Tuesday, 4 June 2019

A Dingo’s View of City Life

Adapted from a Merigal magazine article from 1980

Like many of my kind I was born a Dingo, brought to the city for many reasons some for zoos, sometimes just to make a quick buck, and many other reasons which we won’t go into. My boss got me when I was six months old and I was told I had to forget my wayward past and learn obedience and discipline to receive the 'order of freedom' from the Government.

So my first real test was four weeks holiday in a place called Gladstone, some 940 miles away. I was told to get into the back seat of the car, which I did without question; my first lesson. I managed to stick it out till we got to Tamworth, our first fill up for petrol. Tamworth is a place I want to forget as for the first time I found my true identity. 

While lying asleep I heard the garage chaps voice sing out, "Christ, look at this, a bloody Dingo”.

Funny how travel teaches one many things, including ‘identity’. We made Gladstone in 32 hours, a day before we were expected and had to stay over-night in a Flag Motel where I learned my second lesson. Being a Bloody Dingo, I cased the place in no time - lovely view, TV, toilet, air conditioning, carpets on the floor. One thing, only 2 beds. One for master and one for son, John. This was a bit hard to take. Where do I go?

“The balcony is your spot”, I was told. “Lovely breeze off the harbour”. What a Dingo in training has to put up with; hope; I can finish the course. Being me, I looked over my balcony and to my horror saw three domestic dogs eating out of a dirt tin; disgusting, why can’t they learn to do a course like me, tough as it is.

It upset me so much I couldn’t sleep out there thinking of those poor animals, so I went inside and slept on the carpet. Next morning, I was awakened by a knock on the door. Can’t a poor animal get ANY sleep? Little did I know we have room service - eggs, bacon, toast, tea, weet bix, and pineapple juice. Boy, I'll be in this, I thought to myself, only to find out mine consisted of weet bix and milk, two rounds of toast and the left overs. This course is tougher than I thought.

10 am we left for our final destination, a house five minutes from the bitch. I pricked up my ears and thought, this is where my training goes by the board, only to find out it wasn’t a female dingo (bitch), but a beach! What a let down.

The following day I was taken to the beach; while my master and son swam, I had a good look around to see if there were any of my nob around. No such luck, only mongrel dogs all having a good time, so it wasn’t long before I found a few mates. So, a little bit of good advice to Dingoes; if you want to enjoy yourselves, learn mix even if it means coming down a peg socially. I am grateful I have been taught properly and learned to mix as my daily routine was up at 8am, swim and run the length of the beach, home for breakfast, then to bed - and I must have my pillow. Life wasn't meant to be easy but being me, I accept the good with the bad.

I often think of those poor domestic dogs roaming the streets and finishing up in a dogs’ home. I've decided to stick by my Boss. I've got a beautiful yard, and the best of everything. I will keep in touch with my fellow dingoes and relate from time to time how I get on, and pass on hints to future owners of how a bloody Dingo should be trained.

PS I goofed my first day back from Gladstone as I got in next door and killed two guinea pigs. Is this what is meant by you can't make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear? Lucky for me my boss doesn’t expect the impossible. But one thing I have learned he loves me, and I love him.

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