Our Aussie Adventures

As four became three in the not so distant past, it is with devastating grief that I now must report that three has become two, with the sad loss of our best friend and eager travel companion, Bethany.

Baby Bethany’s First Day At Home

Bethany came into our lives, a tiny little bundle of energetic black fur, far removed, from the still gregarious, but elegant lady she grew into. Not only did she possess a physical beauty beyond reckoning, she transmitted a striking aura that transcended all who met her. Ostensibly a housemate for Bec to come home to, Bethany became an inseparable sister shaped shadow to Alvin. They would go and do everything together, which meant that Becs little girl quickly became my little miss until the time came for the three of us to move back home to Melbourne. Our family of four was quickly cemented.

That said Bethany did spend her first week or so, living in Melbourne with Bec. Confined, or so she was meant to be, to a cardboard box playpen during the day, Bec would come home to find her either escaped from its confines, or covered in muck. This is where Alvin later came in, taking Bethany under his wing, teaching her the lay of the land, caring for her and even grooming her, licking her face clean after dinner. Alvin was a bit of a stickler for that kind of thing. Bethany? Well not so much!

Alvin, The Protector.

Despite, or maybe because of, young Alvins gruff, paternal nature, Bethany fostered a terrible naughty streak, well and truly more than made up for by her sweet nature. She was always the happiest, excitable babe and only ever so seldom did a half angry growl escape her lips.

One look from Bethany, with her clichéd large brown, puppy dog eyes, was enough to melt the fiercest of hearts, regardless of what she had been up to. It was far from a rare occurrence that Alvin would seek Bec and I out, looking at us with a frown of disdain. This was his sign and we would know immediately that Bethany was up to no good.

How Could You Resist That Look?

Ruled by her stomach, many an expedition did she have, hunting and prowling about the house for an extra morsel of tucker. From an almost entire bag of doggie biscuits that seen her belly swell to inconceivable proportions causing her to walk for a period with a comical rolling gait, to a box of Dentastix (35 sticks in total if you don’t mind) which she not only managed to knock from a shelf in the garage when I accidentally left the door open one night, but adroitly opened each and every packet to get to the sweet treats contained within. Don’t even get me started then, on the bag of grapes, dragged down from the centre of the kitchen bench. Not a small task for a short statured pup. This particular escapade seen both Alvin and Bethany admitted to hospital for their stomachs to be pumped. No surprise here, but it was only our darling Bethany who regurgitated the remains of the little green orbs. Another time, it was inexplicably a bar of soap.  It was not even one of those fancy, it smells so good you could eat it types. Just a regular cake of hard, yellow, oily laundry soap. That one gave Gram’ma and Granddad a fright, as Bec and I were away at the time. Only last week, she lambasted the contents of my bedside table across the room in a harried exertion of blood, sweat and tears, solely for the reward of an empty biscuit packet.

No, No…Nothing To See Here.

But Wait, You Left Me No Chips.

Even being as food orientated as she was, Bethany didn’t seem to be easily trained. Her repertoire of tricks was essentially limited to sitting while her dinner was dished up, waiting each evening, ever so patiently for those prophetic three words, “go for it” to be uttered. And I sincerely believe that she learned this from Alvin rather than from myself. I initially put this down to her not being the smartest dog in the shed, but with greater insight as time marched on, I honestly believe it to be more stubbornness that any intrinsic lack of intelligence on her part. She knew exactly what we wanted and she knew exactly what she wanted. It was just that nine times out of ten, what she wanted easily won out over what we wanted. For instance, it was only in her later years that she learned that a kiss wasn’t necessarily a bath, courtesy of her tongue as she tried in vain to lick the skin from your face. “Keep your tongue in your head” I would often gently remonstrate her, but mostly to no avail.

While she didn’t display the escape at all cost tendencies one might have expected, given her Beagle cross heritage, Bethany did have a Houdini like party trick of removing herself from her walking harness. Waiting for the leash to near the correct angle, all it took was a lithe slither of her shoulders and out she slipped. Before you knew it, she would be walking alongside of you, happily unfettered.

The Addition Of A Chain Prevented Further Party Tricks.

Of maybe more concern was her distinct dislike of little people (children that is) and (generally bigger) dogs. Both had their origins in her early life when she was first tormented by a young neighbour and later bitten on the leg by another dog. The beastly attack had the greatest effect upon her, causing a slow healing break of her forearm, that in her stubbornness, she walked about on with little indication of the severity, for a day, before it was even properly diagnosed. In true Bethany form, this occurred only a day before Bec and I were due to fly out on holidays. This saw Gram’ma and Granddad having to step in to stay with and care for her while we were away. An episode that saw her using her plaster cast bound leg as a pestle with which to wake Granddad early each morning, so that he could escort her out to the bathroom. Like I said, stubborn, not silly! The pain remained long after the physical scars healed up however. Up until the end, only a slight jarring on her leg would see her hobble about on three, albeit quite adeptly, for a few days.

One of our greatest scares came during the preparation for our grand trip around the continent, when a regular check up plunged us deep into despair. A heart murmur reminiscent of the Cavalier King Charles side of her lineage, and liver issues were unveiled. A barrage of tests revealed little more, although we were advised to cherish every moment we had with her, as the prognosis suggested that six months might be the extent of time remaining. It left us flummoxed, the trip on the verge of cancellation. We chose to maintain our schedule however, safe in the knowledge that if Bethany didn’t make the entire lap, that at least we would be able to spend the utmost of quality time with her. As is obviously clear from my earlier missives, she made it through, flourished even, relishing the chance to explore new wonders, run on far flung beaches and growl loudly at all the other dogs and occasional little people she met along the way. She returned home, a new lease on life, expectant now of further trips. More trips did follow, although it was only our Red Centre sojourn that she was able to enjoy with her mate, Alvin.

Enjoying The Great Outdoors.

Upon Alvin’s untimely departure, we thought for sure that Bethany would not be too far behind. Alvin knew of a time without Bethany, but Bethany conversely, knew nothing other than having him by her side, each and every step of the way. With Alvin gone, dear Bethany pined and grieved like a lost little sole. Her separation from her best mate was palpable, to the extent that it was some months before we even dared leave her at home alone. Even when we did, it was only for a couple of hours at most. For periods any longer than that, Gram’ma and Granddad stepped in to fill the void, and Bethany quickly clued into the cues that indicated an upcoming excursion to their place, nudging at her leash hanging from the wall in a mad effort to remind us not to forget to take her.

It was during this time that we also learned just how heavily poor Bethany relied on Alvin. Her hearing we knew was fading, but not had we realised just how profoundly deaf she was. Unable to follow the cues of Alvin, Bethany did begin to learn to understand our satiric version of sign language and developed a prodigious ability at reading body language. She also engaged in some training of her own. Training of Bec and I that is. Whenever we would go out, whether it be one or both of us, upon our return, it became her custom to launch herself upon our bed, regaling us with a gentle bark to ask for a cuddle. If said cuddle was not forthcoming with some amount of hustle, her vocal demands grew in intensity until her desires were met. Her intelligence thus was unquestionable.

Getting Ready To Deploy ‘The Tongue’.

But I Can’t Get Any Closer.

Bethany’s final travels saw her join us on a three week trip across south western Victoria and up into the McLaren Vale wine region of South Australia. Without her little buddy to keep her company, she quickly let us know that being left in the van alone was out of the question. Rather, she would sit up high and proud in the back seat of the Beast, accompanying us on every little side trip and day trip we took. Without complaint, she trundled along as we spent an exhausting day driving about Adelaide or sat graciously guarding our bottles of plonk as we meandered from winery to winery. She asked for nothing more than to be close to us, the occasional walk and a sneaky handful of bikkies that Bec would toss to her each time we exited The Beast.

Despite ongoing tests at the Vets, indicating that she was battling serious, but somewhat mysterious and perplexing health issues, it was only in the last couple of weeks that we noticed a visible decline. Her energy levels were waning and then horror of all horrors, she refused to eat. Thanks to our exemplary local vet, who fitted us in for what turned out to be somewhat of a marathon after hours consult, we brought Bethany home, hooked up to an IV drip. While our bedroom resembled a hospital ward and we endured a sleepless couple of nights, watching her every minute move, fraught with fear that she would dislodge her tubes, Bethany took it all in her stride, sleeping comfortably without so much as a consideration of our angst. Two days on the drip did her wonders, and put a pep back into her step.

It was sadly only a brief interlude to the onset of further serious concerns, as she slowly slid into a state of lethargy. A visit from Gram’ma and Granddad saw her bounce back like she had so many times before, but the effort was too great. The following day, stubborn right up to the very end, even as her darling little body said that enough was enough, you could see her mind ticking over with the precision of a Swiss watch, her eyes darting back and forth, checking out who was around her, but pleading all the same to be veiled from her misery. Bethany slipped away peacefully, laying on her favourite patch of grass in the back yard, shielded from the sun and surrounded by Bec and I as well as her beloved Gram’ma and Granddad.

I like to think that the years I spent with Bethany were the best years of my life. It saddens me to no end however, that those years were ALL of her years. She gave it her all, until there was no more left to give. What I wouldn’t give though, just for a little more time. One last run on the beach. A final one of her legendary tongue-lashings. To have her sitting by my feet as I toil away in the study or relax in the lounge. Or just to see her resting comfortably in her bed next to me. It is theses things and more, that I want to remember like a newsreel playing on a never ending loop within my mind, because it is these things, the minutiae of daily life, which made her so special to us.

RIP Bethany (Chooka).

31/08/2002 – 06/03/2017

If love alone could have kept you here,

You would have lived forever.

It’s been over two years now since we completed our mad dash around the country. Six months on the road, coupled with five weeks of exciting Red Centre Adventures earlier this year, and in that time of providing daily updates, it was only on the rare occasion that I wasn’t able to turn even the most mundane of days into a blog post exceeding a thousand words. And yet, here I have sat, forlornly in front of my computer for hours, staring at a ghostly blank screen, trying vainly to extricate the thoughts currently jumbled within my aching head.

In my nearly forty years you see, I (as well as Bec and darling Bethany) suffered the greatest loss I have known. It is with utterly heart wrenching sorrow that I have to announce that our little travelling mate, Alvin, has embarked on his final journey.

To some, he was just a dog. A furry, four legged companion. They do say a dog is a mans best friend, but to me, he was ever so much more than just a best friend. To me, he wasn’t ‘like’ one of the family, he ‘was’ one of the family. I didn’t see him as being ‘like’ a son, as to me he ‘was’ a son. A soul mate of the greatest order, who inherently new better than any human being that I have ever met, not only if something was bothering me, but just what to do to make me smile.

He came into our lives some fourteen and a half years ago, a tiny ball of white and tan fur, with a cheeky, mischievous grin that reminded me of his chipmunk namesake, at a time when I was just about to make the move from my childhood home. For work, I would be moving away from my parents house, which was akin to a fully serviced motel, as well as taking on the pressures of a long distance relationship with Bec, as her career options were limited in the small country town to which I was moving, some three hours distant. Alvin then, was to be my buddy, my roommate and my confidante, something at which he excelled at on all counts.

What a gorgeous little boy.

Before the big move however, he had to endear my parents, as it was at their place he was to stay. Mum, who was to become his Gram’ma was easily won over, helping bathe Alvin, before we attempted to blow dry him with a big, old fashioned hair dryer that in hind sight must have sounded like a jumbo jet taking off. Much to Alvins displeasure, I can only wonder at what he thought he had gotten himself in for by coming home with us motely bunch of strangers.

As for Dad, or Granddad as he soon became, well that was a tougher battle, hardly helped by Alvins nervous accident upon their first meeting that saw a fetid stream of green explode from his rear end, directed up a wall and through a heater vent. Strike one.

Alvin had a way of making you quickly forget the bad however, curling his lips in a fashion akin to an impish grin, all the while his wide brown literal ‘puppy dog’ eyes peering at you in a beguiling fashion as if to say “you’ve just gotta love me”. It worked on pretty much just about everyone he befriended.

There’s that face. How could you not love it?

In the couple of months after Alvin became a part of our family, and before I made the physical move, he did nearly become Gram’mas dog though. She was with him, day in and day out when I was at work, no doubt spoiling him rotten like she did right until the end. Even after I made the move, on my almost weekly visits back to Melbourne, Gram’ma would take charge of caring for Alvin, creating an unbreakable bond between them. As for Granddad, well he might act all big and tough, but it wasn’t long before his heart too was melting for the little one, even helping me construct a custom dog house, with porch and all, which we named ‘the Taj Mahal’. How were we to know at this early stage that Alvin was to be very much an indoors oriented little fellow, who shunned the idea of sleeping outside, even if it was in the comfort of ‘the Taj Mahal’!

Sitting outside ‘The Taj Mahal’.

I don’t recall a great deal about the actual move, apart from Bec, Gram’ma and Granddad coming down to help sort out my stuff, unpack the boxes and clean up the house. Before I knew it, the final car was disappearing down the road, a blur of tail lights through my tear sodden eyes. For the first time since I went on school camps (on all of which I suffered homesickness also), I was on my own, save for my buddy, Alvin. As I sat on the kitchen floor, my back against the cupboards, sobbing, he gregariously began to lick at my face. He was letting me know that I wasn’t so alone after all. I have never forgotten that act of kindness, and in fact, spent the next 14 years trying to repay him for it.

As we forged our life together in the bachelor pad, we had many a laugh, with Alvin keeping me fit by enticing me to chase him madly about the lounge and dining room. And when I wore out, he would happily play fetch with his favourite blue ball. Up and down the hall way mind you, which I am sure must have been in direct contradiction of my lease.

I think even Alvin knew that he wasn’t meant to be inside, but gee he loved it when he was!

Another chase we had was concerning his final baby tooth, which was hanging in by a tenuous, but decidedly dogged thread. Bec and I thought surely it wouldn’t be too much of an effort to work it loose. How wrong were we, as he led us on a wild goose chase, as we tried to catch him, let alone let us get near enough his mouth to extract the stubborn molar. As we wrestled with him, the only thing we did manage to get out of him was a little bit of poop! It eventually took a trip to the vet to tug that tenacious little tooth out.

That visit to the vets was one of the first times his breed was queried. The vet was surprised to see such a statuesque Cavalier King Charles. It was not until the mention that he was crossed with Cocker Spaniel that the connection was made. It was certainly not the last time the error was made however, with many people mistaking him for an oversized purebred Cavvy.

He had his moments of course, when the little devil sitting on his shoulder won out against the angel sitting on the opposite side, but they were few and far between. Mainly along the lines of making sure certain bushes in the back yard were trimmed (that is to say chewed) to his specifications, or much to my amusement one evening when Gram’ma and Granddad had come to visit, winding up standing proudly smack bang in the middle of the kitchen table, helping himself to our left over fish and chips after we had absent mindedly gone out back to view the garden. No doubt taking in his earlier efforts on the bushes!

Up to no good in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Then along came Bethany. Bethany was to have been Becs companion, when she moved into the house we had built in Melbourne. Alvin took a tremendous liking to Bethany, standing over her like a guardian ready to take on all comers, yet gentle enough to help her with her grooming, licking at her cheeks and eyes where she wasn’t able to reach. They became instantly inseparable and before I knew it, I had two dogs to keep me company. Despite the unreserved love that Bethany offered, it was still Alvin that was able to read me like a book. He knew not only when I needed cuddles and kisses, but he knew when I needed some space also, happily just sitting by my side, waiting and watching to see what love he could offer. He was a smart boy.

Protecting his new mate.

It was on the frequent trips home to Melbourne that we discovered a couple of things. One, he didn’t suffer from car sickness, but was rather bothered by the wind being funneled through the wide open windows. Here I thought I was doing him a favour by giving him plenty of fresh air. Future car trips were conducted with the windows wound firmly up. Secondly, he had an apparent reaction to grass, especially in Melbourne. We fought an ever lasting battle to stop him from scratching himself red raw.

As time went on, I moved back to Melbourne where Bec, Alvin, Bethany and I became a real family. Everything we did, we did it for the babies. Whether it be chiseling through the brick of our new house to put in their doggy door, putting in a yard of fake turf to at least give him something to run around and do his business on that wouldn’t cause his skin to flare up in patchy red rashes, or fitting out the house (and caravan) with leather lounges throughout as they were easier to keep clean, it was all for them. Alvin even had his very own armchair in the family room, and low and behold should anyone dare sit on it, apart of course his beloved Gram’ma. He was most put out when that lounge suite was sold off, even sitting on it in a separate room while we awaited its collection. As a result, he took over my chair in the lounge room, spurning the offered replacement of a brand spanking new leather two seater. Having to share wasn’t his style, so a single armchair was more to his liking.

Alvin in his ‘new’ armchair, while I am relegated to the floor.

And if you thought Alvin was spoiled by Bec and I, it was not only my folks, but also Becs parents who would dole out the treats with loving, but reckless abandon. Due to the tyranny of distance, Becs parents weren’t as able to be as involved in Alvins life, but whenever visits were made, he was always nipping at the heels of Grandma, ready to catch whatever little tidbits came his way. And I am sure that there were plenty. Alvin also had something of a relationship with Becs brothers little dog, Penny, although I still can’t say for certain if it was reciprocated or if Penny just liked playing hard to get.

Bec and I, having travelled quite frequently without either Alvin or Bethany, finally decided to begin making plans for our trip around Australia. Right from the very outset, it was decided that it was an adventure that we could not complete without the babies. With the frequent car trips as puppies, and rather more infrequent short trips away, we were confident that they would fare well. We were even then, more worried that we had left our run too late, for they were already advancing in age.

Enjoying one of their first caravanning trips.

In hindsight, it was the best thing that we could ever have done, as for six glorious months, they had us at their beck and call. There wasn’t a day they weren’t without us, and for the most part there wasn’t a day that they didn’t get to go on a walk or two. And despite Alvins aversion to dirt, he relished every opportunity that we gave him to run along a beach.

It was twelve months after we returned from that trip, as I was preparing for my own surgery on a hernia, that Alvin collapsed at home. It was only luck that I was home to see it happen, as Bec was out at a work function. I was able to race him down to the hospital where we had to make an agonizing decision. A tumor on his spleen had ruptured, bleeding internally. It was most likely that the tumor was a cancerous growth, and even with emergency surgery, the outcome was likely to give him a few months at best. The other option would have been measured in hours.

After everything that boy had done for me and us over the years, even now as he sat obviously extremely ill, but looking up lovingly at Bec and I, as well as Gram’ma and Granddad who had rushed down to the hospital with Bethany, to be with him, there was not a choice to be made. We had to give him every possible chance we could.

Despite the risks, the surgery went well, and Alvin recovered even quicker than I did from my comparatively minor little slice to the abdomen. It was even better news when the lab results came back, that the tumour had in fact been a benign growth. Such a prognosis meant that we could look forward to years rather than months. I finally felt that I was repaying that face licking he had given me all those years back.

Cuddles on the couch.

Since then, we had decided to forgo any extended travel without the babies, focusing instead on tugging that tin can of ours to far flung parts of Australia, so that we could luxuriate in the company of Alvin and Bethany, rather than loll around on tropical beaches in foreign countries, or slurp on watery Peña Coladas by cruise ship swimming pools. That decision was the impetus of our Red Centre trip earlier this year, as well as at least a couple of planned shorter sojourns next year.

You can only imagine my distress when I awoke as I generally do, late in the morning, only a short week or so ago (it feels so much longer though, as the gut wrenching agony has prevented me from doing anything other than menial tasks about the house), to find a note from Bec on the kitchen bench that Alvin hadn’t been interested in his morning treat. Even without the note, I could tell that he was not well. Sleep had been his favourite subject of study for some time now, but this particular morning there was a distinct lethargy that suggested something all the more sinister.

What I expected to be a quick trip down to the local vet for a check up and to be told that old age was slowly gaining an upper hand turned into a grueling marathon during which a barrage of tests were conducted and samples were taken. The concerns of the usually equable vet made me even more concerned that I had started out. I rang Bec from the car on the way home, in tears. They haven’t yet stopped.

I am yet still to fully make sense of the following days, but that was on a Friday. Sometime over the weekend we got the news that an enzyme in poor Alvins blood test indicated that his Kidneys weren’t performing as they should be. On the Monday, we took him to the hospital for a battery of further tests. The results all suggested the same thing. His kidneys weren’t working too well. There was hope though and he came home on Monday night. He wouldn’t eat though and his lethargy had gone up a level.

Come Tuesday, it was back to the hospital. We had daily visits, but he didn’t come home until Sunday. By this stage, I don’t think any number of licks on the face was going to help him. I felt like I had failed him when he needed me most. I know everyone says to remember the good times and mentions how well he was looked after, how spoilt he was, how well travelled he was. None of that matters though, because in my mind, all I wanted to do was give him a big lick on the face to cheer him up. And it didn’t work.

Instead, he came home with Bec and I on Sunday, where Bethany, Gram’ma and Granddad were waiting for him. The vets were holding out hope for him, but it was as if Alvin knew better, I’m sure he did. We brought him inside, then he went outside briefly to a couple of his favorite spots, struggled back inside through a special dog door I had hastily constructed especially for him just the day before, then he lay down in the comfort of his own bed. Sometime later, with his last little ounce of energy, he gave his tail a wag when he spied Gram’ma, but otherwise, his eyes said it all. Almost pleadingly. He had had enough.

It was the early hours of Monday morning that Bec and I found ourselves making one final despondent trip back to the hospital. Sadly, my final lick of his face wasn’t going to cause a miracle and make him better, but it was to end his suffering.

In that moment, as I said goodbye to the little boy who had indeed been my best friend, my soul mate, my son, any anguish and pain that he had been feeling, I felt was transferred to me. But that anguish and pain I shall hold and wear like a badge of honour, because it will mean that my darling Alvin can now rest in peace and I will feel that I have finally repaid him as best as I know how.

RIP Alvin (little buddy).

22/06/2001 – 14/12/2015

You left us memories

That no one can steal,

You left us a heartache

That no one can heal.