Loyal Companions

Every now and then, Facebook will pop up a memory of our two lovely ladies and I’ll have to pause and remember them. Buying two rescue dogs was the best decision our family could have made, and the memories we have are good, even with the bittersweet tang of their loss.

After buying our house, we had decided that the next step was to get a dog. A dog. Not multiple dogs. Dog, singular.

A friend of mine told me about Pets Haven in Daylesford, so on the way back from an Easter trip to Bendigo, we swung by and stuck our heads in, to see if we could find that special someone to take home.

Rose and Amy were our immediate choice from the moment we laid eyes on them. Nervous and timid, with beautiful, huge brown eyes and gorgeous red fur, the shop owner told us they would absolutely have to be sold as a pair.

They weren’t called Rose and Amy at that time. I think one was Amy. The other one had a different, less interesting name. Doctor Who named her for us. Both of them. Our lovely Companions.

It took them a few weeks to get over their nervousness. Amy would almost attack the TV every time Jon Snow came onto the television. They both maintained an almost constant wide-eyed look of fear when we took them for a walk. They slept with their eyes open.

They were puppy farm rescues. Pets Haven told us they were sisters, but their relationship was more mother and daughter. Amy’s ribs were distended from too many litters. They would eat their own poo, being used to that being their only food source in the pens.

It was glorious, watching them find their happy place. Slowly they calmed down, happy to be amongst three relatively calm humans and living among the trees. My wife referred to them as my “doggy throne” as I had one under each elbow as I sat on the couch.

A few months in, on Grand Final day, my wife and daughter were out, and I was home, about to take the dogs for a walk. I opened the door for some unknown reason, without properly checking their locations and they zipped out the door to freedom, joyous ears flopping as they sprinted for the walking trail to explore. I chased them halfway down the street, but for mostly dormant doggies, they could really move when they wanted to. Thus followed two days of printing posters, calling vets and praying for their safe return.

I’m not sure what they got up to, but they definitely had adventures. Amy and Rose were picked up on the first day by a lovely local couple, but Amy got away from them the very next morning. They saw our poster in the local café and called me to pick up Rose. The following morning I got a call from Pets Haven, who were the contacts for Amy’s chip. She’d been picked up trying to cross a very busy major road about 10 kilometres away.

Amy pooed green for two days. I have no idea what she had been eating. And we kept a lot closer eye on them after that.

Not that it helped. Amy dug under the back fence and escaped into the neighbour’s yard, no matter what I did – wire, rocks, dirt, nothing worked. Rose would follow sometimes, but she wasn’t as good at the escape artist gig.

I was about to get onto a boat up in Queensland, having left the dogs with Mum, when I got a phone call:

“Hey,” (puff puff) “Your bloody dogs have,” (puff puff) “just escaped, and I am” (puff puff) “chasing them down the street- Hey! Stop those dogs!” (puff puff) Now she was talking to someone on the street. “Oh, thanks, yes, they got away from me.” And then back to me. “OK, I have them again. Crisis averted.”

Man, we loved those dogs. They looked adorable in Christmas hats. Their fur gleamed in the sunlight as they lay in front of the window. They snored in time with me – a little chorus of snores to match my large one. My wife delighted in recording the sound on her phone.

They went on holidays with us, meeting curious goats, the odd kangaroo and many many butterflies. Amy loved butterflies and would chase any that came close, dragging me along behind her. I took them camping and slept next to soggy dogs in my rain-soaked tent. We took them to the beach, which they hated, and to the river, which they loved.

I walked them every morning and night, stopping to chat with every other person on the trail, everyone having to give them a pat and to comment on the two beautiful girls.

They’d had a hard life, but we gave them a happy finish to that life. They got pats and treats and more pats and walks and fireside beds and cuddles and all the love the three of us and everyone who came to the house could bestow upon them.

They were a couple of injury-prone dogs. Rose's hip would go out on a regular basis, usually on a Sunday when the vets charged double time. We were devastated when the vet told us Amy had cancer. My daughter found the lump and we took her in for a checkup. The operation was a roaring success, apart from the cone. We told her that was her one operation... until the cancer came back. After the second operation, Amy was fine.

Amy was the nervous, twitchy, emaciated, cancer survivor, but Rose was the first to go. Taking her to the vet was one of the worst memories in my life. The vet fed her treats and made sure she was comfortable and my wife and I patted her until she was gone. My daughter still has her photo as the background on her phone, all these years later.

We didn’t know how Amy would take it. I bought her a stuffed teddy bear the same colour, so she would have someone to sleep with. But Amy recovered quickly, and actually thrived, with all the love being heaped on her, with no one to share it with. She stopped being as jittery, filled out and just seemed happier in general for the next couple of years.

But age finally caught up to her, and eventually the pills and treatments weren’t working any more and she joined her sister in whatever giant butterfly-filled heaven dogs go to at the end.

The house feels empty without them. Of course, we’re still vacuuming fur out of the carpet two years later and occasionally I’ll find a hidden chew toy.

And Facebook keeps reminding me. Because everything they did was posted on Facebook.

We don’t miss having them as puppies. We would absolutely go the rescue dog route if we got more dogs. I’m glad we got them as a pair.

My little doggy throne.

Thanks for the memories. Faithful Companions.