October 2009
Tony had a little dog,
his coat was black as soot.
And everywhere that Tony went,
the dog was under foot.
Time is relative. Take ten years.
Much too short for the life of one dog.
But more than long enough to forget the challenge of a puppy.
Following Barney's death, many friends suggested that I gave myself time to grieve, and perhaps also to enjoy some freedom.
Well meant advice, and sound advice for some. But the house was so empty without my accustomed companion.
So it took me only a couple of days before I phoned Guy, Barney's breeder.
I wanted another male, black Labrador.
The breed needs no explanation, at least to anyone who likes a dog to have an ideal temperament, but I can't rationalise my preference for gender or colour.
Anyway, it would be three months before an expected mixed litter would be ready to take home.
Guy did have one black male, already 2½ months old, but he was promised to someone who wanted a show dog.
I resigned myself to wait.
A week or so later, Guy phoned to say he had changed his mind, and I could have the pup if I still wanted him.
He offered no explanation, and I sought none. Without hesitation, I said yes.
Although I knew it was unnecessary, Guy insisted I saw the pup before making a decision. So a few days later, with the aid of Mr Gregory, I found my way to Middle Dural.
Of course, when young Toby, as I'd already decided to call him, came flying into my arms, I wanted to take him home immediately.
But Guy was at dog show in Brisbane and, thinking my visit was for the purpose of inspection only, had left no papers to enable an immediate purchase.
So, I had to wait another agonising nine days before returning to Dural to collect my new baby.
I'd had a security fence built in my garden so that, when I had to leave Toby at home, he could move freely between the laundry and the fenced area outside - assuming he'd learn to use the dog flap in the security door separating them.
That lesson took some 30 seconds after arrival at his new home, since when he hasn't bothered slowing down when flying through the door. Half an hour later, he fell into the lily pond. But, despite insisting on drinking from it, and walking dangerously close to its edge, all afternoon, he didn't fall in again.
Great, I thought; if he's such a fast learner, house- training would be a breeze.
Two weeks later, my hands were still rarely out of disinfectant.
I'd take him outside. He'd pee.
I'd tell him how good he was, and give him a treat.
He'd come back indoors and immediately poo. Lesson for me: dogs learn quickly to do only what they want to do.
And then came bedtime.
I thought, if he's never slept on a bed, he won't know what he's missing.
So I put his basket in the laundry, shut the door and went to bed.
After five minutes I was convinced he'd break the door down, so I moved his basket into my bedroom, and went back to bed.
I quickly realised that reading in bed was now a thing of the past.
The fitted wardrobe has floor to ceiling mirrored doors, and Toby was obsessed by his reflection.
He'd growl at it, bark at it or, most of the time, try to play with it.
The only way to stop him was to put out the light.
After that, he settled down - after half an hour the first night, but subsequently within a few minutes.
He didn't wake me up during the night. Indeed, whenever I needed to go to the bathroom I had to persuade him to go outside, where I stood, shivering in a dressing gown, while Toby sniffed every blade of grass before condescending to pee.
Still, things were going much better than I expected.
That is, until the first glimmer of light filtered through the blinds.
That proved to be the signal for playtime.
So I lifted him onto the bed, played with him for five or ten minutes, and went back to sleep. Toby, happy to be on the bed, then pretended to sleep until I got up.
How long, I wonder, before he wants to spend all night on my bed?
And which of us will prove to have the stronger willpower when he does?
Tony Barnett