Tim Dower: Jeez do dogs get to you

Dogs eh... jeez do they get to you. 

It's 12 years this Christmas, Luka and me. 12 brilliant years for me, and what a mate he's been. A great, great mate. 

We had a long talk last night, cos I wanted say things while he's still with me. 

Kinda with a warm heart and not a broken one, cos I know the day will come. 

He truly scared me last night; I thought it was the end for a little while. 

All stretched out on the grass in the sun... I know your leg hurts mate. Doctor again today, but the panting and the restlessness had me going. 

And he was all cuddly, and licking me, and big deep sighs. 

Anyway, after a little nap he's up on his feet again —bit wobbly— and soon after that the honking starts. 

And he brings it all up. Two, three massive blobs of... just mess. Oh wait, there's a bit more. Here we go. 

Now I don't know how many times over the years I've tried to stop him eating disgusting decomposing crap on the beach, or in the bush, or something stinky in the park. 

He hears me, but he ignores me until he can't pretend any more. Freakin' Labrador. 

Incorrigible Labrador. Totally loyal, but an absolute rogue and definitely his own man. 

And the other day on the grass out the front: a sheep's head. A sheep's head! For God's sake dog. 

Last night? Totally self-inflicted, and he knows it. 

Right after his dinner he'd sneaked out and cleaned up the crap I put out for the chooks. Stuff he knew wasn't his, but heck, it's there. 

Bloody Labrador. 

And while I'm mopping his chunder off the floor, he's fine again, sitting on the couch licking his paws. 

Did you puke on your shoes mate? Well... serves you right. 

But you're forgiven. 

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