In Memoriam November 2013

Yvonne wrote: There are so many wonderful memories of Kito, but here are a just a few:

• First impressions surely count our eyes and hearts were drawn to you as a one year-old on the couch at Debrak Basenjis, even though we were there to see a new litter of pups, including the little girl who was to become our own first Basenji, Juba. You were already the Trickster, inveigling your way onto a crowded couch by luring the other Basenjis over to the window and then racing back to claim your spot.
• Australia Day 1998: You were 18 months old. By arrangement, we collected you at a Show and took you home for the very first time to see how you would fit in to our family. Juba insisted you not put a paw onto her side of the car seat but, later that night, you claimed our bed as your own and kindly allowed us to share it while Juba looked on disapprovingly from her crate.
• The day a parrot, startled into low flight across our back lawn, somehow found itself in your mouth. It was your turn to be startled, “What do I do now?”, your look said. Then, on another occasion, when Dad tried to relieve you of a bird’s wing, you drew the line, claiming “Finders keepers”.
• Your predilection for blankies and going undercover. If you were born a kangaroo, you’d never have left the pouch. Sometimes, with no blankie in sight, you’d try to snuggle between Mum and her cardie. You had an ingenious system for breathing while under the doona, leaving just your snorkel-tail out.
• Winter was the best season, when you could lie so close to the fire. You must have missed that fire when we moved to an air-conditioned house.
• You settled comfortably into your career as Lying Hound Sleep Consultant (“If in Doubt, Lie About”), but always kept a paw in your other day job, that of “plongeur,” the one who removes the scraps from diners’ plates and effectively disposes of them. On walks, you liked to hang around rubbish bins and at the back doors of commercial kitchens, hoping to be offered a job.
• Your exuberant approach to training and performing on command, always with an eye on the prize, sometimes led to some bizarre feats Lassie would be proud of, like a simultaneous Drop and High-Five.
• How you would initiate a game with us, pretending to hide your face in the cushions and sneaking a peak at us when I said ‘Kito’s a funny boy...”. Or playing hide-and-seek in the house, with Yvonne behind the door calling your name and you searching every room in the house until you found her. Sometimes, your excitement impaired your search skills so that you would look right at her and then run out of the room still searching.
• The unique way you expressed your joy at our home-coming when we’d been out in the evening. First, you’d run and retrieve some used tissues from a waste bin. Then, you’d leap right into Mum’s shoe cupboard and have a good sniff. Finally, if you were really happy, and mostly you were, then you would limbo underneath the bed on your belly from one side to the other. Sometimes, you would do this on your own even if there was no audience.
• How could we forget your handsomeness? Once a man stopped us at the river and said you were the “best-looking dog” he’d ever seen. And Davina told us that seeing a picture of you in the Basenji Stud Book, especially your rear end, was the reason she got into breeding Basenjis. Indeed, doing consistently well in the competition for Best Black-and-White was how you won the Gwen Saysell Pet Trophy one year. (Ok ok, maybe you were the ONLY black and white in the competition some days.)
• No matter your good looks, you didn’t mind dressing up on occasion. Who could forget you as Leighton Hewitt or one of the Three Wise Men. And your Santa Claws was truly convincing.
• We so admired your grace under fire from Juba and other female Basenjis who we fostered temporarily. You put up with their nagging without complaint. We suspected you were the Wise One who knew it was too stressful to be the Boss. When you were 14, Corona came to live with us. We could see what you were thinking: “Oh no, not another girl!” But this one was different, she didn’t want to boss you around and you settled down comfortably like an old married couple.
• There were occasional lapses, like stealing a turkey steak from the kitchen bench and eating it in one gulp, or polishing off a plate of dolmades left on a low table while we greeted guests at the front door; and chasing the waves at the beach, you were so fast;
... and so many more memories of you, Kito...

Louie Louie

Our condolences to Paul & Carol Mount on the passing of Louie Louie
MACH3 Te Ana's We Gotta Go Now

Carol wrote:

On Death
August 26th, 2013 · No Comments
Death is not a mistake, Death is not a failure. It is what it is.
Louie told me thiese words of wisdom, thru an animal communicator, after he passed.
I don’t know that I 100% believe in animal communication,
yet, several times I have used communicators and have gotten feedback that is so true, makes so much sense,
that its hard to NOT believe. Everytime I approach communicator, I am the skeptic that always ends up believing.
Cause….
It is not a failure of the cancer treatments that Louie died.
It is not a failure of my love for him that Louie died.
It is not a failure of my care for him that Louie died.
He Lived. He got two more chances at life. He enjoyed them.
Louie helped me live and enjoy life.
And because of him, my life is richer and fuller.
He was just a dog but my life is better because of him and I am very sad.
But his death is was it is.
A transition.
I just hope it hurts less over time.

Our condolences to Erin Fogarty on the passing of dear Ed.