kelpie – Lorikeet Lane

We walk out of the RSPCA shelter clutching our tiny bundle of paws and ears. Sebastian, as he has been known in the shelter, is naturally nervous and has tried to hide under my chin, around my neck and under my hair. I can feel his tiny heart beating a hundred to the dozen against my skin so I talk calmly and pat him until he settles.

As we sit in the car, a few hundred dollars down in adoption fees and ‘essential’ puppy items, both Peter and I wonder ‘how on earth did that just happen?”

We have space – on the property, in our lives and in our hearts. But a Kelpie pup? That was about as high on the Richter scale in energy levels you could get. We shrug it off. Ah well, we wanted to keep fit.

At this moment I am totally mesmerised by the little black eyes staring up at me. He has a worried expression. Such a serious face for one so young. I hoped he would soon see he had come to a loving home with lots of space to run free.

Once we got home, we settled our new pup in the living room. He had no clue where he was or what to do poor guy. Until suddenly he took off! He ran and ran around the living room. He did loops and jumps and lots of sliding on the polished floorboard. his limbs were clumsy but still he ran and ran. He reminded me of a spring lamb – quite literally.

After a few moments, he just came to a complete standstill and looked at me with those jet black eyes. He padded over and jumped to put his paws on my shoulder and licked my face. It honestly felt for a moment like he was saying thank you. Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for adopting me. And thank you for this awesome space – to create carnage!

“He’s not a Sebastian,” I say to Peter. “It’s too ‘refined’ for a Kelpie and it’ll be too hard when we’re training him to get the tone of voice right.” So we spend the next day or two pondering a good name. “Ned?” I say.

“Why Ned?”

“Well, it’s an Australian icon sort of name – Ned Kelly – Lovable rogue …out on the land.”

“Ned Kelly was Irish but OK.”

We try ned for a day but he doesn’t feel like a Ned after all.

When we name babies, we put thought into what we want to communicate about ourselves and our baby with their chosen name. We research what their name means in Hebrew (for some reason) and we place all sorts of expectations on them as a result.

Here was ‘Sebastian’ – a black Australian Kelpie cross with red low lights and a white throat and the biggest ears you have ever seen. I resist the desire to call him ‘Bat Fink’ or ‘Wingnut’. He looked like a lamb or a calf with his nimble, yet clumsy little body and long legs. I begin to do some research on names that I like until I find Angus.

Angus is Celtic for ‘Unique’ ‘Choice’ – ‘Chosen one’ … perfect! Then, to seal the deal, I am reminded that Black Angus cattle (that Scotland is famous for) are solid black or red in colour.

“What about Angus?” I ask hopefully.

“Angus. Angus. OK.” I get the nod from Mr P.

We try out his name on him a few times. “Angus. Angus. Angus.”

When we see his huge ears stand on end, we know we’ve found the one. Our chosen one! Our unique handsome boy.

We saved Sebastian from the shelter, but we adopted Angus into our home and our heart.

Peter and I have talked many times about getting a dog over the years, but with the transient nature of our lives, it was an impossible dream. That all changed today when we walked into our local RSPCA shelter at Tuggerah.

To be honest, I’ve gone to the shelter most days since moving here, like some crazy cat woman, prowling around, checking on the various ‘inmates’. Each time I leave feeling heart sorry and struggling to control my emotions as I’ve read about the various misfortunes that brought them to the shelter. As I walk back out into the sunshine, I feel guilty. I feel I’ve raised their hopes, then dashed them again by walking away. The most heartbreaking cases are the dogs that glance up at you sadly and just resume what they were doing (usually nothing) as if to say, ‘what’s the point, she’s not going to pick me anyway.’

Animals in cages have always provoked a strong response in me. I have a vivid recollection of being about six years old in the pet shop in Kirkcaldy with my mum. The old pet shop had all the pet supplies at the front, and then you walked up to little stone steps to the back of the shop where all the cages were lined with sad eyes, watching you as you approached. I still remember the smell of the sawdust on the cage floors. One particular Saturday, there were some desperately sad, yelping puppies all jumping over each other, standing on their back two legs trying to get my attention. My little six-year-old heart welled over with love and compassion for these little guys. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you,” I said earnestly to them. Quite how I would save them hadn’t even entered my mind at that point. I went to find my mother who was talking to a shop assistant.

“Mum, mum, mum … sure it’s cruel to keep puppies in cages? Sure it’s cruel eh?” (read in Glaswegian accent)

Thinking back, my mother must have been mortified. Here we were at the pet store with all the cutesy animals, caring staff and prospective families and I’m proclaiming loudly how cruel it all is. It was obviously an effort to shut me up when she hissed, “yes, yes it’s cruel now leave me alone I’m talking.”

I took her at her word and marched back up the stone steps to the waiting puppies.

The security system was easy enough – it was simply a hook that kept the door closed. With single-minded purpose, I lifted the hook and – oh my word – the puppies who had been standing on their back legs against the door came flying out. I barely had a second to react. All the puppies had swarmed around me jumping up and barking and yipping in excitement. “We’re free,” they seemed to say. I felt sky high happiness flood through me. All these puppies were free and they loved me.

That joy lasted about 30 seconds. The puppies invaded the shop floor as someone hastily shut the shop door before the pups all made a bid for freedom out on to Kirkcaldy High Street,

Mother appeared from nowhere and pulled my arm with such force down those stone steps. I had no clue what was going on. “Mum, mum, mum did you see the puppies?” I am naively keen to claim this victory in the face of cruelty. “I set them free. You said it was cruel too didn’t you…” I’m slow to pick up on the vibe.

Eventually, I began to sense mother was not as into animal liberation as I’d first thought. We had to stand on the shop floor until all the puppies were rounded up, and then someone said – “you can go now, but please don’t bring your daughter in here ever again.”

To this day I get a thrill remembering that moment.

As we stand in the RSPCA shelter, I look at the 3 pups in the end cell. We move on to the next one, then the next one. Our eyes settle on ‘Dee’ a one-year-old cattle dog. She looked at us with those sad ‘what’s the point’ eyes and we thought ‘maybe’ … sadly this was a cattle dog who preferred to eat chicken rather than round them up. In her profile we found out that she would not get on well with chickens or small livestock – and I’m afraid we wanted chickens and small livestock. You barter with yourself – maybe we didn’t need to do all that – but then the other voice in our head said – well we’ve got all that land – that’s part of the plan. So Dee was not meant to be – for us at least.

I returned to the puppies, jumping over each other. Their little hopeful faces reeled me in again. Nowadays the doors are locked. You can’t just unhook a little latch and let them all run free. So we asked for a cuddle with one of the black and white pups who seemed more timid. Maybe he would have more of a chance to thrive away from his dominant brothers. He cooried his way under my neck and licked me excitedly. It was obvious the older brother was used to being the one picked out, not this quiet little guy.

And that’s how we met Sebastian, an 11 week Kelpie cross pup who was part of an unwanted litter. A pup was not part of the original plan – and certainly not a working dog like a Kelpie – but I wanted to give this guy a chance, a new start in life – the chance to be free. Sometimes that’s all any of us need isn’t it? A second chance or the offer of hope?

Seeing that door swing open and having that puppy handed to me in my welcoming arms made my inner six-year-old child’s heart soar sky high with happiness once more. We were saving Sebastian!

Tag: kelpie

Saving Sebastian … adopting Angus

Freedom for all puppies …