An elderly aunt recently told me how, after a decade in the spiritual wilderness, she had found her way back to god. In return, I told her how, after more than four decades of dog aversion, I found my way back to dog.
I fell out with man’s best friend as a preschooler when my dog Rudy fell out of an old farm ute on the Monaro Plains in southern NSW. Rudy was tethered to the tray by just enough rope to swing him under the rear wheels. Dad unceremoniously deposited the broken little body in a gully a short distance away and we continued our morning rounds. I have never had another pet.
Rudy’s demise gave rise to my dog problem. I developed a new default response to dogs – which was to kick them. The antipathy became mutual and I’ve lived life being bailed up by dogs.
When we moved from the Monaro Plains to Sydney, my paper round brought me into conflict with the neighbourhood hounds. They routinely chased and occasionally bit me, as I delivered the local news on a red BMX with a milk crate strapped up front.
In my early twenties I was assailed by a frothing Tibetan mastiff in a remote village in Nepal. By the time I’d found my way to the rabies clinic back in Kathmandu my shredded hand was mostly healed and the serum I was injected with was likely wasted. Nonetheless, mangy mutts continued to haunt my wanderings.
As my eco-anxiety blossomed in the late nineties, I came upon a factoid concerning the environmental impact of dogs. The energy value of food consumed by an average pet dog is apparently sufficient to feed a dozen chickens. The difference in output though, between a dog and a dozen chooks, is the difference between a large pile of shit, and a couple of thousand eggs a year (in theory).
Mountains of shit
There are about one billion dogs on the planet. While most are free-ranging village, street or feral dogs, there are roughly 200 million pet dogs globally, five million of these are in Australia, and 10,000 in Byron Shire. This equates to a vast mountain of shit, and an enormous potential supply of eggs for human consumption.
Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to track down the source of the dog/ chicken energy comparison. But it seems consistent with recent research indicating a medium sized dog has a carbon footprint double that of an SUV driven 10,000km a year. And like SUVs, dogs pose a potent threat to wildlife when given free rein by their human guardians.
Keeping dogs seems indefensible when the world is viewed in such stark, rational terms. But not everything succumbs to hard-headed analysis. We humans are emotional creatures and decisions are made in our guts as much as our brains. Dogs have been our close companions for at least 15,000, possibly 40,000 years. They are not accoutrements but fellow travellers, as deserving of Earth’s bounty as we humans.
Which brings me back to how I found myself believing in dog again.
Believing in dog
Two years ago, upon returning from travels abroad, I came to be living in Goonengerry on a friend’s farm. They keep bees, chickens, cows, three horses, three children, and three dogs.
The dogs – River, Dozer and Ziggy – are very friendly to humans, and somehow, quite inadvertently, I started perambulating the property with them in the late afternoon. Soon a solid ritual was established. The boys take it very seriously and so do I. It is dog work, not just a dog walk.
Before I knew what had happened, my guard dropped and a strong bond had developed between the boys and I. We are mates. They might not always be obedient, but they’re absolutely loyal and ever enthusiastic for company. When I’m feeling good, the afternoon lap is a joy. When I’m not, the boys’ carefree demeanour, their casual disregard for anything not on their olfactory agenda, is deeply comforting. And they’re great listeners.
Like my aunt finding her way back to god, my journey back to dog involved not thinking but doing. I let go, and man’s best friend returned faithfully to my side. It feels so right believing in dog.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
