10. Let's get a pet

I never had a strong desire for a pet growing up. Life was full — weekends were packed with sport, weeknights with piano lessons, and holidays spent with my grandparents and their three black Labradors at the Brisbane Ranges. That was enough for me.

When my sister was sixteen, she brought home a kitten “just for the night.” Pepper, a fluffy tortoiseshell, never left. She stayed for good and became very much Dad’s cat.

As an adult with children of my own, we moved house often, which wasn’t fair to a pet. We tried goldfish — they ended up floating upside down. Then came the hermit crabs, who vanished under the fridge one winter in Orange, where the temperatures drop below zero. We even spent all of 1995 travelling around Australia in a caravan. Pets didn’t fit.

In 1998, we settled in Melbourne and bought a house. The kids started campaigning for a dog. We resisted, reminding them how much work it would be — walking, grooming, feeding, and, worst of all, the poo patrol.

In 1999, during a rocky patch in my marriage, I took a break in Sydney with my parents. While I was away, my husband and the kids visited a local dog shelter and came home with a Border Collie cross of unknown mix. Just like that, we had a dog. Her name was Patch.

A friend gave me a wall plaque that read, “I got a dog for my husband. It was a fair swap.” Considering he moved out soon after, I think she may have had a point.

Patch was a beautiful dog — loyal, loving, and mostly obedient. At first, the kids were eager to help — walking her, feeding her, claiming her as their own (though not so much the poo patrol). She lounged in front of the fire by night and reluctantly went out to her kennel when it was time for bed.

Patch adored food, especially ours. One afternoon, after seeing off a guest, I returned to find the pate I’d left on the coffee table gone, and Patch licking her lips. Another time, a roast chicken vanished — bones and all — from the kitchen bench. On Valentine’s Day, my daughter Kirsty and I baked heart-shaped chocolate cakes, only to return and find one with a large bite taken out of it. Patch had no shame.

She loved people, too. Her whole body wagged when someone arrived, especially if they had a lead. With children, she was gentle and affectionate — though if they had food in their hand, they might not keep it for long.

One Mother’s Day, we were walking Patch off-leash in the Dandenong Ranges when she disappeared. The park was crowded, and despite calling and searching, she didn’t return. As dusk fell, we made the heartbreaking decision to go home without her. The next morning, armed with posters, we returned to the park. Miraculously, a woman had taken her in after realizing she was lost. The relief was indescribable.

As the years passed, the kids grew up and moved out. By then, Martin had moved in, and over time, Patch became his dog. After he retired, she followed him everywhere. She lay by his feet in front of the heater and did whatever he asked of her.

We eventually bought a boat, and Patch loved coming aboard. She’d run along the beach chasing seagulls and sniffing through foreshore debris. At night, she’d curl up and sleep in the main saloon, totally at ease.

In her later years, Patch slowed down. Arthritis took hold, and her hearing faded. Walks became shorter, then stopped altogether. We’d sneak out of the house so she could sleep peacefully. Vet visits grew more frequent, and in 2013, at the age of 14, Patch left us.

We were heartbroken, but comforted by the thought that she had lived a full and happy life.

We’ve never replaced her. Partly because she’d be impossible to replace. But also because our lives are mobile again, and not suited to pets.

Still, for a time — though I never thought I wanted one — it was truly wonderful to have a dog.