BILLY'S GONE

A week ago we lost our little mate in his 18th year —just a few months after his brother, Maccy, died (owned by John and Di Haevey).  

He had been my constant companion, apart from several boat rips on the Warburton, when I left him home with Patti. This was after we lost her dog (‘Bigger’). She was in her 20th year. She was physically fit, but her eyesight and hearing were diminishing, and she was a bit doddery. It was our practices to let her out into a front, unfenced area facing the River, of an evening. She would be out there for ten minutes or so before returning to the front door, waiting to be let in. This night I was on the phone and forgot about her. I went to the door, switching the outside light on. I could see her travelling along, very close to the edge of the cliff. Suddenly she threw herself sidewise and disappeared over the cliff. Patti and I rushed out and I heard Bigger hit a rock shelf half way the cliff, then a splash as she hit the River. We quickly went down the cliff track and saw her floating (dead) downstream. I could have gone in, but I said to Patti “just let the River take her”. When the grief lessened, we realized that she had probably done us a favor. For a Jack Russell she was always a ‘goodie-two-shoes’.  She died in a similar way before we would have had to have her euthanized. Even if it was a few years too soon. 

Anyway, back to Billy. He had seen and travelled more of Australia, than any of my other dogs. He travelled by camel, boat and vehicle and spent a lot of time on my paddle-wheel “The Dromedary”, including his ‘adventure’ at Blanchtown, written up in a previous column.  

His last adventure/drama was up at our camp in the Flinders. He disappeared one evening, and being deaf, we couldn’t call him. We drove around and walked (my grandson Kale and I) for hours, to no avail. The next evening, before we had to leave, Kale and I had one last look—in some bush down the hill from our camp. I had almost given up when Kale called out, “I’ve got him!” He was standing under a Bullock Bush, looking very lost.  Then, a few days later, up at Kalamurina on the Warburton, he walked through a bit of coolibah coals, one of the world’s hottest burning woods. He survived that too.  

Back home at ‘Fred’s Forrest’ he usually wore his little drizabone coat which has two pockets in it. I had a note in each pocket saying, “My name is Billy and I have dementure—phone 0400 854 388”) …just in case. He had a very happy life here, going between our Avan and Fred and Raeleen’s house. All the Osmond family loved him. He was on three heart tablets a day (I owe my vet mate, Phil Hutt, a huge thankyou for his ongoing care. A couple of weeks ago, Billy just fell over, near death. We took him down to Phil’s veterinary hospital at Morphett Vale and they advised that we put him to sleep,  

He leaves a big hole in our lives and I can’t see me going for too long without another little mate.