility and whether or not consuming roast kangaroo before a race constituted cheating.

Now I will say that although our boys are not sporty like the others, they did hold their own and were very well behaved and we were proud of them.

We took our place in the line to enter both of our boys and aside from Vader poking a large greyhound that growled back at him, it all went rather well. Vader denies that it was his fault and said the greyhound started it by calling him a ‘snub nose mucous mouth’ He was merely defending himself and accused the greyhound of having an eating disorder and ribs you could stack plates on.

‘Fuck you skinny legs’ Vader yelled when the greyhound told him to ‘fuck off’ and then added that he eats lots of food thank you and is blessed with naturally skinny genes.

‘Yeah right, your snout is so sharp we could chop wood with it!’ Vader shouted at the greyhound who was making exceedingly rude gestures to the angry boxer dog.

‘Vader will you stop it!’ Lexie told Vader off causing him to blush; he didn’t like being told off in public.

Brutus remained quiet, he was getting nervous again, or was it excitement? Perhaps it was both, so just to be safe, he farted.

Leaving the boys with Lexie, I ran to the end of the course ready to try and catch them – a thought that filled me with utter dread.

I gave the hand signal, the boys were then released and I will say that in their favour, they ran beautifully – Vader literally leaving the ground as he ran so fast and Brutus smiled his way down the track.

We cheered them on and even Team Kelpie showed some enthusiasm but that was only because they had heard that Brutus’s Dad is a kelpie so he constitutes in their eyes, half a kelpie and therefore should be supported. This also meant that once the ridgebacks had confirmed that the other half of Brutus was a ridgeback, they could cheer on that part of his breeding. Pedigrees can be so picky you know.

The greyhounds had tried to claim a part of Brutus for themselves on the grounds that he had very long legs but that idea was thrown out when they realised that Brutus had a penchant for cats – as in he loved them.

Brutus came back easily but Vader didn’t like the guy that tried to catch him and told him to ‘piss off’ and ran towards me but as the guy moved in the same direction, Vader swore and ran off, taking a few minutes to be caught by Lexie.

Brutus and Vader – both ‘winning their own race’ (Photo by Mel Jones/Dee Cole)

A time to shine

We decided to go home after that, the boys were so exhausted they barely had the energy to jump in the car as they were that tired.

Kings they came home that day – they had ‘won’ their very own personal races, they had faced their challenges, they had made friends, told others to ‘fuck off’, they had stepped right out of their comfort zone and had mixed with dogs of all shapes and sizes and they had proven themselves as good boys.

On the way home they excitedly discussed their day and how much they enjoyed it, Brutus was extra happy as he had scored a few bitches phone numbers.

Tired boys!

Back home

I helped Brutus out of the car to take him to the house and said goodbye to Lexie.

‘Catch ya later Vader’ Brutus grinned at Vader who was so tired he could barely lift his tongue back in his own mouth.

‘See you later, catch up next week?’ Vader asked hopefully.

Rocky always rubbishes Brutus when he has been away and he shouldn’t really as he has his treats and trips out – and even has a hydrotherapy session booked. An entire swimming pool booked for Rocky and Tess for a whole hour, toys provided, some might say he is too spoiled but Rocky would beg to differ.

Rocky pissed on Brutus’s head as soon as he saw him and bashed him up a bit and by ‘bashed up’ I mean roughed him up and when he had finished, he asked Brutus how his day had gone.

Rocky and Brutus discuss the coursing!

I didn’t hear the whole conversation but overheard Brutus saying about ‘racing’ and ‘winning’ and in typical puppy fashion, by the time Brutus had finished telling his story, he was claiming to have raced with 5 greyhounds and had beaten them hands down.

But that was just Brutus trying to impress Rocky and Rocky knew Brutus was bullshitting but let him have his moment of glory anyway.

Later that night

Brutus was crashed out on his bed; barely able to move and was in such a deep sleep at one point, he must have been dreaming as I could see his legs twitching and his tail wagging in his sleep.

Vader was also exhausted and had told his own version of events to his sister Tess who also didn’t quite believe that Vader had beaten every dog in the event and was going to enter the Greyhound Derby as a boxer dog.

‘Rocky?’ Brutus asked Rocky later that evening.

‘Yes Brutus?’ Rocky replied.

‘You know that each dog has a job and your job is herding?’ Brutus asked.

Rocky looked thoughtful and after a few seconds replied ‘Yes’.

‘Well what is my job? If Dad was a kelpie and Mum was a ridgeback, what is my job?’ Brutus asked sounding confused. He wanted a job of his own like the greyhounds and huskies he met today at the lure coursing.

Rocky stared at him for a minute, realising that this was important to Brutus and that he needed his very own ‘job’.

‘Well lad, let’s say that you are a guard dog for the house and our family, you might not be a racing dog like those greyhounds, or a sled dog like the huskies or a sheep dog like myself but guard dog is just as important if not more so’ Rocky said to Brutus who was taking in every word.

Brutus thought for a moment and then satisfied with the answer, replied ‘Guard dog – I like the sound of that’.

And with that answer, Brutus was more than happy.

Because all dogs should have a ‘job’ and protecting the family is the most important job of all and Brutus does it so well – my very own ‘pedigree’ and I am so proud of him.

The end

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright March 2014

Photographs Copyright (C) to Mel Jones/Dee Cole and Lexie Goldsmith March 2014

What’s around your corner – ‘bubbles, baths and candles’

Posted on March 25, 2014 by Samantha Rose

My Shower – the place to warm my hands up!

A year ago I was living in a tatty little duplex – 3 bedroom house. An old building in very poor repair and in dire need of decorating, renovating and modernization, however it was our home and we were lucky to have it even if we couldn’t afford to patch it up.

The house had a shower in it which is fine, but I hated that shower with a passion. As you can see from the photo, it was old, had tiles comparable to that of ones used in the school showers at my old school and it had that horrible frosty shower glass with wire in it and the shower door was broken.

As I have an auto immune disease which affects my joints, I remember placing my hands which would always turn blue with cold; under the shower in a bid to warm them up and I would end up staying there, standing while the boiling water splashed over me until i was bright red and shrivelled. Anyone with joint issues will vouch I am sure, just how good a soak in a hot bath is and can match a panadol any day of the week for joint and muscle pain.

What was my wish at that time? I shall tell you; the one thing I would have loved to have more than ever was to my very own bath, a bath to soak my aching joints in and warm myself up when cold and what is more; a bath with bubbles and candles to go with it.

It seemed impossible, it would mean selling the house and moving, it was in the ‘too hard basket’ and as my husband wasn’t fussed about a bath, I assumed it simply wouldn’t happen and for five years we remained in that house with that shower that I hated and grew to dread using.

A bath – a pipe dream, it would never happen and I was sure of it.

To cut a long story short, last year we found a house that we liked, we put in an offer which was accepted and our house sold within a week.

You know where I am going with this don’t you? Yes, the new house had a bath in it and I remember the very first day I used that it, I filled it with boiling water and bubbles and I didn’t forget my candles either.

I lay in my new bath and kept topping up the water until my skin went pink and shrivelled. Never had I been so happy, never had my joints been so happy either.

Such a little thing made a huge difference to my life and all it took was a change – albeit a large one, but one I could have made years ago had I been open and receptive and certainly not daunted by it.

My bath – complete with bubbles and candles

Darkest moments and all that….

We all go through dark moments in our lives where we literally cannot see the wood for the trees, where we cannot envisage a light at the end of the tunnel and wonder if we will ever get a lucky break.

I truly believe that at some point in our lives, we will take that journey and whilst we have no control over that, how we view it and deal with it is entirely up to us. It is our choice because at the end of the day, we do have a choice about how we deal with things.

I was going through a very very dark and traumatic stage in my life, I had a period of not working, going through a legal case and we had to take a mortgage payment ‘holiday’ which had two weeks left to expire.

I remember walking around the local wetlands where I live, it is a 6km walk and I was marching along with my little dog totally oblivious to my surroundings – I could have been anywhere, you could have walked past me naked and I would not have seen you, I was literally wrapped up in my own sad little world of worry.

Hearing a noise of a parrot, I glanced to my side and saw a pink and grey (Galah – pink cockatoo), actually there were several of them on the ground. I love parrots and birds and never tire of them and here was this group of cockatoos right in front of me.

Stopping to look at them, I had one of ‘those moments’ where reality hits and does so quite hard – a moment of clarity if you like. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t have, what might happen and various events that had not yet happened as in losing my house, that I was totally blind to what was actually going on around me – life.

I stayed where I was for about ten minutes and took in my surroundings, the parrots flew off and I remained exactly where I was taking stock of life, of me and the choices I could make in how I dealt with things.

Grabbing my phone, I decided to take a photograph of that very moment so that I could look on it should I ever need to remember what was important in life and that is living it and not worrying about it.

To this very day, each time I look at this photograph I am taken back to that moment, to the sounds, sights and smells and I remember how far I have come in so many ways.

The photo I took of Beeliar Wetlands, Western Australia

Things can change when you least expect it

Two weeks before we were due to contact the bank, I was offered a lifeline in the form of some temp work which gave me some much needed confidence as well as a wage to pay the mortgage.

A couple of temp jobs later, I was offered a permanent role in a job that I love and that isn’t far from where I live, the people I work with are fantastic and I really could not wish for more.

I am one of these irritating people that totally look forward to going in to work and consider myself very lucky to be in this position but a few years ago, I would never have imagined being where I am now.

Are things perfect in my life now? No, far from it and I won’t elaborate either but one thing I will say to anyone that is going through a dark patch in their lives and that is things can and do change in the blink of an eye.

No matter how convinced you are of your future, it is not certain, it is not guaranteed and simply cannot be predicted.

Just keep an open mind and don’t shut off a path because you are nervous of taking it; because you never know what is around ‘your corner’ and if you’re lucky, it will contain baths, candles and bubbles.

No words needed – South Beach, Fremantle, Western Australia

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright March 2014

Rainbow Bridge – (a nice place for any pet to go)

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Samantha Rose

Rainbow Bridge – it’s wherever you imagine it to be

Today I want to discuss a place called Rainbow Bridge and most pet lovers/owners will know what I mean by that.

It is a place that our pets go to when they die and I know this because my pets have told me. Whether or not you choose to believe in this is entirely up to you, after all we are all entitled to believe in what we like.

But I know one thing, when we as pet owners are forced to make the difficult decision of having our pets put to sleep, we know of several things;

1. We know that we are ending their pain and suffering

2. We know that we are doing this because we love them and although a hard and painful decision, we know it is for their best

3. And if we are taking steps to end their suffering then surely they are going to a better place?

Rainbow Bridge – you can see it and believe in it if you choose to.

This story is told by my animals and for those of you that follow this blog, will know that I make my animals talk and have social lives, I am a bit of a ‘Dr Doolittle’ if you like. My stories are aimed at adults and often have adult content.

It is aimed at any pet owner who may be struggling to make the decision to send their pet on its final journey and I hope in some way, that it can make it easier to imagine and realise that although owning a pet is incredibly painful when we have to say goodbye, it is also a privilege that can enrich our lives and teach us well, leaving us with wonderful memories to treasure.

Gordon patiently explains about Rainbow Bridge to Brutus

One day (last year) Brutus and Gordon were lying next to each other on the sofa chatting about life – they often did this and at that time, Brutus was much younger then and would positively drink any knowledge that the elderly ginger cat gave to him.

‘Gordon, what is Rainbow Bridge? I heard some dogs in the park talk about it one day, they were all really nice about it but said their owners were upset, what is it?’ Brutus asked Gordon who stared at the young pup intently.

‘What is Rainbow Bridge? – Well let me tell you but I warn you now, there is no quick or easy explanation’ Gordon replied, then wriggled around a bit and settled down so that he could see Brutus and talk to him.

‘Rainbow Bridge is a place that we animals go to when our time with our owners and our life on this earth is done, basically it is when our beating hearts can no longer beat’. Gordon started to say.

‘But where is it, is it in the park, can we walk there?’ Brutus asked Gordon who was now washing his anus in a quick interlude.

‘Oh we can’t get to it until we are sent there and our owners certainly can’t but we animals all know about it and what happens and if you close your eyes and imagine a place where no animal is hungry, no animal has pain, no animal has arthritis or any illness and there are toys and tennis balls and water and mud to play in, all the food we could want and every animal is happy, you get the idea’. Gordon replied.

Brutus looked confused, he had pretty much everything he loved including his Tony Abbott doll and he could never imagine being hungry, well actually he could because he got pretty hungry at meal times but he guessed that was different.

‘No-one should ever be afraid of going to Rainbow Bridge, it is just a lovely place for any pet to go to’ Gordon said firmly.

‘Do you know anyone that has gone there?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

Gordon went quiet for a few minutes, it was still difficult for him to talk about but as Brutus was asking the question, it meant that he was ready to hear the answer.

‘Firstly there was Juniper’ Gordon started to say and then said ‘Let me tell you about Juniper – that was when we lived in London’.

Brutus sat glued to his seat while Gordon explained about the little torti long haired cat called Juniper, whom he loved and cherished, washed and groomed, chased, bashed and just loved her – actually may I just add that I loved her and still to this day miss her and never quite got over her having to go to Rainbow Bridge before I considered her ready but that is another story.

My beautiful tortoiseshell cat – Juniper

‘Juniper developed stomach problems one day and collapsed – it all happened very quickly and I remember Mum coming back from town and finding her lying on the carpet with her tummy swollen.

‘I knew something was wrong’ Gordon carried on speaking and Brutus carried on listening.

‘I remember asking her where she was going and she said to me in her quite torti voice ‘It is time for me to go to Rainbow Bridge’ and that was when I learned about Rainbow Bridge for myself and what it meant’.

Juniper explains to Gordon about Rainbow Bridge

‘Of course I didn’t want her to go, I loved her and lived for her and even forgave her for sicking up a furball on my bed, she was a chatty cat who would talk to everyone and noone and it was only when the vet examined her and reckoned she was brain damaged that we realised why she was so special and would run around the house with dried turd stuck to her bum’. Gordon told Brutus.

‘What was wrong with her, couldn’t the vet help her?’ Brutus asked confused. He would have liked Juniper, he was sure of that.

‘Well I remember Mum having a look on her face, she was working as a veterinary nurse at the time and knew something was wrong, she picked up Juniper and placed her in the white basket that we still have to this day and got her in a taxi to rush her to the vet and that was the last I saw of her’.

‘Two days later, Mum was called to the vet as they had observed Juniper and had decided to open her up in an operation and Mum had to go and see Juniper before they did it’

‘Now I wasn’t there but Mum said she remembered seeing Junipers tortoiseshell coat through the frosty glass as the vet took her from the basket and Mum went in to give her a cuddle, I think they talked about ‘stuff’ but I don’t know what as Mum never told me’. Gordon said quietly – he was finding it a bit hard to remember this but could not admit it to Brutus.

‘All I know is that Mum came home with an empty basket and told me that Juniper had died of cancer that had and Mum had held her in her arms while she was sent to Rainbow Bridge.

‘The only thing she knew and all that any animal knows is when they leave this life and go on to the next, they do get to see a bit of their owners so that they can keep an eye on things until they know they are alright and this can often take a while’.

‘But how do you know what they see at Rainbow Bridge if you are still here?’ Brutus asked.

‘It is something that at some point in our lives, we just get told – just like I am telling you, I have told Rocky and Juniper told me and Junipers brother before me – Bruno the cat, told Juniper. It is a fact of life that comes to us all and a fine piece of knowledge to know’ Gordon said.

(Gordon held his leg high in the air as he washed his anus until he was ready to talk again)

‘Juniper had felt sick and had hidden it for so long that Mum and Dad didn’t have a clue and Juniper knew that when Mum came to the vet to see her before her operation, that it would be the last time she would see her and that is why they had their moment alone together.

‘Juniper felt a bit scared, she didn’t want to leave Mum and she clearly remembers Mum holding her and crying and that made it hard for Juniper to leave. But her body was no longer working and no longer ‘fit her enormous personality’ and really was not good for her anymore and Rainbow Bridge would make her young and fit again, although she was only eight years old, she could have a new lease of life where she would never age and never feel pain again’. Said Gordon.

‘Then what happened?’ Brutus asked.

‘Juniper suddenly saw herself on the vet table with Mum holding her, she looked down for a bit and then looked up and saw a group of cats asking her to go to them. The temptation was too much and as Juniper slowly started to walk to the cats above her, with each step, the pain got less until she reached the cats and there was no pain at all.

‘She didn’t know what to do but she knew she couldn’t go back down to Mum. She could see Mum holding a small torti cat and crying but it no longer felt like it was her – Juniper. She could also see beyond the group of cats, was a large field with all kinds of birds and butterflies and all things that cats like to chase and it looked like such a nice place, she really wanted to go in there.

‘Juniper followed the group of cats and went through the gate and was met with lots of other cats but the thing that surprised her the most, was she met with her brother who had died 18 months prior – Bruno the large black cat. In fact just after Bruno was sent to Rainbow Bridge, Mum was so upset that she went out and rescued me and I came into her life at 9 weeks old.

‘Juniper kept looking back to Mum, not knowing what to do but she knew Mum would be OK, she just knew it because Mum had already done the kindest thing and the only thing she could do and that was send her to Rainbow Bridge and anyone with that kind of strength to do what is right by their pet even though it hurts them as owners, is always going to be OK in life.

‘What happened then?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

‘Well, Juniper saw Bruno and ran up to him – he looked marvellous, so healthy and no sign of the illness that he had when he lived with Mum and Dad. Apparently Bruno greeted Juniper with an affectionate head butt and said ‘Hi Juniper, welcome to Rainbow Bridge’.

‘Juniper walked a bit hesitantly at first and then after a few minutes, was chasing bits of ribbon and butterflies and anything that could float higher than she could in the wind. Ten minutes later, it were as though she had been there forever’.

‘Did you miss her Gordon?’ Brutus asked his brother.

Gordon went quiet for a few minutes and then replied ‘Yes lad, and I still do’.

‘How come you know what happens there when you haven’t been?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

‘We animals are privileged and it is our duty to pass this knowledge on to the younger ones so when it happens to us, you are prepared and in turn, once you gain this knowledge, at some point you will experience it with one of us or yourself. We are lucky to know what we know and to see what we see’. Gordon told Brutus.

‘Have you seen anyone else go to Rainbow Bridge?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

‘Rema, Rema the whippet – I loved her so much, she was the first dog that I fell in love with and one I will never forget’ Gordon replied sounding a bit upset.

‘Rema was a beautiful blue whippet who won dog shows as she was so pretty and Mum even used to race her. I remember when Mum worked in the vets in London, she would take Rema to work because in England, dogs are allowed on buses, tubes and trains and even in some taxis’ Gordon said matter-of-factly.

Rema (the commuter) and me (the vet nurse), waiting for our train

He was very proud of the fact that he came from a country that allowed that and had even been on a few buses himself and trains when he had his de-sexing done at the Royal Veterinary College in Camden when his Mum worked there as a veterinary nurse.

Rema at a lure coursing event in Devon

Gordon and Rema discuss Rainbow Bridge

‘So what happened with Rema?’ Brutus asked. He would have liked Rema and would have enjoyed racing with her.

‘Rema got to 12 years old and had developed kidney problems and was also incontinent and would pee herself all the time – you think shitting yourself is bad!, her back legs were very weak and kept giving way and one day Mum had decided that Rema should go to Rainbow Bridge. She had all sores in her mouth from her bad kidneys and her appetite had gone, old age had literally stolen her from herself.

‘Mum’s old friend who is a vet and used to be Mum’s boss and was the one person that Rema loved and would allow him to do anything to her because quite simply, she trusted him.

‘Mums friend examined Rema and said the kindest thing to do was to send her to Rainbow Bridge. Mum had been thinking about it for a while but needed to know it was the right time because Brutus, there is always a right time to go to Rainbow Bridge, it is just a matter of realising it.

‘Mum held Rema as she went over the Bridge and although Rema was sad hearing Mum cry and having to leave her body behind, when she saw Juniper and Bruno at the gate to Rainbow Bridge, she started to trot and the closer she got, she realised that for the first time in ages, she wanted to eat, she wanted to run and she wasn’t wetting herself as she did it.

‘There were dog toys everywhere, there were rabbits to chase (but not hurt), there were blocks of cheese for her to have (Rema loved stealing cheese) and Rema was so happy to see Bruno and Juniper, that she started barking her head off’.

Brutus was taking this all in, it was so much to take in and he would have questions to ask later no doubt; lots of questions.

‘Gordon, what happened then? Was Mum OK, how can she be OK when she has seen three pets go to Rainbow Bridge?’ Brutus asked sounding more than upset, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to this place where his Mum and Dad were not allowed, he wasn’t sure at all.

Gordon stared at him and touched Brutus’s face to comfort him and replied ‘Mum was just fine, she hugged Rema and said ‘Thank you for being my dog’ so she told me anyway and she said afterwards that knowing Rema wasn’t suffering any more and was at ‘The Bridge’ made it a bit easier. But I will admit to hearing her crying each night for some time and she refused to get rid of Rema’s toys for ages. In fact, she still has her collar which Rocky wore when he was a puppy’

‘Does getting another pet mean you don’t love the one you sent to Rainbow Bridge?’ Brutus asked Gordon, he was confused now.

‘Oh no’ Gordon shook his head vigorously and added ‘Our humans have unlimited space in their lives if they love their pets. We all leave our mark in whatever we have chewed, dug, or destroyed and also in the memories which can never be erased and when a new pet comes into our humans lives needing a loving home, it is never ever a replacement, it just merely takes up a new place to leave his/her own impression on and add to the memory bank of pet ownership.

‘After all, you are hearing about my own memories of Juniper and Rema and in turn, you will have your memories of myself and Rocky but it doesnt mean that there is no room in your life to build up new ones’ Gordon reassured Brutus.

‘Does Rocky know all of this?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

Gordon nodded and said ‘Yes, I had exactly the same chat with Rocky when he was about your age’

Gordon chats to Rocky about Rainbow Bridge

‘Is he scared to go there?’ Brutus asked Gordon.

Gordon smiled and touched Brutus’s face again and replied ‘No lad, he isn’t scared – there is nothing to be scared of. We all have a purpose here and that is to teach our owners to love things for their heart and soul, to be loyal, to be nice and be the best we can be; and once our job is done, it then becomes OUR time to live our own lives at Rainbow Bridge’.

(sounds of Rocky coming in from the garden)

‘What are you two up to?’ Rocky grinned at the two boys.

‘Rainbow Bridge – we are having that discussion’ Gordon said to the little black kelpie who was taking a drink.

Rocky glanced up at Brutus, trying to gauge how he was feeling, it was confusing for a young dog when he has ‘that’ discussion.

‘Ah, Rainbow Bridge – now that is a nice place for any pet to go, don’t be afraid lad – we all go there eventually, it’s just at different times that’s all’. Rocky said confidently.

(Later that night – all the animals were in their respective beds)

Brutus ponders on his thoughts about Rainbow Bridge

Brutus couldn’t sleep, it was all too much for him – he was worried about this Rainbow Bridge place and couldn’t understand how Gordon and Rocky were so calm about it all; would he ever accept it?

*Fast forward to this week – March 2014*

Vader the boxer (Brutus’s best friend) and Brutus were in the fenced off courts where we live and were just standing about chatting about stuff. Suddenly and out of the blue Brutus remembered the Rainbow Bridge conversation that he had with Rocky and Gordon last year.

Brutus and Vader the boxer discuss Rainbow Bridge

‘Vader, what do you know about Rainbow Bridge?’ Brutus asked his best friend.

Vader rearranged his enormous over-sized tongue so that he could answer back.

Staring at Brutus for a few seconds, Vader replied ‘Rainbow Bridge? Now that is a nice place for any pet to go to’

Brutus smiled and nodded, he suddenly felt quite comforted about it all and felt very grown up indeed. Looking at Vader, Brutus replied firmly ‘Yep, that is what Gordon and Rocky say too’.

And that was that – all that was said was what needed to be said – Rainbow Bridge – a nice place for any pet to go to.

According to our pets of course.

The End…..

*This entry is dedicated to Bruno, Juniper and Rema – all the pets that I have had the privilege to own and to send over to Rainbow Bridge.*

Samantha Rose (c) Copyright March 2014

Rocky, Vader and the beginning of a beautiful friendship (with mucous)

Posted on November 6, 2013 by Samantha Rose

Rocky can ‘do smart’ when he has to!

Since we lived in the new house, my Rocky has become quite dog aggressive due to one particular dog that escapes and comes up to our house barking and going at Rocky through the fence, poor old Rocky tries to defend his property and has this huge entire (non desexed) aggressive male going at him through the gate and as a result, Rocky now has zero tolerance to dogs that charge up to him head on and he will bite back.

So if you ever see us in the park (Rocky will always be on the leash unless in the fenced area), we are not being rude if we walk away from your dog, Rocky is in training to get his confidence back and I have to protect him from loose dogs that charge up to him – he is not dog friendly at the moment but we are working on it, but it is best to let Rocky quietly do his thing and not let your dog invade his personal space.

Anyway, the dog in question that teases him from outside is a boxer so when Rocky sees any boxer at all it is game on and he called a couple of boxers in the park ‘minge headed bastards’ the other week and even stuck two paws up to them before flashing his arse, it didn’t end well let me tell you and another kelpie joined in from the sidelines shouting abuse as well and had two magpies not intervened, it would have been messy. But magpies in leather jackets on the sidelines with pointy beaks for weapons, is enough to make anyone soil themselves in fear.

Talking of boxers, Brutus has a special friend – a boxer called ‘Vader’, they snot on each other and even lick each others drool, that is after they have done the genital thing, they are both ‘special’ boys and could lick the windows on any bus that was on offer.

Brutus and his new friend Vader

Rocky got quite jealous last week when Brutus met up with Vader and went out for a run with him, in fact Rocky didn’t just rubbish Brutus and call him a ‘wanker’ when he got back, he duffed him up as well and pissed on his head (yes really!).

Vader and Rocky argue frequently from their respective gardens, Rocky calls him a ‘snub nose twattery’ from his side of the fence and Vader calls him a ‘Sheep abuser’ from his side of the fence and the little staffie from the garden opposite usually yells out ‘You are all a pair of girls’ or other similar comments but he normally ends up sounding as though he has been choked in the normal staffie ‘talking’ kind of way.

As Rocky bristles purely by looking at boxers, he could not believe that Brutus went out for a play date with Vader and refused to talk to Brutus for 5 minutes when he got home and it was only when Brutus started crying like a girl, that Rocky relented and made up with him.

Best friends and sharer of boxer mucous!

So today was Rocky’s turn for some ‘Boxer De-sensitisation’ and was led to Vaders garden to wait for him to come out to the park.

‘I don’t know why we are out without Brutus, and I don’t know why we are here’ Rocky sighed in a sulky kelpie voice.

‘You are going out with Vader today’ I told him in a firm voice and then added ‘Part of your training to rehabilitate you into realising that not all dogs are big testicle bastards that are going to go-you and attack you due to an over surge in testosterone due to their owners not desexing them’

Rocky looked totally horrified and mortified both at once. ‘I, am not, repeat NOT; going out with that!’ He said in a high pitched voice as Vader came out of his garden, all proud with his tail erect in the air, his purple head collar on, snorting and choking in excitement and prancing around like a Hackney trotting pony, in happy disbelief that he had another friend to play with.

‘Are you my new friend? I don’t have many friends, Brutus is my friend, do you know Brutus?’ Vader said in a very quick hyperactive voice, he spoke so quickly it all came out in one breath, then he sneezed particles of snot everywhere and tried to remove his purple head collar.

Looking disgusted, Rocky pretended that either he nor Vadar wasn’t there – dear god this was not going to happen. They were actually going to make him walk with a boxer!

Rocky prefers swimming and tennis balls to anything else in the world!

‘Do you know Brutus?’ Vader repeated his question.

‘I am his brother’ Rocky replied in a stiff voice, he was trying ever so hard to disown the handsome brown and white boxer dog but Vader was trying to get close to him and in a desperate bid to look ‘cool’, wiped his face along the grass and ended up doing some sort of ‘break dance’ with his arse in the air and his front part on the ground as he pushed along like a special dog with his tongue hanging out like a bright pink piece of wet ham.

Once we got to the courts where they could go off the leash, well Rocky went off the leash and Vader stayed on as he was so over excited that he wanted to jump on Rocky’s head but that would have been too much for the little black kelpie ‘with issues’.

Vader stopped what he was doing and looked up at Rocky, ‘Are you the dog that calls me a twat – minge wanker?’ Vader asked slowly.

‘Are you the dog that calls me a sheep molester and a common kelpie from Bunbury that dresses up as a lamb in my spare time?’ Rocky asked in a dangerous voice.

The two dogs momentarily glared at each other with the realisation that the dog that they had been hurling insults at from over the fences for the past two months, were in fact each other.

‘You bastard!’ Vader yelled.

‘Wanker’ Rocky yelled back and then they had a momentary scuffle with Vader on the leash and Rocky off the leash – it was all noise and mucous really and sounded more dramatic than it was. Verbal insults took place like ‘squashed face’ and ‘sheep shagger’ from both parties.

Rocky did a few kelpie herding circles round Vader while barking his head off until he got the firm arm signal and voice from me making him stop what he is doing and sit – which he did very reluctantly as he was enjoying the argument – safe in the knowledge that he was off the leash and Vader was on the leash.

After the ‘disagreement’, we decided to go back as it was rather hot and as we walked home, both boys looked a bit embarrassed by their behaviour.

‘I could have eaten you had I wanted to’ Vader muttered to Rocky.

‘Yeah right and I could have bitten your brown arse’ Rocky replied and then lit a fag, after looking at Vader coldly for a few seconds, he pulled out his packet of ‘Kelpie no: 10’ kelpie cigarettes and offered Vader one.

Taking the cigarette, Vader let Rocky light it for him. Although Vader doesnt normally smoke but didn’t want to show himself up in front of Rocky. Taking a deep puff of the fag which contained catnip and Schmacko chews, Vader coughed his guts up and tried to blame it on a cold virus.

‘Hey, I saw a nice poodle coming out of yours the other day, lovely arse on her’ Rocky said as the boys walked back.

‘Was that the white one?’ Vader replied grinning at Rocky.

‘Yeah I think so, she was hot’ Rocky nodded in a way that only a perverted male can do when he looks at Kylie Minogues arse.

‘She is a regular, Mum clips her up all the time’ Vader told Rocky.

‘Reckon you can get her number for me?’ Rocky asked hopefully. The dogs were walking quite calmly now, and aside from Vader trying to stuff his snout up Rocky’s arse, it was all going swimmingly.

Vader looked up thoughtfully and replied ‘Yeah, I reckon I can, I know some hot bitches that come round for their clips and beauty treatments, I even have photos of them with no collars on’

Rocky looked jealous ‘Lucky bastard, wish I could see them all’.

‘I can get you a back stage pass, you can dress up to be a poodle and Mum can clip you and you can meet the bitches’ Vader said happily. He was over excited now – he could use this and work it to make him the most popular dog on the block – think ‘Project X’. He could see it now, a pool party in the garden with Rocky and Brutus and all the hot bitches in bikinis, the boys would do the BBQ, there would be cool music on and no adult humans to ruin it. Oh yes, he was going to milk this – round up the poodles and remove their collars, he would be the envy of the suburb!

‘Right, that’s us, we are home now’ I told Rocky as we went to the house, Vader looked at Rocky and said nervously ‘Bye Rocky, see you again?’

Rocky stared back and said ‘Catch ya later’

And with that, both dogs were taken to their respective homes.

‘Wanker!’ Rocky yelled to Vader as he went in his house.

‘Sheep shagger from Bunbury!’ Vader yelled back before doing the ‘boxer sneeze’.

But this time, Rocky had a little smile on his face and when Rocky was having a drink in the garden, I could just about hear him talking to Brutus who had broken his ridgeback heart because he had been left behind and howled like a baby from his room when we went out.

‘Here Turd Legs, guess what? – Vader can introduce us to poodles in bikinis and everything and we are going to have a party, can you imagine how popular we will be?’ Rocky was telling a wide eyed Brutus who had forgotten all about being upset about Rocky going out without him.

‘I thought you hated Vader’ Brutus asked Rocky.

Rocky shrugged his shoulders and replied simply ‘He is OK’

‘For a boxer’ Brutus added – grinning in his typical ridgeback grin.

Rocky dipped his head into the water bowl, had a drink and then replied ‘Yeah, for a boxer’.

‘Love ya Rocky, you are my new best friend!’ Vaders voice yelled from over the fence – still panting from his walk.

‘Wanker!’ Rocky shouted back.

And with that all three boys burst out laughing, sniggering in a way that only naughty dogs can.

Best friends? Who knows but one day at a time and all that.

The Waiting Room

Posted on October 27, 2013 by Samantha Rose

This article is about my journey when my Mum was diagnosed with cancer and to a certain extent – my Mum’s as well in the best way I can tell it as she can’t herself.

To respect the privacy and emotions of my family, they have had little mention in this because I believe that whilst we all played an essential part in helping and supporting Mum as a family, we all have our own story to tell.

We have all travelled our own path and this one is mine but it is by no means taking away the hard work and dedication that my sisters, nieces, and nephews and friends offered to my Mum – because trust me, that was when I realised the importance of family and just how close we are. But as I said, this is my story as I saw it.

The Waiting Room

Most people I know would assume a waiting room is something that is found in a hospital, doctors, dentist, physiotherapist and they would be right but this article is not about that kind of waiting room. It is about a waiting room that not everyone gets to visit and only some get to notice or observe.

When my Mum was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in November 2005, our (myself and my siblings) world ended as we knew it and little did we know, that we would be entering a dark tunnel of grief and pain. I distinctly remember ‘bargaining with God’ to make her better, to make it a medical mistake, to make it a nightmare and most of all, to make us all wake up from that nightmare saying ‘Thank god that wasn’t real’.

Except it was real, it was also brutally harsh, cruel, emotional and exceptionally very painful and the emotional roller-coaster that took place after that fateful diagnosis will be one that every member of my family will remember – each for their own reasons.

When a loved one is diagnosed with cancer, the whole family dynamics change; quite simply they have to. Each person will take on a role – nurse/carer, driver/organizer, worker/provider, support person etc and it normally is the best person takes on each job so to speak.

After the shock of a diagnosis when you realize that all the screaming and shouting and bargaining in the world won’t change the outcome, and that crying until your arms go numb and your eyes swell up from over crying – everything is still the same. And when the shock of saying the word ‘cancer’ in the same sentence as your loved one has subsided (but not worn off because for some of us it doesn’t), only then do you start to get practical and make plans.

Because to be honest, you may not be able to change the outcome of the ‘hostile lodger’ that is cancer in your family, but you can change how you deal with it and what is said and done along the way. So much is within your control if you choose it to be.

At the time of Mum’s diagnosis I was at university studying nursing (something that I never completed) and I remember when Mum was diagnosed, it was the loneliest period of my life. It was like my foundations had been rocked and they had because Mum was the key part of those foundations and the fabric of my life.

Mum and me in hospital

Even when the heater was on, I was cold – the coldest I had ever been, the loneliest, the saddest and the most frightened. Who wrote the rulebook on cancer because I needed a section on how to cope? There didn’t seem to be a chapter on that part.

‘Where do you get strength from?’ I asked a friend one day when I told him about my Mum, sobbing down the phone as he listened to me, not knowing what to say – who does in those situations? Where did I find the strength to cope? Well I shall tell you, I found it from my friends, I found it from the cancer support team, and I found it from my family knowing that the only people that truly know what you are going through are the ones that are going through or have been through the same thing. But most of all I discovered a strength within me that I never knew existed, almost as though it lays dormant until required and then like a trooper, steps right up to the table.

The best advice came from a friend who wrote me a message which read simply ‘Spend every second you can with her, say everything you want to, leave nothing unsaid and make the most of each day with her’ (or words to that effect). And it was that advice that served me well and something I would advise anyone else to do as well.

Due to Mum’s rapid deterioration, I gave up university; after all why should I study about caring for others when my Mum needed me to care for her? Also the university couldn’t grant me any further compassionate leave but did offer me ‘some time off in the third year’ (I was in the first year) and as Mum was on borrowed time and had a poor prognosis, I bit the bullet and walked out of University that very day that they said that I couldn’t have further time off.

I remember walking through Ealing (London) feeling as though a weight had left my shoulders because now I could commit to what was important – my Mum.

“Mum, I have dropped out of Uni” I told her cheerfully but secretly terrified as I would have to pay back the NHS Bursary payment that I owed them. How I was going to pay my way was anyone’s guess and I was more than aware of the strain that it would put on my husband who would be the sole earner. Still, I did not regret that decision and I still don’t to this very day.

“You didn’t do that because of me did you?” Mum asked – sounding weak and tired on the phone.

“No of course not” I replied – which was partly true really as I didn’t want to stay in a place and an industry that claimed to care yet wouldn’t allow me to do the same with my own family.

“Liar” Mum replied – she knew me so well!

God bless the telephone….

I don’t know about you but to those of you that have been in a similar position, I found myself calling my Mum a million times a day, I would start off pretending that I needed to ask her something, then by the end of the day I would be doing it purely to hear her voice so I knew she was safe and ‘still alive’. I will also admit to still having Mum’s mobile number on my phone because I cannot bring myself to delete it.

“Will you stop calling me, I have spoken to you lots of times already” Mum would tell me off.

“Love you Mum” I would say at the end of each call.

“Love you Smanff” (My childhood nickname) She would reply, I would tell her that I would speak to her tomorrow, she would agree but we both knew that I would call before bed. Suddenly all the ‘I love you’s’ in the world were not enough and I had realized that up until now, I hadn’t appreciated her like I should have done. I had always assumed that when I went back home, she would be there in her reclining chair with her handbag by the side of her, her glasses case on the arm and her coffee cup by the table.

I had assumed that she would be in her chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat when I walked in the door, as she would say “Hi Smanff”.

I had also assumed that I would always be able to call her and say “It’s me” and Mum would reply “Hello me” as she always did. But we all know the old saying about assumption – just never do it because it will come back to bite you.

When Mum came out of hospital after the initial diagnosis, the family met up at Mum’s and we had a traditional Sunday roast and Mum sat at the end of the table like the Queen she was and also the most significant person at the table. I had brought my video camera but sadly Mum was so tired she would fall in and out of sleep and the only footage I got of her that day was when she was asleep – why didn’t I video her before this diagnosis so that I would have had better and more memorable footage – now there’s a question I ask myself every day.

I recall looking at her, when did my larger than life character of a Mum get so tiny and frail – how on earth did that little body manage to hold such a big personality? I wanted to stare at her face forever and take in every aspect so that I would remember everything; I stared at her until my eyes burned. I stared at her chest to make sure she was breathing and I stared with all my heart and soul because I knew, well we all knew, that she was going to a place that we were not allowed to go to.

“I will fight it” Mum would say firmly looking more determined than I had ever seen her, but shortly afterwards she would be fast asleep in her chair looking as pale as pale can be.

Mum – the ‘fighter’

She had been prescribed morphine quite early on but she hated it, she said it sent her ‘mad’ and much to the disapproval of the cancer nurse specialist, Mum stopped the morphine to regain her mental clarity on thoughts and judgment and you know something – that was her right to do so.

Mum seemed ‘normal’ for a while, well I say a while it might have been a few days, it might have been longer. She was tired and she was uncomfortable but she was ‘with it’ as to quote her.

But very slowly, so slowly that you could barely notice it, she became quite distant, as though her mind had the ability to leave her body (and us) for a bit and go off somewhere else.

“What are you thinking Mum?” I would ask her at various times her when it appeared her mind had wondered.

“Nothing” Mum would reply.

This would be a daily question with the same response but one day when I saw her ‘escaping’ from her own thoughts, I asked her the question again.

“What are you thinking about Mum?” I said – expecting the same response.

Mum ‘came back’ from her ‘mind escape’ and stared at me hard. Her piercing blue eyes bore into mine; she paused momentarily as if choosing her words carefully and replied firmly “I am thinking about how you kids will cope when I am gone”

That was when it dawned on me that how we (me and my family) coped with this, would determine how Mum would cope with her cancer and her own journey.

It took a huge amount of courage to say “We are going to be just fine” – Mum looked at me and held my hand. She had ‘Mum hands’ – you know what ‘Mum hands’ are, they are special hands that kind Mums have, usually with too tight rings on them giving the impression of chubby fingers. ‘Mum hands’ are used to cover your forehead to see if you have a temperature and are far more reliable than any thermometer.

These very special hands are used to comfort you, hold your hand and generally make you feel that nothing else could match nor compensate for the ‘Mum hands’ of your Mum – except for when she is giving you a clip round the ear for being naughty and then those hands are the biggest in the world and a force to be reckoned with.

Mum stared at me for what seemed ages, as if assessing my ability to cope without her. Could she tell I was crying inside and begging her not to leave me, could she feel the raw pain I was feeling and the emotional and devastating need to go where she is going and hang on to her hands and follow her?

Mum then sighed and nodded, as though she had got all the answers that she needed, whatever she had tested me with, I had passed the initial stage and she could go on to the next stage in her life and that is what I have called ‘The Waiting Room’.

The Waiting Room – (my definition) ‘a place where your loved one starts to go when they want to prepare you for your life without them in it’

Obviously your experience may be different and you might have your own version of how things are when you are faced with losing a terminally ill relative but this is mine.

Mum’s mental escapes would become more and more frequent. She would be sitting in her chair with her eyes open but she ‘wasn’t there’, she would go off into her own world and I couldn’t go with her.

“Where do you go Mum, can I come with you?” I wanted to ask but couldn’t.

One day I had to go to the shop to get her some milk for her coffee, when I got back, Mum was sat in her chair with a broken glass on the floor around her feet – I felt sick with horror of the what might have happened, she could have hurt herself badly and I hadn’t been there to protect her.

“Sorry, I broke a glass” Mum told me in a weak yet matter-of-fact voice and then off she went escaping from her own mind into ‘The Waiting Room’.

I cleaned up the glass and made her a mug of coffee and sat down next to her and decided that if I couldn’t join her in ‘The Waiting Room’ then I would try and watch her go there.

I made small talk with Mum and watched her nod and smile at suitably appropriate moments and then quite suddenly, Mum drifted off, her eyes took on a blank stare, she would stop communicating and off she would go into her new world ‘The Waiting Room’.

I stared at her and tried to imagine what it was like there and I came up with this explanation.

They start off by distancing themselves from you at a tiny bit at a time, but prior to this, they need to know that you are ready for them to take this step. It is an invisible room with an invisible wall that is so strong; it cannot be cracked nor broken in to. They can see you but you cannot see them and they will keep dipping in and out of this room to check on you that you are OK and more to the point, that you are going to be OK and only when they are satisfied that you are strong enough, will they decide the time to make their last trip to The Waiting Room before they pass on to their ‘final resting place’ – wherever that may be depending on your beliefs (or not).

I sat for what seemed ages staring at Mum, with her ‘Mum hands’ all clenched up holding her own fingers, her eyes open, a wistful look on her face – wherever she was, I wanted to be there with her, why couldn’t I go with her, it just wasn’t fair? But I guess there isn’t space for me there, I don’t know but I do know that I saw her go there, I saw it with my own eyes and heart and what is more; I felt it too.

Many a time I watched Mum go through to ‘The Waiting Room’, each time for a little longer and then quite suddenly she would answer a question as sharp as you like as though someone had whispered in her ear it was time to come back to me.

The times Mum was in ‘The Waiting Room’ were lonely times and although she was sat next to me, I was the loneliest and the coldest I had ever been in my life and no heater in the world could have warmed me up.

Mum hadn’t been out of hospital following her diagnosis for very long when she collapsed and was taken by ambulance to hospital. I was back in London at the time with my husband after travelling between St Albans and Northolt, when I received the message and made my way to the hospital.

Hemel Hempstead Hospital

Mum was in hospital for about 10 days before a hospice bed was found for her, I refused to leave the hospital and was allowed to sleep on the floor in the dayroom and my goodness did we have some fun in there!

The following memories are to name but a few that happened in hospital and during that time we were there, we forged friendships with nurses, doctors, patients and relatives and the kindness of complete strangers totally restored my faith in humanity at that time.

Each evening I would help Mum settle and do little bits and pieces for her, then I would change into my pyjamas and shuffle off to the dayroom armed with my blanket and pillow and watch TV with the other patients.

One night I had cleaned Mum’s false teeth and I was standing over the sink with a pot of Steredent false teeth cleaner (the smell reminds me of Mum) and I said in a too loud voice “Mum, I have cleaned your false teeth for you and rinsed them for the morning”

Mum pursed her lips in a disapproving ‘Mum look’ and replied rather curtly “Thank you Samantha, now the whole ward knows I have false teeth!”

Aside from the fact that my darling Mum was sitting up in bed in a blue nightdress looking like a gummy bear with no teeth in her mouth, the whole ward could see that she had no teeth of her own! Still I got told off for making it obvious – something that still makes me smile to this day.

Another time there was a male prisoner on the ward and he was handcuffed to two prison warders. I made friends with him and would often go to Budgens to buy delicious food and share it with him and his wardens and another night the prison wardens treated him and me to pizza and we shared it – it was the best pizza that I had ever eaten and I will always remember that night we all fell asleep in the dayroom, me huddled up with a blanket and the prison wardens chained to the prisoner, occasionally jangling their chains each time they moved to change sleep positions. I don’t know if I felt safe because they were there or unsafe because they had a prisoner. But they were great company and so was the prisoner and I often think about what he is up to and if he or the prison wardens remember the tatty looking blonde woman curled up with a blanket late at night in the dayroom, or the night I treated them to smoked salmon from Budgens.

I told Mum about the prisoner and Mum said in a worried voice “I don’t know that I am happy about you hanging out with criminals”. But she needn’t have worried, the guy was chained to two officers at all times and those poor bastards had to accompany the prisoner even to the toilet!

It was ever so funny one night; we were all in the dayroom having had our food and sharing sweets and stuff when the nurse came in to check on me. Apparently Mum had said to the nurse “My Samantha is hanging out with a criminal, can you check she is OK?” (Imagine that in a Yorkshire accent!)

So myself, the prisoner, the two guards and the prisoners girlfriend (who was visiting at the time), all went down to Mum’s bed to show her that I was OK and the prisoner waved to Mum with his chains rattling and the prison wardens all waved as well and so did his girlfriend – it was like being a member of the Chain Gang! Mum nervously waved back and raised her eyebrows! We laughed about it the next day and Mum said I had surpassed myself ‘hobnobbing with the Underworld’!

Mum rarely went into ‘The Waiting Room’ when she was first in hospital, in fact she seemed to communicate more there than she ever did at home which told me that her need to have myself and my sisters and brother cope after she had gone, was really important to her and when she was in hospital, she didn’t have to pretend to be brave, she didn’t need to be scared of upsetting or scaring people because at the end of the day death and the grieving process is not only scary, but terrifying for all involved and after all, it’s something that ordinarily our parents want to protect us from.

One night I was sleeping beside her bed, curled up in a chair with a blanket and a pillow. I had just fallen asleep and could feel someone poking me, I rubbed my eyes and looked up and it was Mum leaning out of her bed poking me to wake me up.

“Are you OK Mum?” I asked her.

“Just checking that you are still here” Mum replied and then patted me on the shoulder. I curled back up again but stayed awake in case she needed me.

“Mum?” I asked her.

“Yes love?” Mum replied, I could see her beady little eyes glistening in the dim light of the hospital bed lamp.

“I love you” I replied. I would have said it ten times as well, in fact I did under my breath when she was asleep.

“I love you too” Mum said and patted me again.

“Just so you know” I told her and I could feel her frail hand fumbling from the cot sides of the bed – I took it and held it, feeling her gnarled arthritic fingers grip mine – it was precisely 11.20pm, I remember the time well as I had my phone next to me. That was how we would always fall asleep, holding each others hand and I wondered just how and when something so simple as holding hands could suddenly become so important and I held her hand as though my life and hers depended on it.

That became our bedtime mantra you know, “Mum I love you, just so you know” – I said that every single night up until the very morning that she died.

Mum had eventually started to go back to ‘The Waiting Room’ while she was in hospital. One night we were watching ‘A Night at the Proms’ on TV and Mum was in her own world, probably assisted by the morphine and nothing would rouse her.

I was organizing her bed as I still liked to plump her pillows though and tidy her hair and just feel like I was doing something, in fact I ended up plumping a few pillows there of the elderly patients, to this day I don’t know if their pillows needed plumping or they allowed me to purely to humour me. I assisted with the teas and coffees as well and we would all gather round someone’s bed at night and watch TV over a cuppa.

When a ‘Night out at the Proms’ were on TV, the all male opera group were on ‘IL Divo’ and they were Mum’s favourite, she loved them. I recall Mum opening her eyes and giving a big grin before she went back to sleep, I guess those boys have the power to ‘get anyone out of the Waiting Room’!

The Hospice

Mum was transferred for what was to be her final journey to the hospice; I was in the ambulance with her. We had all gained a level of acceptance, although it was still so painful, we knew what was going to happen and it was almost like an organized and controlled journey and it was out of our hands.

Many people in life are denied the chance to say goodbye to their loved ones, car crashes/plane crashes/murder/heart attack – all kinds of things can snatch a life so proper goodbyes are denied to those left behind.

With cancer and good medical care, you are often given the chance to say goodbye, either at the time or you can say your goodbyes beforehand – it doesn’t really matter, but basically you get the chance to say what needs to be said, you get the chance to say ‘I love you’ or ‘I am sorry’, or to make peace and get the chance to hold the hand of the one you love. I consider myself blessed and incredibly lucky to have had that time with my Mum because not everyone is so lucky.

The Wedding Planner!

When my husband and I got married, we didn’t tell anyone – not our parents, or anyone and yes we hurt them, which is something, I regret doing to this day. A week before Mum died, I had organized with the vicar in the hospice if we could renew our wedding vows and I would surprise Mum on Christmas Day – except that the best laid plans tend to screw up.

Mum had started to become confused and in the end I had to tell her about ‘the wedding’ to keep her focused.

“Mum, what is happening on Christmas Day?” I would ask her.

Mum who had been back in her ‘Waiting Room’ would very quickly come back to me and say “A Wedding” and then she would smile and be off again. Mum was fading fast and I had 4 days to keep her, 4 days to make amends for marrying without her being there – 4 days, would she make it?

A (difficult) Decision

It was a couple of days before we renewed our wedding vows and I was assisting Mum with her tablets.

‘Here you go Mum’ I said and popped her medication in her hands and helped her put it in her mouth.

Her eyes fixed on me, she was out of ‘The Waiting Room’, and she moved her tongue from side to side in her mouth and then removed every single tablet and handed them back to me. It didn’t register what she wanted so I made attempts to give them back to her.

“Come on Mum, you have to take your meds” I smiled at her.

“I said NO” Mum said firmly, her blue eyes burning holes into mine. She was making a stand, making a choice and asking me to respect it.

“That’s OK Mum, you don’t have to do this anymore, I shall let the doctor know” I said softly, trying to hard not to cry that my eyes were burning.

Mum suddenly became more lucid and came out of ‘The Waiting Room’ and held my hand, she was trying not to cry. “But what about you kids, will you be alright?”

I will always remember what I said to her because it took every bit of strength to give her my next response.

“Don’t you worry about us, you have taught us well and I promise you that we are all going to be just fine” I replied.

Mum stared at me, nodded, held my hand and went straight back into ‘The Waiting Room’ quicker than I have ever seen her do, in fact I could have sworn that she skipped in there with a spring in her step – she was ready for the next stage in her life. I held her hand and she maintained a weak grip on mine and that was how we remained until my sister arrived.

December 25^th 2005

“Can’t stop, I have a wedding to go to!” The vicar said cheerfully after we had done the Christmas morning carol service where my niece had stood up and sang a song for Mum.

I remember wearing this horrible nasty grey jumper and some jeans, I looked awful but I still reserve the right to have the title of ‘blushing bride’ even if it was a while since I had blushed let alone initially made my wedding vows.

My family gathered round the bed and my husband and myself stood near the vicar and we had to read our vows from the bible.

There was one moment that Mum would have loved and that was when the vicars robes knocked over a jug of water and it went everywhere, I wanted to giggle but felt that God would have kicked my arse and told me off but I know my Mum would have laughed – perhaps she did and I never saw it.

Mum was barely awake, sedated from morphine and she could not be roused really.

Let me tell you that it took all my strength not to cry reading those vows and I suspect it would be the same for my family as well. We all held on and remained composed as the vicar read out the vows and we repeated them.

Our ‘wedding day’ by Mum’s bed

At the end of the ceremony, my nephew said, “Aunty Samantha, look! Quick, look at Nana!”

I looked at Mum’s face, she was lying on her back, her eyes open and tears pouring down her cheeks – she had heard it, she had heard everything I was sure of it!

“Mum, squeeze my hand if you heard the wedding” I said to her as I held her hand, which was cold and floppy. To my immense surprise, Mum squeezed my hand as hard as she could.

“Mum, squeeze my hand if I have made it all OK” I whispered to her, wanting to try yet wanting to stay composed – tears would upset Mum, I was sure of that.

Mum squeezed my hand so hard that I wondered where her strength came from. “Mum, I love you” I whispered close to her ears.

“I love you too,” Mum whispered in a husky barely audible voice.

26^th December 2005

Mum died peacefully at 2.40pm on 26^th December 2005. It was like she had left ‘The Waiting Room’ and had gone to her final journey, she had fought to stay with us for as long as she could now she knew we would all be OK, she felt comfortable enough to leave us.

Where did you go Mum?

The question I ask myself all the time since Mum died is ‘Where did you go?’. I want to know where she has gone, I want to know where she is and whilst it is nice when people tell me “She can see you, she knows you miss her”; I am rather selfish as I want proof of all this.

I saw what I perceived and interpreted as ‘The Waiting Room’, is it so selfish of me to want a glimpse of what is beyond that?

Me doing Race for Life in Mum’s name

Abdel, Mum and me – healthier days and Mum always smiling!

Dedicated to my Mum whose strength in her journey taught me how to be strong myself and how not to be afraid of what life may throw at me.

IF YOU REQUIRE HELP AND SUPPORT

Cancer is not only a disease, it is a lonely and traumatic journey that can turn your life on its head – but there is help out there and please do not be ashamed to admit that you need a helping hand to cope – either for yourself or your family.

The biggest step is deciding that you need to talk to someone and by talking to someone, you take the first step of managing the grieving process, because at the end of the day it is that – a grieving process that has to be dealt with by yourself.

Please be kind to yourself and remember that there is help out there, reach out for it and don’t be scared to ask for it. Something I found helpful was before I went to bed each night, was to write down in a notebook exactly how I was feeling, it was random, it made no sense, it was barely readable but as my psychotherapist told me ‘If it’s on paper then it’s out of your head’ and he was right. Then I would rip it up and throw it away and even I was surprised at how much lighter I felt after doing it.

Here are some links that you may find useful – although some of these are UK links, you may find the equivalent in your own country.

http://www.macmillan.org.uk
http://www.cancerresearchuk.org
http://www.cruse.org.uk
http://www.lifesupports.com.au/Counselling
http://www.cancercouncil.com.au

Sjogrens and Throwing Ones Toys (and Methotrexate) out of the Pram

Posted on September 30, 2013 by Samantha Rose

Even Gordon hates the Methotrexate

It had to happen sooner or later, even my practice nurse wasn’t surprised when it did – yes I threw my toys out of the cot, lost my temper with my situation, my illness, myself and ultimately my medication, oh yes and my consultant as well.

After seeing yet another specialist at the hospital – same team but different doctor, going through the whole process of giving your medical history which in my case is not consistent as I have memory issues, thinking ‘Yep, I like this guy, I hope I see him again’ and then finding out each different visit will bring a different doctor and eventually loss of confidence, I finally lost the plot and my sanity.

It was an ordinary day after the hospital visit and the day before Methotrexate injection day when I had a (inaccurate) moment of clarity. I was not going to tolerate this disease (Sjogrens) any longer, I was fed up with my blood request forms sometimes reading ‘SLE’, sometimes reading ‘Sjogrens’ and sometimes both in the diagnosis section, I was fed up with feeling sick from my injection and fed up with feeling sick from missing my injection – you get the picture FED UP.

Thursday was rebellion day for me and I telephoned the hospital and cancelled my appointment, then Friday I threw a brand new box of 5 vials of Methotrexate in the sharps bin – I felt liberated, surely by putting them in the bin my body would realise I didn’t need them? Yeah right!

No injection for me on Friday and the following week I had decided to dispose of my sharps bins and the only place I could take it to was my GP.

‘What is in the sharps bin?’ The nurse asked with a disapproving look on her face, she knew what was in the bin, she needed to make sure I knew what was in the bin.

‘Methotrexate’ I muttered, blushing furiously.

‘Well, if you want to throw it away, then see the doctor first to make sure you are making an informed decision’ She said firmly and before I knew it, I had an appointment booked for the next day to discuss my actions with my GP.

‘But why can’t you see me all the time, you are a doctor, you know what you are doing?’ I demanded to my GP the next day, he responded with that pitying look that screams ‘Oh dear’ and replied ‘You need to see a specialist and I shall reinstate your appointment’.

And that was that, my appointment as quickly as it had been cancelled, was rebooked and just literally days later, appeared in the post like a nasty Telstra bill that winks at you through the envelope and calls you a ‘wanker’.

‘Damn it!’ I thought, ‘Sjogrens wins again’ Ah but had it? I had still gone a couple of days without my Methotrexate – I didn’t need it, Oh no, I was in charge of my body and whilst I may need a specialist, I did not need the Methotrexate, in fact had I not been so dependent on my 5mgs of predinsolone and my Plaquenil tablets, I would have binned those as well and not only that, told them to ‘piss right off’ as I did so. But that really would have been chopping my nose off to spite my face, actually it would have been more akin to chopping my head off to spite my neck and my gut feeling told me not to be so daft.

Humble Pie and all that…..

By the following Monday my joints were sore and not in the usual niggle way that they are, they were like protesting big time and even the Endone wasn’t working. Now for me, Methotrexate makes me feel crap – I lose two days and gain 5 but I have got to the stage where even drawing up the drug makes me dry retch and I am sure I am not alone in that, hell even my cat Gordon runs away when he sees me get my injection ready. After the dry retching comes exhaustion and drowsiness and my body generally protests because the drug is so toxic and goes against what your body is meant to do as in suppress your immune system, except as we all know, those of us in the Sjogrens/Lupus club have our immune systems attack us like the enemy we are not.

The next day for me, is spent feeling nauseous and the slightest smell of food can make me feel like vomiting – except that I never vomit but have taken an aversion to some foods as in Curry, Chilli, Spag Bolognese, etc. And to make that worse, I also have to contend with intellectually and hormonally challenged females that no matter how many times they are told that no, I cannot get pregnant, what I have is hereditary, and at 46 years old I am too old to reproduce and finally, yes they love their children and I am pleased for them but I don’t feel the same way and am not about to get pregnant to fit in with what they perceive to be ‘the norm’. So as you can see, Methotrexate comes with side effects – nasty ones and with that, brings out the stupid from society to make their own hormone surging judgements.

The day after methotrexate is a big challenge, I love doing my housework and take pride in a nice home but since I have been on this drug, it is all I can do to skim around the house with a vacuum and have resorted to scouring pages like Groupon and Scoopon in a bid to get a discounted Roomba or Robomaid to make my life easier – as my husband does all the cooking and I do the cleaning, we are a team and that is how we work. Although Abdel has said he would pay handsomely to see our dogs herd up the Roomba or Gordon the cat ride around on it but that is another story.

All those of you that take methotrexate, I am sure understand these sick feelings, the exhaustion, the dizziness, the nausea, the feeling so drained and weak that even lying on the sofa is not enough, quite simply you could melt through it and dissolve through the sofa if you could.

So you can imagine the moment of liberation I felt when I threw my brand new five bottles of the stuff into my sharps bin and took it to my nurse to dispose of. Allow me if you may, that momentary joy for it was just that, momentary.

Back to ‘humble pie’ – by the following Friday I had deteriorated hugely, I could barely type, my pain levels were on a 6/10, my brain fog was dreadful, my rash on my cheeks was making a guest appearance, my feet felt as though they had been smashed by hammers and quite honestly, I felt like I wanted to die.

Typing is my job, I do it well and pride myself on the fact that I can type 90wpm (touch typing). Except for when I suffer from temper tantrums that involve me throwing my drugs that enable me to type, into the bin and then it all goes pear shaped as you can see from the photographs below.

The beginning of my swollen knuckles and very sore as well

After two weeks my ‘everything’ hurt, that is the only way I could describe it – ‘my everything’. I honestly thought that I could think myself better, I believed by throwing my drugs in the bin that I would rid myself of the nausea and exhaustion, not to mention the risks associated with the drug itself, but in fact I had caused myself to relapse and had done far more harm than good and more to the point, it was all my own fault.

On the second Friday I was due to take my injection, I decided that was the time to eat humble pie and I telephoned my trusty and excellent pharmacist and asked him to put another script out for me. After being told it would be ready in one hour, my colleague and good friend Rhoda, drove me to the chemist to pick up my ‘Holy Grail’ that is the methotrexate and I also bought myself a brand new sharps container for good measure along with a chocolate Freddo bar as a treat.

‘You only had a script for that recently?’ the pharmacist said looking concerned.

‘I know, I threw them away’ I replied and looked embarrassed – actually I was embarrassed and I make no bones about that fact.

He looked at me sympathetically, nodded and without further question, gave me my stuff and told me to take care and I went on my way.

I injected myself as soon as I got home, realising that after just two weeks if my joints were that bad, imagine if I had waited longer and how crap I would have felt.

My wedding rings had to be soaped off due to my swollen joints

It were as though we had never been parted – the methotrexate and myself. Having developed a psychological aversion to injecting myself (according to my GP), I had began to associate the injection itself (which does not hurt) with nausea and feeling lousy – a bit like my cat when he goes to the vet and sees his annual booster being drawn up.

Helping Oneself…..

What could I do to make things better? I asked myself several times and came up with an idea of getting our nurse to inject me and after speaking to my GP, it was agreed that every Friday I would go to the surgery to have my injection which would remove the stress and routine of me drawing up ‘the yellow juice’ because even looking at the vial makes me queasy.

It went OK, the nurse did it and said ‘You have done your girl thing and had your temper tantrum, us girls can do that, it had to happen and now its time to knuckle down and take your drugs’ She said firmly. She was right, I knew it and she knew it.

I attended my specialist appointment last week and spoke to him of my concerns of seeing a different doctor each time and the issues that surround it. He has agreed that I will see either himself or the other consultant and has decided to try me on Cellcept – starting with a half dose and doubling up to full dose this Thursday.

Then if that works, weaning me off the Methotrexate and then slowly weaning me off the steroids. I am only on 5mg of steroids but when we attempted to get me down to 4mg, I could not believe just how much 5mg was helping me until I tried to reduce. In terms of asthma, 1mg is nothing to reduce by but in auto immune conditions, it is a significant amount.

So far so good…

I have been on the Cellcept for nearly a week and will double the dose on Thursday, so fare the only issue I have had is it hurt my stomach badly this morning when I took it without food. The literature it came with said it can be taken with or without food and this has been backed up by the pharmacist at the hospital and the specialist so I have decided to take it with food. Except you cant take it within a couple of hours of consuming dairy but that is no hassle to me.

It worries me that I am taking such toxic drugs but I am also pleased that the specialist is proactive enough to want to get me off the methotrexate and the steroids, I feel like we have a plan to follow and a target to aim for.

Walk a mile in someones shoes…

Up until now I have had little sympathy for the temper tantrums of those (adults) with a long term illness of some sort that dont take their drugs – insulin/inhalers etc. I mean if you are sick, you should just put your ‘big pants’ on and take your medicine and up until now I have been good.

But these past couple of weeks it has dawned on my that like a cute puppy, Sjogrens is for life and not just for Christmas. You can’t demand that it is taken back and you get a refund, it is a hostile lodger that has taken over your body and you cannot shift it and all the screaming, crying and stamping your feet will simply not work.

You can throw your ‘toys out of the cot’ and your medicines in the bin, you can try and convince yourself that it is mind over matter and you can cancel your hospital appointments but at the end of the day when you are in the cold reality of your own company, that bastard Sjogrens will jump out from behind the door and shout ‘Boo’ at every opportunity.

So instead of me fighting myself, the consultants, the medicine that I take and the reality that I have an incurable disease that no, alternative medicine is NOT going to cure, I have decided from this day forward, to fight only one thing and that is the disease itself because that is the only ‘enemy’ when you think about it.

And I can do this by taking my drugs as and when prescribed, and instead of brooding on my concerns about hospital appointments and drugs, I can let the specialist know so he can brood on them for me, after all that is what he is paid to do and trained to do. And between me, the drugs, the doctors and my attitude, I reckon we could make for a formidable army and a force to be reckoned with.

With friends like that, who needs enemies..

Which brings me to my next point. I have decided that I only want those in my life that believe me and will support me – those that don’t can kindly ‘fuck off’. (Please don’t excuse the bluntness because I mean every word of that – ‘fuck off’)

Quite recently I had someone (whom I shall not name) claim that I was making out the pain of my illness was not as bad as it was and that I was playing on it.

This disease and others like it take away your self confidence, make you self conscious about your appearance, the drugs can make you feel awful and if you are on a high enough dose of steroids, can make you put on weight.

Having the disease itself to contend with is one, thing, having the medication to contend with is another, not to mention worrying about feeling well enough to hold down a full time job is difficult because for me, some days I have to drag myself in to work and clock watch for each painkiller dose and come home so tired that I fall asleep on the sofa and barely see my husband.

So contending with friends/family that think you are exaggerating, putting it on, playing it up, refusing to understand and believe is something that I/we could all do without.

If you have gone through similar with friends or family not believing you then I would suggest one thing and one thing only, cut them out of your life because they are not worthy of having you in theirs. Honestly, you don’t need that kind of crap because you have enough to contend with – ditch them and surround yourself with decent, honest, positive and inspiring people only.

Finally, as I have discovered, we are all allowed a temper tantrum now and again with regards to our health, but do yourself a favour, don’t let it be at the expense of your own health.

Because you are worth more than that.

Don’t Miss The Morning! (so Rocky says)

Posted on September 30, 2013 by Samantha Rose

I am beginning to realise that my ‘baby’ Ridgie-Kelpie is more than a touch too spoilt, as is Rocky dog.

Each and every Saturday/Sunday morning at 6.30am without fail, Rocky waits by our bedroom door whinging, telling me to ‘hurry up, get a move on, be quick or we will miss it’.

Rocky doesn’t want to miss the morning

‘What will we miss Rocky?’ I have asked him on each occasion that I would like to stay in bed for just an hour longer.

‘Life’ He replied, ‘We are missing out on life, it’s started and it comes with tennis balls’.

My little black ‘beetle dog’ as he is known, trembles outside my door which ultimately makes the normally lazy Brutus get up in his crate and demand to be let out so he too can catch ‘life and its tennis balls’ before it passes him by.

That is my hint to get up. I open Brutus’s crate and he always stares at me thoughtfully, pondering on whether or not life will wait for him, Rocky decides on Brutus’s behalf that life in fact waits for noone and neither do tennis balls and Brutus stands up, and as he gets out of his crate, he stretches his long, brown and muscular body and uses his whippy tail to whip the shit out of my legs, the bin and anything else it may come into contact with. It is now 6.35am.

I let both boys out into the garden, Brutus idly stares at the Yucca and palm trees and licks his lips, should he eat them yet or is it too early for a ‘green breakfast’? However, he is still half asleep and hasn’t quite got Rocky’s mindset that ‘life is a tennis ball that needs to be caught and played with until your hips give out and you die, then you go to doggy heaven where you can chase tennis balls until your hearts content or you piss God off by barking and he is forced to put a religious ‘bark collar’ around your neck.

Sleepily I set about fixing the boys breakfast and put a scoop of dog chow in each bowl, placing one bowl in Brutus’s crate, then I tidy his favourite fluffy cot blanket which he literally refuses to settle unless he has it. I have to wash it, put it in the drier and then give it back to him and woe betide me if I don’t. Actually, I am on the lookout for spare thick fluffy cot blankets if anyone has spares they no longer use.

6.45am – I am tired and this time I vow to myself that I will go back to bed with Abdel and leave Brutus in his puppy crate, enjoying his dog chow and he WILL go to sleep afterwards.

Except that doesn’t happen, it never happens and I don’t even know why I try and fight it for I, have created a big brown 30kg 10 month old monster – my ridgie-kelpie Brutus, yes I have made him spoilt and he knows, I know it and Rocky knows it – hell even Gordon knows it.

I call the boys in, Brutus goes straight into his open crate and Rocky goes straight back to his bed – so far so good (not!).

Shutting the crate, I can hear Brutus noisily and hungrily snarfing down his breakfast, he is such a noisy and piggy little eater – he loves his food and would eat shit if you put sauce on it, actually he has eaten Gordons shit without sauce on it.

I creep out of the living room and sneak back into the bedroom, my goodness, I am hiding from my own dogs.

6.50am – I am back snuggled in bed with Abdel. He takes no notice of me, he knows there is no point, he knows exactly what will happen and he turns to his side and goes back to sleep.

6.55am – sounds of Brutus whinging doing high pitched puppy cries.

‘You have to come back now! Life is happening, we shall miss it and it comes with tennis balls and palm trees for me to chew!’ Brutus shouts from his crate. Rocky looks on proudly, he has this ‘life thing’ well and truly sussed, you would have to get up early in the morning to catch him out because life will never pass him by, he simply will not allow it to (just like a tennis ball).

(sounds of me sighing)

7.00am – ‘That’s it, I have my drugs to take at 7.30am, I may as well get up now’ I said rather feebly to Abdel.

No answer was the loud reply.

7.002am, I am in the kitchen making a coffee, grabbing my medication to take with it, I stared at Brutus who was in his crate, gripping the corner of his fluffy blanket looking very ‘puppy-like’ in his actions. I guess he is still a puppy at 10 months and it is all to easy to forget that when you look at his size and weight.

Brutus – still a ‘baby’ at 10 months old

Grabbing the blanket, I snuggle up with my iPhone on the sofa and play a few games of ‘Bejewelled’. Rocky walks up to me as he does each and every Sat/Sun morning, he puts his two front paws on the sofa, rests his huge kelpie head on my chest so I get a whiff of dog-breath, and he leans with his hind legs on the floor so it technically doesnt constitute being on the sofa – something he is not allowed to do. However, it still constitutes a ‘kelpie cuddle’ as the little black dog wraps his front paws around my arm and happily falls asleep while snuggling down into my fleecy PJ top.

(sounds of scratching at the door)

‘Oh god, here we go’ I mutter to myself.

‘Quick, it’s starting – ‘life’ is happening and we cant miss it and it comes in the form of ‘Snappy Tom’ cat food!’ Gordon yells from his bedroom in his ginger voice.

‘Bloody hell’ I sigh and then get up to let Gordon out so he too doesnt miss out on ‘life’.

Gordon also doesn’t like to miss out on life (or Snappy Tom)

7.10am – I am back curled up on the sofa, sipping my coffee, taking my drugs. Rocky is back on his bed fast asleep, Gordon is happily watching life go by from the dining room window and Brutus has stopped crying like a girl, and is fast asleep snoring like a piglet.

They know I am on the sofa wrapped up in a blanket, they know I will remain here until breakfast and not one of them shall make a sound, they are fast asleep and they are content.

They are also too spoilt, they know it and I know it. This is a weekly occurrence, the 6.30am wake up call, the call to tell me that life is happening, grab it and don’t let go.

For if I was to go back to the bedroom, Brutus would cry, Rocky would wait by the bedroom door and Gordon would just say ‘fuck you’ and destroy the blinds.

I could of course go back to sleep on the sofa should I want to. Except that the sounds of the parrots and birds in my garden is too nice to ignore and I don’t want to miss it, the silence surrounding that is very peaceful indeed. So I won’t go back to bed, I shall stay here.

Besides, we are going out in an hour or so for breakfast with the boys and then take them round the park.

Brutus and Rocky spoilt? Yeah, I reckon they are but what can I say – you have to get up early, life is happening.

And it is happening with tennis balls (according to Rocky).

Brutus – if it’s green then eat it!

Posted on July 5, 2013 by Samantha Rose

Brutus Update: (naughty radar 9/10)

It is jolly hard to be angry at something that has the cute factor and that can ‘talk’ in typical hound fashion the way in which Brutus can.

Brutus is now a whopping 23kgs of solid chunk and muscle, he looks mostly ridgeback, except for a rather odd and small kelpie shaped snout and kelpie ears and an uncanny ability to herd everything up including stones. The rest is ridgeback and his head his becoming enormous.

This morning Abdel got up to let the boys out and I got up a bit later as I was too cold to migrate from my bed – one could hang coats off ones nipples in this weather but that is another story.

I had gone out to do a poo run to pick up the man sized turds from the garden and Brutus was doing his usual ‘breakfast dance’ where he bounces in circles and kangaroo hops around the garden in a fine display of hunger.

‘I am so hungry, I haven’t been fed in 12 years!’ Brutus shouted dramatically.

‘Twat, you are only 7 months old yourself’ Rocky shook his head in disbelief and then lit up a fag and blew smoke in funny shapes through his nostrils (the shape of dog).

As I bent down to pick up some dog turd, I noticed something that ordinarily could very easily be missed, in fact I don’t know how I even saw it – but I did and now I have seen it, I cannot ‘un-see’ it.

It was a tiny, oh so tiny, piece of my (expensive) fake lawn – chewed up and shat out in dog turd. Glancing down to see where it had come from, I sighted a tiny, perhaps 2cm area near the join of the grass to the concrete. Honestly, you probably couldn’t see it if you came round to my house, but I have what many dog owners have and that is ‘the gift of puppy eyes’ where you can see the slightest most miniscule difference in objects/places where your puppy may have chewed. This gift of observation also extends to sounds – I can hear what is normal and what is naughty in the way of sounds and usually tell you exactly what they are doing by the noise that is being made.

For instance, if I haven’t fed Gordon by a certain time and I can hear a dragging noise from the kitchen, then it usually means that Gordon is pushing glasses along the counter and I normally have about 3 minutes to feed him or the glass goes on the floor – hence the reason Gordon weighs about 7kgs, because he is fed on demand because if we don’t feed him, the house gets it – or we do.

Anyway, there I am in my work attire staring at this piece of dog shit which is containing tiny pieces of fake lawn and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘What the fuck have you done?’ I demanded to Brutus who was now ‘breakfast dancing’ all over the garden.

‘Told you that you shouldn’t have done it, you are in trouble now’ Rocky said smugly, knowing that he was a good boy but forgetting he did similar at that age and we won’t even discuss about the time that he dug 4 foot under the retainer wall or chewed up the mortgage documents, (he still maintains that the German Shepherds did it).

‘I was told that grass contains roughage and is good for digestion’ Brutus said in his poshest ridgeback voice – he uses his ridgeback voice when he wants to sound assertive and when he herds up stones or bites my ankles then he tends to use his kelpie voice to sound more intelligent. Although the pile of stones outside my door that he has brought to me and spends ages herding up, makes me beg to differ on that score.

‘It’s fake lawn you twattage and it cost a lot of money!’ I told him, he now had the grace to look embarrassed.

My lovely fake lawn!

‘Perhaps if you fed me more often I wouldn’t need to eat the grass!’ Brutus barked back. He was actually ‘talking’ back, you know the way dogs do that funny bark? I think it is a hound thing as my whippet used to do it.

He looked like a large chunky brown turd, with his huge tail wagging in circles like the propeller of a helicopter, his bottom was wriggling and his crumpled mouth that has too much skin around it, caving in around his teeth with each bark, as he tried to justify his chewing of the lawn.

Rocky was shaking his head in disapproval muttering stuff about the puppies of today don’t know that they are born and in his day, all puppies were good dogs that dug nothing and chewed nothing. Gordon sat by the security door smoking a fag shouting the words ‘Bollocks’ and ‘liar’ – it very nearly escalated into a shouting riot of who was the naughtiest or best behaved in ‘their day’ and I am sure that the neighbours didn’t take too kindly to this noise so early in the morning.

‘I can’t believe that you inspected my shit’ Brutus said looking a touch martyred as I continued to pick up the turd from the garden.

‘Can’t you Brutus? Can’t you?’ I snapped, ‘I seem to remember when I took you to the vet when you had kept me up all night with your explosive diarrhoea and I had to take a day off work as I only had one hours sleep and when I cleaned the garden I found several chewed up catkins in your turd’

‘Wasn’t my turd, another dog did it!’ Brutus replied.

‘Oh, and it wasn’t you that produced enough diarrhoea to float a boat I suppose?’ I demanded.

Brutus was blushing now and Rocky was sitting by the shed, smoking his fag and flicking ash on to the grass, rubbing it in and making shapes in the dirt with his paw. Rocky had decided to keep quiet now, as he had shat the bed on a couple of occasions and on the last stomach upset he had suffered, he had even shat in his water bowl which by my own admission, fucking amazed me – I mean that takes skill to do that, even I couldn’t do that if I tried.

‘And what about the time I found red plastic in your poo which I believe, was only last week?’ I said to Brutus.

Stomping back into the house I grabbed the bitter spray that I had bought from City Farmers last week and went back out to the garden with Brutus hotly following me on my heels, nipping my ankles to ‘bring me in’.

‘Ha ha ha ha!’ Rocky yelled and held his belly as he snorted with laughter ‘You are getting the bitter spray treatment!’ The little black kelpie roared his head off.

Rocky the good boy!

‘Now that shit, SO does not work’ Gordon shouted from the laundry room. And he is right, because I used to use bottles of the stuff to stop Gordon chewing towels and carpets and even resorted to using Vics Vapour rub to stop Gordon from chewing. And all that succeeded in doing was making Gordon chew it more, sneeze a bit and then come back to me and say ‘I don’t care, I chewed it anyway!’

Brutus doesnt appear to like the bitter spray but is clever enough to know that the entire garden cannot be covered in it. Still, he followed me and watched me spray the part of the garden that he had attempted to chew.

‘What are you doing? don’t put that on there, it tastes awful!’ Brutus said looking alarmed.

‘There is no need for that, I can piss on it, I can crap on it, why can’t I chew on it?’ He asked (he has a point there I reckon).

Ignoring him, I saturated that part of the grass in the spray and Brutus started to bark and ‘talk’ and ‘breakfast dance’ around me.

‘That won’t work, I will eat the other corner, perhaps we can talk about this – double my food intake and we could be in business!’ Brutus shouted, almost hysterical now. Telling him that I didn’t negotiate with criminals, I refreshed the water bowls while they both followed me to the door to get their breakfast. Rocky went inside first as he is in charge of Brutus and then Brutus followed him, literally trembling at the sight of the bowl of dog chow that sat in his kennel. (I call it dog chow, don’t know what you call it).

‘You will NOT be left unattended in the garden again’ I told Brutus firmly, shut him in his crate. Ignoring me totally, he snarfed down his bowl of food making snorting/piggy noises as he did so.

Telling Abdel about the fake lawn in Brutus’s turd and to keep an eye on him, Gordon who was now on the bed with Abdel, nodded his head and laughed at my feeble efforts to stop Brutus chewing.

‘Mum?’ Gordon asked in his ginger voice.

‘Yes Gordon, hurry up as I have to go to work’ I replied.

‘Can I eat a towel please?, that nice new bright red one in the bathroom’ Gordon asked.

Staring down at the fat ginger cat that was now wedged behind Abdels back on the bed, I tried not to laugh.

Please can I chew the towels Mum?

‘No Gordon, you can’t eat the towels’, and with that, I said goodbye to Abdel as by now, I was late for work. (sounds of Gordon sniggering at my response – he will eat them anyway).

I left the dogs in the laundry room discussing the mornings events, Rocky was trying to chastise him but they were both laughing. ‘Brutus, did it hurt when you crapped out the fake lawn?’ Rocky asked in admiration.

‘Not as much as the plastic bucket did’ Was Brutus’s reply.

I heard nothing after that as I had left the house but believe me, I wonder if children are easier to bring up than dogs – at least they dont eat fake lawn and plastic buckets.

Happy Friday everyone!

Donkey – the ‘Yard Boy’

Posted on July 3, 2013 by Samantha Rose

Stu should know that if you shake with a paw with Donkey then its ‘law’

My sincerest apologies for not updating sooner, I have had so much going on and really have not had a chance to write.

As you know, on the last update about Donkey, he was being fostered by Sue L and enjoying his life in the haulage yard in Karratha. Donkey and a guy called Stu had become firm friends and apparently had been hanging out together in the Yard, going for smoko together and discussing boys things like beer, women and AFL.

Handsome Prince or ‘HP’ as he is known, had tried in vain to pretend that Donkey meant nothing to him and was just another foster dog but something happened and I don’t know what, to make HP realise what a valuable asset Donkey is to the yard – guarding it against feral cats that wear leather jackets and are known for carrying flick knives, threatening people and being intimidating.

Quite simply, Donkey knew his worth and made sure HP did and Handsome Prince being who he is – tough on the outside and heart of gold on the inside of that rugged handsome frame, soon accepted that Donkey was going nowhere. Sue was rather pleased about this as she had grown to love Donkey and even her dog Malcolm had become friends with him and they enjoyed bin raiding together on a regular basis.

Donkey was advertised by SAFE for a new home while being fostered by Sue and because there was no interested in the deformed little (big) dog, Sue had decided that she would adopt Donkey. Strangely enough, once this had been decided, potential owners started to make enquiries about Donkey but this was short lived as the boys in the yard had threatened an uprising if Donkey left and even Malcolm promised he would go on a hunger strike for two hours if Donkey was re-homed.

So Donkey was officially adopted by Sue L and Stu was exceedingly happy about the situation, in fact all the boys were – Donkey was their mate and he enjoyed talking about the skimpies girls with the lads, Donkey even took the boys to the doggy version of the skimpies bar where local Karratha female dogs got to flash more than their dog collars to the male dogs. That in itself is a privilege because dogs have their own world and if they allow you into it, you are very lucky, I know because my dogs allow me access and I can ‘talk dog’ which is how I am able to tell you these stories. You should hear some of the stuff that I am privy to, it would make your toes curl.

Clicky Hips!

Unfortunately although Donkey’s story appears to be going well, Sue had noticed that Donkey was very stiff in his hind legs and x-rays have revealed that he has rather severe hip dysplasia and has been prescribed medication, which if that doesnt work, he may well need a hip replacement. It is a bad diagnosis for Donkey who is only young and after his adventures, has his new life in Karratha to look forward to so this is not good news at all.

One of the boys called Uncle Les, has also has hip issues and as Donkey was having his photo taken one day, Sue had brought Les a chair outside so that he could sit down. Uncle Les went to take a seat but before you could say ‘Cliff Richard’, Donkey had jumped in it and refused to move.

Uncle Les is the one on the far left in the black shirt – Donkey felt his need for the chair was greater

‘Bollocks, my need is greater than yours!’ Donkey said firmly as Sue shook her head in disbelief – she had brought that chair out for Uncle Les and now Donkey had stolen it! And that was not the only thing he had stolen, he had been sighted driving in Handsome Princes scooter down the main road in Karratha yelling his head off to the Dingos but that is another story.

Uncle Les laughed ‘Don’t worry, Donkey can have it’

Looking rather smug, Donkey remained on the chair with his legs wide apart, flashing his genitals which he was absurdly proud of because he was somewhat well endowed for his size and even the local kangaroos were jealous of his manhood.

‘You up for the skimpies tonight Donkey?’ Stu asked his little friend.

Donkey glanced up and looked thoughtful, taking a swig of his tea he replied ‘Yep, but as long as they don’t play Cliff Richard on the juke box I don’t mind’ (all dogs hate listening to Cliff Richard as it constitutes as an assault on ones ear drums).

Stu laughed and reassured Donkey that Cliff would not be playing on the juke box.

The banter carried on for a bit until Donkey was asked if he wanted to ride the road train for a trip – road trains excited Donkey, well those and Utes and forklifts of course.

‘Uncle Les?’ Donkey asked later that day.

Uncle Les patted the tatty terrier on his head ‘Yes Donkey?’

‘I didn’t mean to pinch your chair but my hips are bad too’ Donkey said, blushing somewhat.

‘That’s OK, we can have clicky hips together’ Uncle Les laughed and then leant over to straighten Donkeys collar.

‘Uncle Les?’ Donkey asked again.

‘Yes Donkey?’ Uncle Les replied.

‘Is this my real home now?’ Donkey asked, looking suddenly quite scared.

‘Yes Donkey, it is your real home’ Uncle Les smiled and gave Donkey a reassuring pat.

Desert Dogs ‘do bins’ ( middle of the night)

‘Shhhh, she will hear you!’ Malcolm (Sue’s other dog) hissed to Donkey who’s face was covered in some kind of sauce.

‘Hell man, this bin is my favourite!’ Donkey said in a muffled voice as he tried to get his head out of a baked bean can.

‘Every bin is your favourite Derro Dog’ Malcolm snorted – Derro Dog was Malcolm’s nickname for Donkey.

‘Bugger me, there is a bit of fish wrapped in tissue, that has my name on it!’ Donkey shouted.

‘Shut up, Mum will hear you!’ Malcolm tried to silence Donkey.

But eventually the temptation was too much for the normally sensible Malcolm and he tried to grab the fish and tissue from Donkey which resulted in the bin being knocked to the floor and all the rubbish falling out of it.

‘You greedy fat bastard!’ Malcolm shouted to Donkey and then added ‘Have you farted?’

(sounds of Sue getting up)

‘What the hell is going on?’ Sue demanded sleepily.

Both dogs looked as guilty as hell, Donkey had sauce on his face and paws, Malcolm had some fish and tissue on him, they stood erect, puffed out their chests and smoothed their beards in a way that only guilty dogs can.

‘Shhh, say nothing, blame the cat!’ Malcolm hissed.

‘We don’t have a cat’ Donkey replied looking confused, well that was OK they could pretend they had a cat and it would be called ‘Ginger’

Wearily picking up the rubbish and placing it back in the bin and cleaning up the mess, Sue ordered the dogs back to their beds and told them to think about what they had done and she would deal with them in the morning.

‘Have you crapped yourself?’ Malcolm wrinkled his nose in disgust as he sniffed the air.

Donkey blushed, he had indeed farted and it smelt like rotting hamsters if he did say so himself.

‘Was it worth it do you think, getting caught in the bins?’ Donkey said to Malcolm as they snuggled up into their blankets.

Malcolm was silent for a minute and then replied ‘Hell yeah!’

(sounds of both dogs snorting with laughter)

Malcolm sniffed the air – he could smell farts again.

‘Donkey, what the hell have you eaten?’ He demanded.

‘Mushrooms and baked beans from the bin and maybe some tissues’ Donkey said.

‘You are going to shit the bed before long!’ Malcolm said horrified.

‘Malcolm?’ Donkey whispered.

‘Yes Donkey?’ Malcolm said sleepily.

(sounds of silence, smells of bad stomach)

‘Bet you five bucks you can’t raid the bin in the haulage yard without HP seeing you’ Donkey said excitedly.

‘Goodnight Donkey!’ and with that, Malcolm fell asleep.

Donkey reserves the right to raid all bins!

Until next time…..

Sue and Donkey

Finally, may I just add that it takes a special kind of pet owner to adopt a dog with pre existing health problems and the fact that Sue loves him and has adopted him knowing this, well every dog deserves an owner like Sue who is prepared to stick with their pets through thick and thin – Sue, you are brilliant.

The Pigaloo Diaries

The magical world of talking animals and my view on life

Author Archives: Samantha Rose