The dog that almost wasn’t.
A long one...

About 2 years ago, my small daughter become interested in a particular website that listed RSPCA dogs for adoption.

The site shows photos of each dog, and gives a cheery description of each one. One particular dog caught our eye, a Husky/Cattle Dog cross. Stocky, pricky up ears, lovely markings. Her name was Sasha. A quick call to the RSPCA established that, yes, she was still available. She had been born on a farm, but thanks to her Husky heritage, had a very unfriendly farm habit of “hunting” all the animals, so was given up for adoption. No problem, we live on a decent sized suburban block, and have no other animals, save for the incessant Brisbane possum population that climb into the yard and eat everything in the garden.

The next day, while the 2 older kids were at school, myself and smallest Oath son travelled to the RSPCA dog shelter to procure Sasha. It was going to be a triumphant homecoming, new dog for the kids to play with after school, Walkies of an evening. Happy days.


Now, smallest Oath son is blessed with a few challenges in life, non-verbal, cannot understand a lot of his surroundings, and has the attention span of a gnat. Autism writ large + healthy streak of ADHD. Good times, in my household every day is an interesting adventure. Whatever, he’s part of our family, so he goes wherever we all go, even to RSPCA shelters.

Anyway, we arrive in the family wagon, newly purchased leash, collar and water bowl at the ready. We enter the office and introduce ourselves.

Before long Sasha has been let out of her compound, and is sitting next to us. She is silent, showing the 1000 yard stare of all long term inmates. She tolerates our pats, and the tail slowly starts to wag. A delightful, quiet dog. Fur as soft as a cat thanks to her breeding heritage. It was easy to pat her, and she nuzzled for some more attention.

By now, youngest Oath is very excited, lets out a long piercing scream (normal speech pattern for him, it usually means “my word, I’m a bit excited at the moment” or, maybe” One is rather hungry, could you please furnish me with some victuals”).

Anyway, just as we are handing over our money, the RSPCA lady suddenly says, “No, you can’t have this dog. Your son will hurt her”. She was obviously unsettled by youngest Oath’s noise. No amount of reasoning or pleading could change her mind, and in hindsight, I don’t blame her. Most people find his extraordinary noise level confronting.

Sasha was oblivious to it. It was just the RSPCA lady being extra protective, but still, a kick in the guts.

Now, I love dogs, and was so looking forward to the kids enjoying growing up with the unconditional love of a dog in their life. But, it wasn’t to be. We drove back home, without Sasha dog.

I was deeply disappointed, but philosophical at the same time. It was just another episode whereby youngest Oath’s behaviour caused us to rapidly change plans, whether we wanted to or not. We’d had plenty of similar experiences, and well, frankly, there will be a lifetime of similar experiences to come, so, always keep trying, but better get used to it.

When we arrive back home, the older kids were disappointed, as was my wife. No-one blamed youngest Oath. It just was what it was.

The next day, I flew out to work, for a 2 week roster in the middle of nowhere.

After a couple of days, when I was briefly within mobile phone coverage, I received a message with an accompanying photo – Sasha sitting in the back seat of my wife’s car, muzzle out the window, happily snuffling in the breeze.

My wife had taken matters into her own hands, travelled to the RSPCA in her little car, breezily asked to see a dog called Sasha that she had seen on the internet, handed over the money, and taken her back home.

We’ve had her almost two years now, and she is definitely big part of our family. Loves us dearly, we love her, look after her needs, we all travel everywhere together.

She has a particular bond with smallest Oath son, his eating habits are a little, um, messy, so she happily follows him around, knowing that a few snacks will be on offer, whether by design or happy accident. Sometimes he is happy to hand over food, she gently takes it, tail slowly swishing from side to side in happiness.

I have never had a more loyal, trusting, obedient dog.

And last years’ tally was six dead possums, carefully stalked, dispensed with and happily eaten. Our garden has never looked better.

Sasha...reclining on youngest Oath's bed

( Ken Oath, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 3:29, 8 replies)

Nice!
Not enough clicks in my left mouse button.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 4 Feb 2013, 3:44, closed)

I kept waiting for the bit
where he eats your slipper and shits it out under the dining room table. This was far too uplifting.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 4:07, closed)

Finding half a possum under the flower bed sort of comes a close second.

( Ken Oath, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 4:12, closed)

its like the old b3ta
where the users stories entertained me. Little pieces like this
let other users here see into the window of someone else's life.

I'm clicking this because i love dogs, this story
and the obvious unwavering passion you have for your family and pet.

More of this
(Cov Boy, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 11:35, closed)

I'm reporting your wife to the authorities.
I mean ... not because she conned a cat out of a reluctant pound. That sounds like a perfectly reasonable response to an officious twat. I'm reporting her for those other things. Those terrible terrible unspeakable things.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 4 Feb 2013, 19:49, closed)

Best not to speak of those unspeakable things.
( Ken Oath, Tue 5 Feb 2013, 1:45, closed)

That's a lovely dog.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 5 Feb 2013, 14:17, closed)

Thanks, she's a cross of two nice breeds.
( Ken Oath, Wed 6 Feb 2013, 0:35, closed)