Birthdays, Old Age and Pink Salmon


Gordon reaches the grand age of 15 years old
(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Today is Sunday 9th April – just an ordinary day for Brutus and Rocky, nothing special about it except for plans to take Rocky for a drive to chat to the sheep.

The boys were up at 7.30am ready to go into the garden for the first pee of the day which as any dog will vouch is the best one. Rocky always checks the garden for intruders – invisible or otherwise while Brutus goes to what is now known as ‘The Brutus Tree’ to check to see if any more rats have appeared.

‘Good morning Gordy, how’s it going?’ Brutus grinned at Gordon as he lay curled up on the sofa.

Brutus adores Gordon you see, cleans his ears and his bum and despite Gordon having hardly any teeth, allows the ginger cat to get him in a ‘death-grip’ when he pretends he is an African lion hunting springbok in Namibia.


G and B

Brutus and Gordon – brothers from another mother

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Gordon, did you hear me?’ Brutus shouted to his brother. Gordon ignored him and stared boot-faced towards the window and then began to pointedly wash his anus with his hind leg held high in the air.

Looking somewhat hurt and confused, Brutus trotted up to Rocky who was now crossing his legs and muttering something about ‘being desperate for a piss’.

‘Gordon won’t talk to me’ Brutus whispered to the black kelpie.

Rocky shrugged and said something about him getting moody in his old age.

Both boys were let out into the garden and nothing more was said.

‘He looks smaller these days don’t you think, like really skinny?’ Rocky said to Brutus.

Brutus was busy gazing into his tree checking for rats, ‘He is still my big brother and can hunt things in Africa he told me so, I don’t think he is smaller because then he wouldn’t be able to hunt’ Brutus growled without taking his eyes off the tree, ‘Bloody rats – they are hiding from me on purpose’ he added fretfully.

Rocky shrugged his shoulders and trotted back to the patio door to be let back in as it was breakfast time.

As he pressed his snout against the window he spotted the frail cat sitting on the kitchen work surface talking to himself. ‘Everyone is a wanker, I hate everyone, nobody loves me, nobody cares and I am going to puke on the floor’.

Slowly and somewhat unsteadily on his feet, Gordon went to the floor and started making the unmistakable and dramatic sounds of vomiting and trust me, nothing and I mean nothing will make a cat owner sit up and take notice quicker than the violent sounds of a cat throwing up.

He barely puked anything but it was enough to get my attention. Clearing up the tiny bit of sick that I swear he had forced out to be noticed, I petted him and told him how marvellous he was and good on him for sicking up that furball.


Gordon demands attention by puking

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Yeah right, I don’t believe you love me and I am going to bite you later with my gums and shit in your clean laundry’ Gordon snapped at me and then wobbled off looking like a doddery old man that has lost confidence in his walking stick.

Rocky continued to stare through the window racking his brains to see what could have possible upset Gordon. It didn’t take long to find out either because just ten minutes later my husband came into the kitchen clutching a tin of pink salmon.

‘Happy 15th birthday Gordon’ My husband walked into the kitchen and kissed Gordon on the head and gently lifted him on to the kitchen workbench to have his salmon, which yes I know is unhygienic and all that stuff but I don’t really care.

‘I thought you had forgotten’ Gordon stuttered in his old man voice – a bit like Winston Churchill if you know what I mean.

‘As if we would forget’ I cuddled him – feeling his bones creak.

‘I love you Mum’ Gordon grinned and then promptly bit my hand with his remaining two canine teeth and called me a ‘bitch’.

It was a King that tucked into his salmon this morning, despite having very few teeth he made light work of it and even tolerated me putting on a tie for his birthday photo shoot.


Gordon – hunting his salmon (in Africa of course!)

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Can I tell my friends that I hunted that salmon in Africa?’ Gordon asked me.

I didn’t dare tell him that he didn’t really have any friends except for Tess and Pippin, but I agreed anyway and it was enough to make him happy. After all, a good imagination and an ability to dream never hurt anyone.

Meanwhile Rocky was outside looking mortified. How on earth did he forget his brothers birthday. Turning round he quickly ran over to where Brutus was to let him know they had some serious making up to do and plenty of arse licking (literally in Brutus’s case).

Rocky car

Rocky is such a thoughtful little dog

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

After breakfast the boys sat hovering by Gordon watching him eat the rest of his salmon.

‘Gordon we are SO sorry we forgot your 15th birthday, we didn’t mean to honestly we didn’t’ Brutus sobbed. He was totally distressed that he had forgotten and couldn’t stop crying as festoons of snot dripped from his nose and his eyes all red and puffy from being so upset.

Rocky was a bit more dignified but not too proud to admit that he was sorry and tried to bring Gordon his fluffy penguin.

R and B

Gordon is well loved by both of his brothers as you can see

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Gordon carried on eating and after a few seconds stared down at the boys. His eyes showing every year of his 15 years, the once 7kg cat did actually look quite frail and tiny.

His grumpy old face softened and he replied to his brothers ‘That’s OK, you have remembered now and that is what matters’.

‘I love you Gordon’ Brutus sighed, wiping his eyes and nose as he had been crying that much – guilt does that to Brutus you see. Brutus feels guilty even when he has done nothing wrong. Rocky dug a 3 foot hole in the garden and Brutus cried for days and apologized for it and even went to the police station to insist he be arrested for a crime that he didn’t commit.

‘I love you right back Brutus’ Gordon replied.

Licking his lips Brutus said hopefully ‘I can help you eat some of that salmon if you like, just as a favour of course’.

‘Bollocks’ Gordon replied, ‘Don’t push your luck’ and with a flick of his tail, Gordon turned round and flashed Brutus his bum.

‘He still loves us then!’ Rocky said sounding ever so relieved.

‘Yeah, I reckon’ Brutus barked happily, ‘And Rocky?’

‘Yes Brutus?’ growled Rocky.

‘He is still our big brother’ Brutus nodded firmly, ‘No matter how small he is’ – and there was no arguing with that.


Happy 15th birthday Gordon.


Samantha Rose (C) Copyright April 2017

Brutus learns the real meaning of Christmas



(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Brutus and Rocky were in the living room discussing Christmas and their shopping list. Gordon had just done an Exorcist style vomit over the dining room and had gone back to his food bowl to ‘replenish what had been lost’ much to Rocky’s disgust and Brutus’s admiration.

‘So what do you want for Christmas Brutus?’ Rocky asked him.

Brutus looked thoughtful ‘I don’t want much really, I would like a honking pig as Mum killed mine in the garden, I would like some more flappy toys, a spare gingerbread man, maybe a squeaky Santa and another snake, I would like a new collar and ID tag – not one of those crappy collars, perhaps a doggy stocking, a new camp bed for my bedroom and a new stuffed rabbit’ he finished looking absurdly proud of himself for being what he thought was ‘restrained’.


Brutus with last years gift that ‘exploded’ all by itself in the garden

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Rocky gasped ‘Not much? That is a huge amount Brutus and most dogs don’t get that much and some dogs don’t get anything at all’.

Gordon said nothing but stopped eating to listen to the boys talking. Inwardly he was shocked though as Brutus had lots of toys, admittedly some had ‘exploded’ all by themselves in the garden but he never went without that’s for sure.

‘What about you Rocky?’ Brutus asked him. Stretching out on the sofa, Brutus snuggled his head down on the red pillow and waited for Rocky to tell him his Christmas list for Santa Paws. Brutus loves Christmas and every year in the three Christmas’s we have had him, he makes me tell him bedtime stories about how Santa Paws visits all the dogs and leaves them food and bones that their owners have bought them and given to Santa for storage.

Rocky shrugged his shoulders ‘Well last year I wished for my hips to be not so painful and a bit better, but I have already got that present now because Mum bought me special powder to go in my food and they are so much better although I still can’t walk as far as normal kelpies’.


Rocky is a simple kelpie dog with simple needs

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘But I would like some new tennis balls to replenish my collection, I would like a generous slice of turkey if Dad can spare it, I would love to be able to get on the sofa with Mum and Dad and maybe even play with my fluffy penguin after lunch.

‘Of course we usually get a collar each year and I love the Rogz collars and always have a red or a blue one and an ID tag is nice as we usually get one every year as well.

But my best gift is when Mum does her Skype call to the UK and gets to talk to her family and I get to talk to her Daddy – AKA John Stocken because I have met him, I think he could be referred to the doggy version of our Grandad if such a thing exists’, Rocky said knowingly. A wise kelpie beyond his years, Rocky just knows ‘stuff’ and is an oracle of information.

‘You know John Stocken? How?’ Brutus demanded, feeling more than a little jealous of this as he only ever hears my Dad over the phone when he calls me.

‘I have met him’ Rocky said smugly, ‘He came to Perth once and threw my tennis ball and rubber chicken for ages, we had fun, we had cuddles and everything and I slept outside his room for 3 days after he flew back because I missed him so much’.


Rocky, Dad (AKA – John Stocken/Daddy Stocken, and the rubber chicken – Rocky on the left looking camouflaged!

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

The two dogs fell silent for a bit and all you could hear was the sound of Gordon occasionally crunching his cat biscuit.

‘But Rocky, I don’t understand – most of your presents are not sold in the shops so where would you buy them? How would you get them?’ Brutus asked looking puzzled.

‘That’s just it Brutus, Christmas isn’t about how much money is spent on things or how many toys and bones your owners buy for you, it is about the stuff that money can’t buy.

‘Time with those that love you, video calls to friends and family, nice food, cuddles, turkey dinner, the stuff you can only do or speak about with people you love. You can’t buy any of that in the shops.’


Rocky creating his own memories on one of our road trips

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Sure having toys and stuff is great but those memories last a whole heap longer than any toy that explodes in the garden’. Rocky finished.

‘But what about my toys, I love opening my toys?’ Brutus frowned.

‘You know out of all the stuff on your list Brutus, the one that is the most important above everything else?’ Rocky asked him.

Brutus shrugged because he didn’t know.

‘The collar and ID tag that Mum gets us and pays to have engraved to say we have a home and family of our own. The rest doesn’t matter’ Rocky said.

Brutus quietly walked off to his bedroom and stared at his bed which contained one of his fluffy blankets, his beloved Tony Abbott doll, his stuffed rabbit, his penguin, his honking hedgehog, his bear, baby teething ring and his deer antler.

It wasn’t a too shabby collection of toys, next to it was a bowl of fresh water and a food bowl, his camp bed and behind that a cupboard containing some more freshly washed blankets in case he shit the bed (don’t ask!) and needed his bum washed and fresh bedding.

He walked back into the kitchen and stared at Rockys bed which had been hand made by Cuzz Bro’s Creations, covered in a red blanket, a Julie Gillard doll, another Tony Abbott doll and a gingerbread man which Brutus thinks is his but it really belongs to Rocky, plus a deer antler, bowl of water and food bowl.

Walking into the dining room Brutus noticed a selection of leashes, head collars, a collar, Rocky’s muzzle and Brutus’s camo harness. Brutus also took in the toy box in the garden packed to the top with toys and his recent birthday present of Fat Cat (flappy cat) and his snake he got from Dee Cole at the Funky Dog Company, as well as shit loads of tennis balls scattered around the garden.

Nothing more was said that afternoon about presents from either of the dogs. Gordon never asks for anything anyway and still has toys from when he was a kitten, even his plastic bed belonged to our cat before him – Bruno and is about 20 years old and Gordon loves it. Gordon likes simple things like bird feathers or being allowed to chew my bras (bastard).


Gordon  – almost 15 years old and an all round naughty boy and member of the ginger club

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

So today I had to go and do my Christmas shopping and I hate shopping, like really hate it unless I am in a pet shop and then I love it.

‘What would you like for Christmas boys?’ I smiled at them as I was about to leave.

‘Tennis balls would be good and a new ID tag’ Rocky smiled at me.


I shall have a tennis ball please Mum and lots of cuddles and turkey

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘But if we can go to the farm area on Christmas Day so I can catch up with the sheep that would be good as well’ Rocky added.

‘How about you Brutus?’ I asked him.

Brutus stared at me, his red/brown eyes bore into mine, expecting a long list I got ready for his demands of toys/bones etc.

‘If you can see fit to buying me a new honking pig to replace the one you squished in your car that would be nice, and a new ID tag because I have scraped the writing off mine on the wall when I rub myself against the bricks every morning’ Brutus growled.

‘Is that all? Are you sure?’ I asked him, this was news to me – Brutus is the King of Christmas lists and has even resorted to writing his lists on an entire roll of toilet paper to fit in what he wants which involves half of City Farmers.

‘Some turkey dinner would be nice and if I can be with Rocky when you Skype Daddy John Stocken and everyone else that would be brilliant’ Brutus barked at me.

Shrugging my shoulders I smiled at them and went off to do my shopping while secretly wondered if someone had swapped my dog with a newer angelic version.


Brutus the Good Boy

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

After I had gone shopping

‘Did you mean that?’ Rocky asked Brutus, he could barely believe what he had just heard.

‘I’ve got loads of toys, I’ve got pretty much everything really and as you say, the rest of the stuff can’t be bought’ Brutus said firmly.

Rocky looked at his brother in admiration, nudging Brutus affectionately with his snout, Rocky grinned ‘Except for the honking pig – they are $11.00 in the supermarket because I have checked on Mum’s computer’.

Brutus laughed and wagged his tail ‘Yes, let’s not forget the honking pig’.


Going in the car to look at the sheep – cost? Priceless

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Gordon sat washing his anus from the other chair, at almost 15 years old he had seen many Christmases as you can imagine and he had realised long ago that the best Christmas is one that creates memories and not shopping lists, like the time he ate tinsel off the tree and had to shat it out with my help pulling it from his bum (now THAT is a memory!).


You thought I was joking about the anus!

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Three hours later I returned with very little in my bag as shopping had been a total nightmare, we don’t have children so not much to buy anyway really. But what there was in my bag; was a packet of tennis balls and a honking pig.

And in the post winging its way to me is an envelope with two bone shaped ID tags for the boys all engraved with the best present a dog could want – their owners details and enough phone numbers on there to show the world we love them.


The most important things – the famous honking pig, collar, ID tag and a bone. These were Brutus’s first things bought for him when he came out of hospital after being critically ill.

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Merry Christmas everyone, thank you for the lovely comments and support so many of you have given this page over the years.

Samantha, Gordon, Rocky and Brutus

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright December 2016

Cats in ‘The Hood’ and Gordon isn’t happy


Gordon says ‘Get off my land’ (in a Devonshire accent)

Taking the piss (literally)

As many of you know I have a 13 year old cat called Gordon whom I bought with me from the UK.  Gordon has always been an indoor cat and one would think that in the privacy and safety of his own home, should never and would never have to defend his territory.

Until now that is.

There is a large male cat in our street, I think he is owned or perhaps was once owned or maybe he is just a ‘free-range’ pain in the arse cat.

He has testicles like two tangerines in a handkerchief and a seemingly endless supply of cat piss that he enjoys spreading on my front door.  Cat piss that is so potent that within seconds of him doing it I can even smell its ‘warmth’ as it infiltrates my door and fills up my house with his scent.

It started off with him doing it the odd time a bit like feline graffiti spreading his art all over the door occasionally to be admired by other cats that may say ‘Nice piss mate’.

My cat Gordon likes to sit at his window and why wouldn’t he?  His home is his castle and he has never had to defend it against outside cats in leather jackets that threaten with menace.

In case you don’t believe that cats can talk and wear leather jackets, I am telling you that they do and they also talk very well.  Entire male cats for instance will always wear leather jackets and talk in tough accents – actually I think that all animals can talk if only we choose to listen to them.

Anyway, this rogue cat that I have named Kevin, is a right toughie.  He has a huge face, is built like a brick with attitude and he walks around our street like he owns it.

He wears a studded leather jacket and is a member of some gang – his own gang containing only him and his testicles and I think he would actually beat me up if I got too close to him.

Kevin frequently gets in to my garden and my dog Brutus has nearly pulled him off the fence by his tail on a couple of occasions as Brutus does not tolerate cats in his garden.


Brutus – no cats in his garden!

One time Kevin the cat told Brutus to ‘Piss off’ and threatened to rip his head off and crap down his neck and also threatened Rocky that he would chop his legs off and spit-roast him with potatoes.


Rocky on a spit-roast

So you must understand that Kevin is a hard nut but I thought somewhat naively that if we ignored him pissing up my door that he would eventually tire of such naughtiness and leave us alone and perhaps piss on someone elses door instead and oh how wrong I was.

This is my ‘hood’

My Gordon enjoys sitting at the door or the window and watching the world go by.  He is 13 years old and is an old man that sits in his rocking chair at the window with his half rimmed spectacles, doing the crossword and says ‘hello’ to anyone that goes by.  It is his pleasure, it is what he looks forward to and he does no harm to anyone as he is in his own house.


Gordons home is his castle

Well more recently (like every night) Kevin the cat has taken to flashing his anus up at our window and calling my Gordon a ‘ginger bastard’ and then taking spraying up my door and from what Gordon tells me, he can do all of this while doing cartwheels.

‘This is MY hood you ginger bastard and I am gonna get you out of this house and take it over’ Kevin sneered at Gordon one night.  I heard it with my own ears and smelt it with my own nose and I swear to god that cat can use his rear end as a pen judging by the shapes of cat pee on my door.

Cats hate citrus – yeah right

‘I am fed up with cleaning up after this cat and the house stinking of tom cat’ I moaned to my husband at the weekend after cleaning the door yet again.

‘I don’t know what we can do to be honest’ Hubby replied in a resigned voice.  He was  scared of Kevin in his leather jacket and his big fat tom cat face and testicles like space hoppers.

But no way would I give up and I would not give in; I frantically started to check the cupboards for stuff I could put on the door that would deter this big bully cat from stinking my house out yet again.

After checking the cupboards, I found some citrus cat deterrent spray that we bought last year when Kevin first started spraying.  ‘Ah ha!’ I said triumphantly, ‘This should fix the little bastard’.

My husband shook his head despondently and took a swig of his tea and carried on watching TV.  He had given up hope, Rocky had given up hope, Brutus had given up hope and so had Gordon.  But not me, no way no never – there ain’t no Tom cat going to launch a hostile takeover of my house with his urine.

I washed the door with detergent first and then I saturated it with the citrus spray and even sprayed the trees and the foot mat outside as well.  It was bound to work, surely?  I would like to tell you that, honestly I would but I would be lying because it didn’t.

‘Citrus shitmus’ Kevin the cat hissed at Gordon through the window, ‘Reckon that will stop me?’ and then did a ‘flash of bum’ on my freshly cleaned and sprayed door and took another piss down it and not only diluted my precious citrus spray but covered it completely until the familiar ‘warm’ smell filled up my living room.  I mean good God, where was all this urine coming from, did he have two bladders or something?

The war is on!

Tonight I was watching ‘Neighbours’ on TV when quite suddenly I could smell cat piss.  ‘Mum, he has done it again!’ Gordon yelled to me from the dining room.

Jumping up out of my chair I ran to the door and opened it in time to see Kevin in his leather jacket run off down the garden while shouting ‘Catch me if you can!’ with his testicles bouncing after him like hungry puppies chasing their mum.

Well I used every single cleaning product that I have in the house plus some citrus cat repellent that SO does not work, some Glen 20 plus some other stinky chemical cleaner.

In the end I got so desperate I considered spraying my new perfume ‘Beyonce – Heat’ that I got for my birthday that makes me sneeze.  Perhaps a dose of her perfume might make this cat sneeze but knowing Kevin he will probably like that as well.

‘Just you wait! I shall find a way to stop you’ I yelled to Kevin who was smoking a cigarette from behind a tree and making ‘cut-throat’ gestures to me.

‘You reckon?’ Kevin laughed and promptly showed me his testicles in an act of defiance.

‘Mum? He won’t take over my house will he?’ Gordon asked me as I glared at Kevin through the window.

‘Over my dead body’ I snapped and reassured my elderly ginger cat as he sat by the window.

‘That can be arranged’ Kevin smirked from the other side.

A few hours later

‘I saw that cat Kevin this arvo, he was wearing a leather jacket walking round like he owned the place’ My husband said to me this evening when I told him about tonights little incident.

‘He does own the place’ I replied flatly, ‘Watch him though, he carries weapons in the form of teeth, claws, attitude and testicles’.

Plan of action

With the door clean (for now), I am planning my next strategy and went on to the Bunnings website to look at an ultrasonic cat repellent.  We probably cant try that though as it will upset Gordon.

I also found some citrus spray that is meant to deter cats which we all know that is rubbish as Kevin is hard core and will probably drink it, bathe in it and cook his mice in it.  I am now thinking of getting some lion turd from Perth zoo because that might make Kevin believe that there is a bigger and tougher cat than him in the ‘hood’.

Or I could just join him in his own game and get my husband to pee up the door just to annoy him.  But knowing Kevin he would just beat my husband up, tie him up with Gordon, Rocky and Brutus and take over my house and claim squatters rights.

Either way – the cat is in the Hood, the piss is on the door and this is war.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright August 2015