STORY GALLERY - AUGUST 2023

There exists a general consensus that having pets contributes to the health, well-being and longevity of life of their elderly owners. Whether the pets have feathers, fur, bristles, wool, scales, hair; or whether they bark, meow, snort, grunt, whinny, bellow, whistle, roar, or even talk, their oft times unconditional loyalty provides many positive therapeutic returns.

The mood of a significant human is appropriately changed by the hungry meow, the tail wag, a loving nuzzle, the eye contact, the “Polly wants a cracker.”

“If you touch me, you’ll understand what happiness is,” echoes through theatres across the world, when the show “Cats” is being performed.

Pets we bond with, are truly good for the soul. Well, that’s the theory. Sometimes, reality exposes a different slant on things. 

Let me tell you about Butch, our loyal, pampered, prize winning pet British Bulldog. Butch wants for nothing. His diet is healthily programmed; he gets groomed regularly; there’s ample room in our house yard for a dog his size; we have provided him with an environment to keep him interested and stimulated; he’s had all his vet shots, is registered and micro-chipped. He even gets to sleep on the end of our king size bed. He is usually a picture of health. 

His one demeaning feature is that he is a real sook when it comes to change. He hides from visitors, trembles at loud noises and cringes whenever he thinks he might be in trouble.

Well, a few Saturday mornings ago, I was shocked to see him doing skiddies, across the lawn. I couldn’t believe the pus that had built up in both eyes. He had only recently been wormed, so I was dumbfounded, as to why he seemed to be ailing so badly. I decided to take him to the vet.

After leading him to the Volvo I covered the front passenger seat with a large beach towel and lifted him into the car. I didn’t want his slobbers dripping all over the new cashmere seat covers. He’s a pretty big brute of a thing, so I just fitted the seatbelt around him, thinking that he’d just lie there. I gave him a pat, and told him that he was a good dog, and that everything would be all right. He just lifted his eyebrows, as if to communicate a doggy thanks.

The veterinary clinic is several suburbs away, so I decided to use the freeway. Hardly had I merged into the one-way traffic, when Butch started whimpering, moaning and groaning. Somehow, he twisted out of the seatbelt, and started rubbing his arse up and down the edge of the seat. The look on his face suggested that he was getting some relief from this. So much for the white seat covers which were now being stained dog poo brown.

I tried to push him down, but that was a dangerous manoeuvre in traffic, so I spun into the first parking bay I came to. Not thinking, I left the car idling, not even putting on the hand brake, and raced around to the passenger side. I told you he was a bit of a sook, so, sensing danger, he bounded into the driver’s seat. I don’t know how he did it, but in his rush, he knocked the gear stick into drive and the car began to roll forward, towards the left lane of the motorway. Luckily, I had the front side door opened a bit, and I was able to grab onto the seatbelt and crawl inside, with my main intention to move Butch and grab the steering wheel. 

Butch moved faster than I anticipated, dived under the steering wheel and jammed his backside on top of the accelerator pedal, 

“Come to heel,” I yelled, as I lunged towards the steering wheel, sounding off the horn in the process.  

“Jesus, Butch. Get out of there before we are both killed.”  

My wordsevaporated!

At an angle of forty-five degrees and looking over the centre of the bonnet, I managed to steer something like a straight course. At the same time, I inched my way towards the driver’s seat.

“You’ll surely be dead meat, if/when we get home, my boy. No doubt about that.”

The traffic flow was light, so, even under my precarious situation, I was able to merge left and right, but we were exceeding the speed limit. All my birthdays seemed to be have come at once. My teeth were clenched in fear, in anticipation of an imminent crash. A kaleidoscope of possible, tragic images, flashed past my eyes. 

A hippie flicked the bird at me, as I cut him off in his Wicked Van, narrowly missing the back of a Ford Falcon. A pair of tandem bikers nearly stacked it, when they saw that there was no one at the wheel. I whizzed past a Cadbury’s truck and Australia Post, and nearly wiped out a Main Roads gang, doing repairs to the road. I sucked in and held a deep breath, as I hurtled through a red light. God knows how I missed a shuttle bus full of pensioners.

I couldn’t look into any mirrors to see if I was being followed by flashing disco lights, but I certainly could hear sirens getting closer. I gripped the wheel white knuckle tight and, jumping scissors style, landed in the driver’s seat.

Guess what sooky Butch did, when I landed. He flew out of his refuge, back to his own seat. He bumped the bloody gear stick, again, and knocked it out of gear. Why the hell didn’t I think of that!

I obeyed the copper’s order to pull over, knowing full well I was in big trouble – big fine and loss of licence, for sure. He let me babble on about what I had just gone through, told me it was a load of bullshit, booked me and ordered me to front the beak, at the next Tuesday morning court sitting. That was last week.

Amazingly, I got justice. The court officials were totally bemused at my story, while His Honour nearly chewed off the end of his pencil, taking it all in.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “However, if you can tell that tale again, I’ll suspend all pending penalties.”

In the meantime, we convinced the vet to make a home visit. Butch’s condition wasn’t as serious as I feared it might be, and after an injection, a couple of pills and an application of ointment, he is back to his old self, again.

We could not get the stains, nor the smell, out of the cashmere. That, plus having learnt a lesson from transporting an unrestrained dog in a sedan, prompted us to part with the Volvo. We’ve ordered a Nissan ute, so Butch can be ferried, in the back. That will be a win, win for all of us.

Not sure now, about pets and longevity. This event must have shaved at least six months off my life!