THE FARM, FEBRUARY 2013
The farm seems very quiet once all the kids have gone, especially as we are without a dog to keep us company. We’ve always had dogs. Even before we owned our first home I managed to sneak an adorable border collie puppy into David’s small bedsit – absolutely against the real estate rules. We called him Wombat and he lived to be eighteen years old, a treasured member of the family, especially when the kids were growing up. Since that time we have owned a springer spaniel and two golden labradors. During the time when David was sick we had another old labrador called Jasper – we inherited him from Aaron when he moved to a rental that didn’t allow pets. Jasper had been a bit of a wild dog in his youth, but age had finally slowed him down and he was a wonderful companion who was absolutely trustworthy with the children and loved coming with us on long rambling walks, even when his back legs started going. It’s a common problem with ageing dogs of this breed and more than once I was forced to wade waist-deep into the dam to push him out when he got stuck. We would try, without much success, to keep him from plunging into the water the moment he saw it but eventually we have to change the route of our walks, giving the dam and the creek a wide berth to stop Jasper from getting bogged and unable to free himself.
Six months ago Jasper died of old age and for the first time we’ve been without a dog in our lives. While David’s in remission I decide to remedy the situation and phone a pug rescue organisation to see if they have any dogs that need a new home. David had loved a pet pug his family owned when he was a child, and I thought having a pug around might be a comfort or a distraction. They do have a dog available – a black female about eighteen months old. Her name is Bonnie.
Rescue dogs are not free dogs. There are considerable costs to pay – mostly for the vet check they perform when a dog is rescued or surrendered, and also for the care and maintenance of the animal until it’s adopted. There are many volunteers involved, however the whole process of caring for these discarded and mistreated animals is costly.
They didn’t tell us why Bonnie had ended up in care but hinted that her previous owners lived in an upstairs flat and that both worked long hours which meant that the animal had been left alone for most of the day and often well into the night. It had made her neurotic and clingy.
A friend from Melbourne is staying with us when the phone call comes to set up a rendezvous with the rescue people and take ownership of Bonnie.
The three of us drive to Richmond where they are waiting for us – the dog is so pretty with her glossy black coat and bright shining eyes. She seems very nervous so I sit in the back holding her on my lap, reassuring her all the way home. We keep her on the lead and walk her around the garden, then take her inside, where she seems to settle down quite quickly. She’s introduced to Sid the cat without too much drama, and I really hope she’ll fit in with our family life.
Bonnie’s not an easy dog, certainly compared to the three labradors we owned over the years. She doesn’t like being left alone, which we understand, and she stays as close to us as she can. I don’t want a dog sleeping in our bedroom, and we manage to train her to sleep next to the fireplace in her own little bed. She accepts this without much fuss, especially as David is inclined to stay up late. He takes her for a long walk outside before settling her down for the night. Then from the moment he gets up in the morning she’s firmly glued to his side. He takes her out for a pee – she doesn’t like to be outside on her own so it means wandering around with her waiting for her to do her morning business. Then all day she’s at his feet under the desk, or trotting behind him everywhere he goes, even to the loo.
This separation anxiety makes her a demanding companion. You can’t just open the back door and let her outside for a run; you have to go with her, in all weathers. When she’s inside with us she’s not content to just curl up at our feet. She wants to be on the sofa, or on our laps or better still up behind us on the back of the sofa. This puts her in the ‘top dog’ position in the family, a status she feels is rightly hers.
She loves coming on our long walks and takes off after the small gang of kangaroos if she spies them at the back of the farm. They are irritated by her and I don’t blame them. She’s hard work but at this stage we have the time to indulge her demands. And David adores her.
The grandkids also love Bonnie and they dote on her during their lengthy visits. She loves having the kids around and even leaves David’s side to take up with them. She’s never really attached to me – unless there’s nobody else around. She’s affectionate, funny and very entertaining and I’m pleased I made the decision to adopt her as she and David are inseparable.
David is looking and feeling healthy enough for me to consider going ahead with another yoga trek in India. He’s very keen for me to continue my working life as if nothing has changed and I can’t quite decide if it’s part of his cancer denial, or a panic about my needing to continue to earn an income for us. For me, the anxiety about leaving him on his own for several weeks is very real, however his last round of tests have been very positive, with no sign of the original tumour in his oesophagus.
My hand is healing well after the surgery and I’ve been gradually regaining strength by getting back out into the garden and by doing yoga at least twice a week. Both these activities are like magic to me. Yoga calms me, slows me down and helps me to let go of a lot of internalised stress. Apart from the physical benefits of stretching, the simple act of stopping everything and lying still on a mat seems to bring me serenity. While I’m absorbed by the flowing movements and postures my mind is only on the yoga practice and not on the worries of my life. Yoga gets my blood flowing and releases feel-good endorphins as well as stilling my mind. It’s the same in the garden. As I move around the vegetable beds, weeding, watering and harvesting for our lunch, I’m absorbed and distracted. There are real, positive benefits from touching the soil. I dig into and turn the compost, syphon liquid fertiliser from the worm farm and dilute it with water. This potion transforms the soil with goodness, and the plants are smiling at me. I feed kitchen scraps to the chickens and gather their eggs to make a custard. Sometimes I wander out for ten minutes after breakfast, and I’m still pottering around three hours later.
My other ‘go to’ remedy for stress is drinking wine but this only has short-term benefits and ultimately it adds to my anxiety. It has a blanking-out effect but also makes my sleeping patterns erratic. I try to limit the wine to a convivial glass, or two. I don’t always succeed.
While I’m planning my trek and keeping up with the garden, David has been busy with his ongoing family ancestry research and oral history recordings of his work in the Australian film industry, which he’s been doing by phone with a colleague from Melbourne. He’s also been communicating with many people from his life – old friends from his New Zealand days; extended family members and people he’s loved working with over the decades. I see these pursuits as a healthy and satisfying way to fill his days. It’s all reflective stuff – looking back rather than forward. Reconnecting with people who have been important or influential in his life. Talking to them, explaining his medical situation without being negative or melodramatic.
The upshot is that we have a steady stream of visitors to the farm – from all corners of Australia, indeed the world. David has not said ‘I am dying’ but he has said his future is uncertain and that if people want to visit us, it should be sooner rather than later while he is robust and energetic enough to enjoy special time with people.
I think it’s marvellous, and almost every week we have lunches or overnight visits from a wide range of friends and associates. The friends from overseas stay longer – up to a week at a time – and David is delighted to show them around the property, our local hamlet and our nearby country town. Naturally it’s a lot of work, but it’s a form of therapy and his mood is greatly elevated when we have people with us at the farm. So many shared memories, pored over, laughed about and re-examined.
After people leave and the house is quiet, we are left alone to pick over the conversations and the memories. This is hugely beneficial for both of us. The process of discussing and analysing events and memories from David’s life somehow helps us to clarify and make some sense of it all. Patterns emerge; themes are repeated. It’s not that we reach any resolutions or conclusions, it’s just that we gain insight and perspective from hindsight. At times these post-mortems can be painful – especially when we touch on that period when our marriage was rocky. Yet it feels positive to lay some of the demons to rest.
We don’t talk about tomorrow, only yesterday.