"My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet." Edith Wharton
Whisky
Our first family dog was Whisky. Unfortunately I do not remember much of Whisky at all except through photos.
Cindy
The first dog we had that I remember well was Cindy, a rescue dog from the RSPCA (the local dog pound). Cindy was a total "brak" - a veritable hotchpotch of different breeds to the extent they were indistinguishable. But, oh my god, how I loved that dog. And Cindy loved me back with equal fervour. Even when I was quite rough with her on occasion as young kids are, she never lost her temper or snapped at me.
Scamp
Our second dog was Scamp who mum rescued as a puppy from a bunch of boys who were teasing him with a can tied to his tail. If it's possible, little Scamp was even more of brak than Cindy and he was unabashedly ugly but we adored him too and both he and Cindy became fully fledged members of our family.
Tinkerbell
The next addition to our family was Tinkerbell, a cute little kitten that Jo totally fell for when we were on holiday at Eight Bells and managed to convince mum and dad to adopt.
Tina
Our next dogs were Tina, followed by Meg. We had them both from puppies. Tina was a cross between an Old English Sheepdog and a Labrador. She was besotted with balls and would chase them down the driveway until my arm got sore from throwing. She would be most disapproving if Meg got to the ball first and do her very best to get it back, even if it meant using guerilla tactics.
Tina had a very happy personality and it was personified by her tail that would wag at a million miles an hour whenever we came home after being away - even if just for 5 minutes. Unfortunately Tina's tail was bitten in a skirmish which left a wound. The vet put a bandage on for protection but Tina kept wagging her tail and hitting it against walls by mistake which would make the wound break open again and it would leave streaks of blood all over the house. It got so bad that it left no alternative but to amputate poor Tina's tail.
For two weeks after the operation, Tina wore a pair of mum's old knickers as this was the best way to protect her stump. When the pants came off, Tina's mannerisms underwent a radical change. If she was happy to see you, she no longer had a tail to way, so she'd wiggle her entire hindquarters vigorously instead and she'd squat and widdle with excitement and she'd make loud grunting sounds of pure pleasure.
Tina wan't the brightest sandwich in the picnic basket. In fact, we had a popular phrase in our household: "Don't be as as thick as Tina." An example of Tina's "thickness" was that she loved chasing butterflies. Except it wasn't the butterflies themselves that she'd chase, it was their shadows. And often, she'd stub her poor nose into the paving in an attempt to "get at them."
Meg
Of all our dogs though (and I loved them all very much), Meg was my favourite. She didn't wear her affection on her sleave like Tina. She was much more weary and you had to earn her trust first. We had a very special relationship. When dad died, I adopted Meg and looked after her at Willow Road but it wasn't a good life as I was often at work and Meg was not used to being alone. When Meg died, about a year later, I cried and cried and cried. In many ways, her death was the catalyst that allowed me to start releasing the grief that I felt for dad.
At various time, we also had hamsters and guinea pigs as pets. I remember at one time, we had two female hamsters (they were sisters) who lived upstairs and downstairs from each other in a double story cage. Jo and I were really keen to experience the joys of baby hamsters and somehow we twisted mum's arm so that she agreed. In retrospect, we must have used black magic to achieve this. I think the fact that mum had found a pet owner who agreed to take the offspring off our hands helped a lot.
We borrowed a randy male hamster and introduced him to the downstairs female. We left him there for 10 minutes but she clearly wasn't interested. So we moved the male to the upstairs boudoir and once again, there wasn't any hot action. Soon we lost interest but we left the stud in the upstairs cage for half an hour while we played elsewhere just in case they might suddenly fancy each other.
Three weeks later both females gave birth! How downstairs female fell pregnant we will never know. Immaculate conception or something. The fact remains, we had a combined total of 22 baby hamsters to contend with. Of course, Jo and I were ecstatic. We were in baby hamster heaven.
All was well, until a week days later, we came to feed the hamsters to discover the cage had slipped to the floor and had sprung open and every single hamster has escaped. Complete mayhem. Operation "Find them!!" ensued. It was extremely challenging as the spare room had all sorts of nooks and crannies. Some we found in mum's boots. Others had climbed into the curtains. Others were in the back of cupboards. But, believe it or not, we found all of them - even if it did take us two days!
The next calamity was that the pet shop owner changed his mind. He said he couldn't deal with so many babies. 22 babies and no-one wanted them. So poor mum had to go into hard sell mode. She instructed Jo and I to offer free baby hamsters to our friends at school. Everyday we'd take a couple of hamsters to school in our pockets and offer them to our friends who would excitedly take them home with them. Very few mum's sent them back. But that's not to say they were happy. In fact, mum maintains half of the mum's stopped speaking to her overnight.
Guinea pigs
Finally there is the sad tale of our two guinea pigs. They lived together in a hutch on the lawn that dad fashioned out of chicken wire. They were cute little creatures and they lived happily together. Every morning before school, I would feed them. Then one day, we came home from school to find them both stone cold dead. But they were untouched and the chicken wire was intact. It conspires that one our other beloved pets (probably Tina) saw fit to bark at them loudly through the wire (the neighbours heard the raucous) and the poor little guinea pigs literally died of fright.
To be honest, I was sad but not devastated. Part of me was relieved that I no longer had to wake up 10 minutes early and brave the cold morning air to feed them.
Feta
We got Feta from the SPCA in 1998 when Ally and I returned to Willow Road after our year overseas. She was an ugly (but cute) kitten, but she became more and more beautiful as he grew up. She was a very self sufficient cat, didn't like to much attention unless it was on her terms. Certainly not a lap cat. She would disappear for long periods to explore the local area and just when we started getting worried, would suddenly appear wanting a good feed. Feta stayed on at Willow Road with out house mates after Ally and I moved to London.
We had Whisky when I was very young and I don't remember her at all.
