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Dubu on the beach

Creatures come and go. Some you notice, some you don’t. Those that pass through your home you always notice. We have been blessed with a fine procession of the earth’s domestic creatures for 28 years. Some have been big and some have been small. Some have been feline and some canine. But none has come to bely the little space he occupied so decisvely by filling our lives so completely as the one we now farewell. Go well, Dubu. Go well, Little Guy!

You and your mate, The Smudge, have a predilection for the dramatic. You were both born in Hollywood’s equivalent of Middle Earth. The Smudge leaves this life a little after midnight as lightning flashes thunder across the heavens. You do the same a little after midday while thick mist chills the earth blind. The Smudge returns to his roots in the moist summer earth of a small subtropical rainforest. You do the same in the soft loam of a wintery cold 1150 hectare temperate forest. In this you betray your tenacity. Although a fraction of his size, you always got the better of him. Because you never give up!

Here I am!

Dubu, the Happy! Dubu, the Tenacious! This is how we remember you. This is how we celebrate your life.

Your birth, in the course of which you lose your mother, becomes an affirmation of your presence: Here I am! Vicki facilitates your arrival and becomes your surrogate mother and that of your siblings.

What do you mean ‘Here comes the bride’. Here I come!

She is rewarded for her duties to the litter. You are her reward. We take receipt of you in a mock wedding ceremony, a dress rehearsal for what later becomes the real thing. Thank you, Marga, Wim, Hedda and Lidewij, for what has gone on to become a living cliché: a bundle of joy!

Outgrowing the ruler

The breeder is meticulous. He weighs the puppies and measures them, keeps records and updates them. You are determined to outgrow his ruler as soon as possible, and so you do!

What spices go with Bichon?

Then you are introduced to The Smudge. He thinks you are lunch and bends to savour the imminent meal. What spices go with Bichon Frise?

Lunch on the move!

You have other ideas and none of them involves being eaten. So lunch goes on the move, which is a trifle disconcerting to The Smudge. He may be a hunter but only until lunch has been caught. Not after it has been served.

‘I have other qualities. I promise.’

Still, he is willing to make an exception in your case, a gesture of magnanimity which you are more than happy to decline. How to convince him otherwise? In desperation you yelp, ‘I have other qualities. I promise!’

And so you teach The Smudge to play

And so you teach The Smudge to play!

And after play it is time to rest!

And after play it is time to rest!

You grow up to become a dog

You grow up to become a dog, and being a dog, you are regularly filthy.

Vicki decides to wash the dog out of you…

Vicki decides to wash the dog out of you…

Doll you up, frizz your hair…

Doll you up, frizz your hair…

Encourages you to outreach your size…

Encourages you to leap for success…

And takes you to a dog show

And takes you to a dog show! The Smudge is puzzled by the logic.

A declaration of love facilitated by a fairy

A declaration of love facilitated by a fairy

A footwarmer.

A footwarmer. There are other uses for a Bichon Frise after all!

So where does Andrew get to sleep then, eh?

So where does Andrew get to sleep then, eh?

A one-eyed hunter in Australia

By this stage you have moved to Australia, where you lose an eye and almost your life soon after your arrival.

Standing out from the crowd

The boarders arrive and become residents. You are invited to lend beauty to a group portrait featuring them and The Smudge. In such company it is easy to stand out from the crowd. Around this time you are diagnosed with cancer and are given six months to live.

The Smudge leads you astray

The Smudge leads you astray and you discover that you are a dog again.

The lesson sticks along with the stench.

The lesson sticks along with the stench.

You return to hunting

You return to hunting.

There is a new hunter in the family

The Smudge is held off from stealing your thunder. Old age is slowing him down.

Practising being seriously cute

Practising being seriously cute. To some it comes naturally. Around this time your heart stops beating on the operating table after licking a poisonous cane toad. Vicki refuses to believe that you are dead. You prove her right!

As you grow older, the bones get bigger

As you grow older, the bones get bigger to ensure that you cannot bite off and swallow a chip. You are not planning to lodge a complaint any time soon.

A French breed at a French restaurant

Where else does a Bichon Frise celebrate his 15th birthday but at a French restaurant, even if it is only an Australian variant?

Puppy love

Puppy love? I’m 15, you dumb cow!

Dummy run for the big trip

Dummy run for the big trip to Europe. Oh, and ‘Dummy’ refers to the crate and not the dog, right? After all, 16 is too old to be a dummy.

Oh gee, a horse pretending to be a cow

Oh gee, a horse pretending to be a cow. Well, come on with the ‘puppy love’ line then!

Kangaroo, what kangaroo?

So where are all these kangaroos you promised I would see outside Melbourne then, eh?

Ah, so this is Europe, is it?

Ah, so this is Europe, is it? Big deal! Go on, tell me. They’re big on culture and small on kangaroos, right?

Still no kangaroos

So we’re in the forest, I’ve come all the way across the world and there are still no kangaroos?

No, there aren’t any kangaroos in the city

Still looking for kangaroos? In the city? So who’s suffering from dementia then, eh?

The other half has also lost the plot

Oh brother, the other half has also lost the plot. No mate, the kangaroos are a few thousand kilometres south-east of here!

Ah, the good life!

Ah, the good life! Now I know why I crossed the globe to come here. Oh and no more bloody kangaroo jokes, alright?

In my spacesuit but not quite liftoff

In my spacesuit but not quite liftoff. Autumn’s cold and I’ve taken a whack but it’s not quite as bad as the stroke I had back in Australia.

The last photo of me ever

This is the last photo ever taken of me. Within 48 hours I am dead. Not bad for a dog given six months to live nine years ago!

Dead you may be but not forgotten, little guy. Never forgotten! For 17 years, one month and one week to the day you have given either or both of us joy. We thank you and celebrate your life. And as you return to the earth we wish you Hamba Gashle! Go well, Dubu. Go well, Little Guy!

Go well, Dubu!

Tags: dog, Dubu