Farewell Friend

Elmo, friend is hardly the word. You have become so much a part of our lives these past 11 years. Your enthusiasm, mischievousness and plain naughtiness have brought us so much happiness. You have been totally infectious.

I remember when we first met. As a family we had discussed the option of buying a dog. I admit to being reluctant. As a kid on the farm dogs were outside animals – Mum would not let them in the garden, let alone the house – and I had always held to that idea, but I caved to pressure. Then I said no to any long-haired breed. You had to be low maintenance. But there you were in the window of the pet shop, hardly much bigger than my clenched fist with light brown hair to the floor. You were so absolutely adorable, one might say it was love at first sight.

Emily, of course, wanted to take you home straight away, but Marilyn was working and I felt we had to talk it over with her first. And we did. But there was one problem. It was Friday evening and Saturday is not a day we go shopping, it is our day of worship. Emily of course was upset, but I said that if God wanted us to have you, you would be there on Sunday – which just happened to be Mothers’ Day. Now it’s a good thing Mum was so understanding, for there we were early Mothers’ Day morning outside the pet shop waiting for it to open. Of course you were there, and as we were finishing the paperwork we heard another lady say to her partner ‘That’s the one I want’, pointing at you. So you see Elmo, you were meant for our family. Most of Mothers’ day was taken up with you, buying what you needed and getting you settled. And much of Mother’s time for the next 11 years, as she always fussed over you and was concerned that we looked out for your welfare.

You were so tiny. I remember standing at the sink and taking a small step backwards, only to hear ‘whelp, whelp, whelp.’ I had no idea you were there, but I don’t think you really ever learned that lesson.

The more we got to know you, the more we loved you. How you loved the back yard – if one of us was there with you. As a puppy you would run around and around in circles, almost endlessly, to our amusement and that of our neighbour. At first you were so tentative going down the back steps, but it didn’t take long before you were leaping down two at a time.

It took a while for you to get the hang of those walks we enjoyed. Remember the first time I got you to the corner of Pennant Hills Road. All that traffic noise just freaked you out. However you soon got used to it and we would walk for a long time, although I had to carry you at times when you were young.

You were such a great watch dog. I don’t think anyone could walk down the road without you knowing they were there. You would run endlessly around the house, up to the window, around the house again and up to the window, then out the back door to the gate continuously barking. Okay, I admit, at times it was a little exasperating and the door would be shut behind you as you exited. But we always let you back in.

Then you had this habit of sleeping in the middle of the doorway and I would have to step over you going from the kitchen to the dining room and remind you what a pest you were. Then there were the times – far too many – when you would upend the waste paper basket, even sometimes when we thought we had it out of your reach.

You knew when we were about to put you outside and you had your hiding places – under the sideboard, or the desk, but we knew where they were.

You were there when we came home, and the enthusiasm of the welcome will always be memorable, although again there were many times we felt it could have been a little less so. But we will miss that now and wish you were still here waiting for us.

It was Emily that named you, and then got annoyed when I continually confused Elmo and Emily. But it was all her fault, and you understood that. You know those silly things Emily and I did Elmo, each trying to outdo the other for your attention and pretending that whoever you responded to first indicated who you loved the most. Then I used to love saying to her that a dog was ‘man’s’ best friend. But you enriched our relationship with all that silly nonsense stuff.

We know how much you used to miss her while she was away boarding at College, at camps or on those mission trips, study tours and the like. But how you loved to see her again when she came home.

And Emily always remembered your birthday and bought you a present, as she also did at Christmas. We laughed so hard as we watched you unwrap your gifts. Another of those memorable moments we will always cherish.

When Em had surgery last year, you were such good company for her. And when I was recovering from my surgery and just wanted to lay on my bed, you would be there on the floor beside me, keeping me company. You seemed to know when we were down and needed you around to cheer us up.

You loved your walks, and it was so often Marilyn that would take you. You would trot along beside her so happily. You must have been sick for some time, but you never showed it, even when you were on some of those long walks.

It was only Sunday or Monday that you first vomited on the carpet. But we thought little of it. After all, you had done it a few times over the years, but it was always a one of. But this time it persisted, and you seemed to be a little out of sorts. So last evening we took you to the vet. He was concerned at the large lump in your intestine and it didn’t sound good. You were dehydrated and he recommended you stay overnight so he could put you on a drip to rehydrate you, and do some blood tests. And he asked us if he could operate in the morning to find the cause of you problem.

Emily had left to return to Avondale College just after we left to take you to the Vet as she had her final exam this morning. We could not contact her so she could come back and see you again, just in case. That was probably for the best. We rang her later and told her that you were staying overnight for tests and rehydration, but did not let on the seeming seriousness of your condition. We did not want her to be upset for her exam.

The vet was good. He agreed to delay surgery as long as he could to allow Emily a chance to see you again after her exam – just in case. When we went to see you just after lunch you were a little sedated, but the rehydration had done wonders. Again, you were enthusiastic to see us, and Emily when she turned up a little after us. It was almost like the Elmo we knew and loved. It was so good to see you like that, to hold you, stroke you and to say good bye – just in case.

The call came about an hour later. You were riddled with cancer. To keep you alive would only prolong your suffering. We agreed with the vet that it would not be fair to you.

And so, our loveable, adorable, mischievous little Maltese-Shitzu, with a Dachshund grandfather, you are gone. The tears have flowed, and will continue to do so.  You are missed, there is a big void in all of our hearts. Gone, but you will live on in our memories. Thank you Elmo, for being so much a part of us, for being a loved family member. RIP. 

Thursday 11 June 2015

Learning to Drive

After Church. I probably drove home that day.

A couple of years ago I taught my daughter to drive. I sat patiently beside her for most of the compulsory 120 hours of supervised driving. Long will I remember her first evening drive to her weekly piano lesson. As we approached a car parked facing us on our side of the road, lights blazing, she made no effort to slow. ‘Stop’, I said. No response. ‘Stop’ I repeated, this time more firmly for the same result. ‘Stop!’, I screamed, this time getting the required response. ‘Didn’t you see that car?’ I asked. ‘What car?’ Needless to say I drove home that night, and if I were still a drinking man I would have stopped at the first pub I could find for something to settle the nerves.

How times have changed. I remember the story of how my grandfather got his licence. Uncle Roy, Pa’s Marsh’s brother-in-law, was the local Morris dealer and a WW1 veteran so Pa purchased a new Morris. However, he didn’t have a licence so down to Maclean police station to rectify that little anomaly they went. Pa’s request for a licence was met with a ‘Can you drive?’ ‘Of course I can’ answered Pa. ‘Can anyone vouch for that? returned the officer. ‘I can’ said Uncle Roy and so the license was duly issued.

Now Pa had never driven a car, so when the officer asked ‘I’m going out your way, any chance of a lift?’, Pa had to think quickly. ‘Have you ever driven a new Morris?’ he asked. ‘Never’ came the reply. ‘Would you  like to?’ The officer jumped at the chance.

I learnt to drive on the farm. My earliest memory is of Dad taking delivery of a new grey Ferguson tractor around the time my brother was born - the tractor is a much stronger memory than the arrival of a baby brother. A raised road ran through Pa Marsh’s farm and I remember the truck backed up to this as the tractor was driven off the tray. As I grew older I would sit between Dad’s legs holding the steering wheel and it probably wasn’t long after I was tall enough to sit on the seat and reach all the controls that I began to drive. Before I left home I was hauling sugar cane along the road to the derrick where it would be loaded onto punts to be transported to the Harwood sugar mill. Can you imagine that these days - a 15 year old kid driving an unregistered tractor towing an unregistered trailer on a public road?

The Palmers Channel public hall had been built in the late 19th century for the benefit of Protestant Christians and was used by four denominations, each with their allocated Sunday in the month. We were Church of England and would faithfully attend on our rostered day. Pa bought an XL Falcon, released in 1962,  and I remember driving this home from Church often, a distance of just over a mile, or 1.6 km. I can’t remember how old I was when I started doing this, but I must have been 13 or 14.

I obtained my license while on leave from Wagga at the end of 1967. I drove the policeman around the back streets of Maclean in Dad’s automatic XK Falcon while Mum sat in the back seat. It was a happy young man who went home that evening with his ‘P’s.

The XK was the first model Falcon released and Dad had bought this - a station wagon, as was Pa’s - second hand. I remember a later experience in this car - perhaps when I was on leave from Williamtown. On the Maclean bypass I decided to see how fast it would go. As the speed increased the car started to wallow, the speedo fluctuated wildly, and there was absolutely no sense of feel through the steering wheel. It felt as if I could have turned the wheel from lock to lock without it making any difference. Those that raced these things around Bathurst in the early 60s have my greatest admiration for I still recall this as one frightening experience.

Twelve months later, again while I was home on leave, Mum and Dad surprised me with my first car, an Austin Lancer Series II. This was probably a 1962 model. In the twelve months between obtaining my licence and taking delivery of the car I don’t think I had any driving experience - except, possibly, driving Don Bank’s Mk II Zephyr at Wagga. So I had very little experience as ‘P’ plate driver, as we were only on them for 12 months in those days - and, if I remember correctly, without speed restriction.

At the end of my leave period I drove my new car back to Wagga - but that is a different story.

First written circa 2010