Shabby old guy

"Now you are finally with me, you are safe now. Don't be afraid of anything. You don't have to worry anymore."

Oskar Schindler

In 2008 after returning from our English adventure we quickly wanted to stock up on animals to surround ourselves with after a drought of two years, because any other way of living just sounds like existing.

We contacted the local vet expressing our interest in any strays, left-behinds, conked out has-beens etc., and settled back to enjoy a few weeks or months of speculation as to what might cross our path.

All of two days later the vet called to say a stray mutt had been found in a highly disheveled state on the streets. He'd clearly been abandoned for awhile, had a few health issues and a fragile mental state. Oh, and he was really cute!

So adorable was this mongrel (later identified as a New Zealand Huntaway) that the ranger had taken him home instead of following procedure and housing him at the pound. He'd also brought him to our vet to treat the various internal and external ailments that such a creature gathers when fending for themselves.

We sent the hard-hearted Anthony out on reconnaissance and straight away we took delivery of our little man "Oskar" (named after Oskar Schindler). Anthony returned with a stern "He's on a 24 hour trial" to which Kym rolled her eyes in a very familiar fashion. Oskar has been with us ever since - in four different houses across two states - providing us with much needed love, comfort and canine wisdom.

Tiny Man

Early on we had to work on his peculiarities born of trauma - the first of which was an over familiarity with a certain large furry toy rabbit (exit to the bin one overused and exhausted bunny). He initially could only poo when moving on the lead and was prone to leaving a comical trail of nuggets on every walk. On the path to his version of normality he then took to delicately carrying his own (full) poo bag all the way home from walks. Initially he couldn't walk past a storm drain and had to be carried (perhaps an indication of the mode of abandonment?). Amazingly for anyone who knows him now, he didn't speak for many years. Even when whacked by a cricket ball hit by an enthusiastic child he couldn't summon a verbal complaint or whimper. He seemed mute and immutable.

He was ever reliable for a laugh with his antics (or just tics) and he became and still is an important part of the fabric of our lives.

The original bucket head sans guitar

He doesn't have that many tricks left, but his current schtick is to request politely and very calmly to exit the house - then race around in tight circles yipping crazily at his tail - very amusing Oskar.

He is now over 11 years old, very hard of hearing, very slow to move around and get out of bed. He has old man lumps on his body, smells a bit as his mouth hygiene deteriorates, has comically large tufts of fur emerging from parts unknown, and is still loved to bits by anyone who is lucky enough to cross his path.

And still cute.

Oskar