How I Spent a Winter Weekend.

Mrs. Caliban and the two smallest Duck Noodles were in NZ visiting family last weekend, so the four-legged members of the Gang and I went camping near Hill End, an old gold-mining town about 4 hours driver west of Sydney.



The Australian gold rush began in the 1850s, on the heels of the great 19th century Californian rush, and was no less fervent: in the 20 years from 1850 to 1870 Australia’s population increased by more than 400%. At its peak in 1870 the Hill End area had a population of over 30,000: 51 hotels, 8 churches, 5 schools and 3 newspapers. Today fewer than 100 people live in Hill End and the entire town is classified as a protected historical site.



There were two main reasons for the trip: I wanted to see the Golden Gully – an alluvial goldfield primarily worked by Chinese (whose mines can be identified from the Caucasians' sites by their rounded shape) at the start of the rush, and to (I know how much of a redneck this makes me sound) try out our new SUV (it’s only a small one, so I’m not that much of an enviro-vandal – honest!) on some real 4WD tracks.


The Golden Gully, which was in a now non-existent neighbouring township called Tambaroora is amazing. The temperature was hovering around freezing (hence Fiver’s jacket) as we climbed through the long-abandoned diggings: seeking the gold which had filtered down to the bedrock several thousand miners dug down over fifty feet along about a mile of the river’s course. In the 1850s there’d been gold-panners from every country on earth; now it was silent – we clambered around for several hours and saw nobody.



We did, however, find a mob of large kangaroos – or rather the dogs did. There’s no pictures because I was too busy giving chase: while the ‘roos could easily outrun two inner-city canine warriors the senior male saw no reason to abandon his ground, and was getting ready give a certain Dachshund-Labrador the kick of a lifetime when I managed to catch up. Seeing me the boomer fled, leaving two small heroes convinced they’d defeated a foe the likes of which they’d never imagined existed.






Soon afterwards they found a wombat burrow (with grumbling resident inside) and I unsportingly decided it was time for leads to go back on.










And then the drive home along the old road; a 4WD-only track that needed low-ratio for most of the way: lots of mud, hills and a spectacular drop-off with no guard-rail.






Sorry, but I was too busy watching the road (white-knuckle stuff by my standards;-) to take any pictures during the really scenic stretches: I grabbed these during one of the river crossings.






Finally a late lunch and photograph at the track’s end: I suspect if Mrs. Caliban had seen all the warnings there’s no way she’d have let us go…






… but I know a funny-looking black dog and his little mate (who was too excited to stand still and pose) enjoyed themselves so much that they're not telling anyone.

BlackStar has been Tagged!

Tag is a pretty good game, not as good as tug-o-dog or thump-chest, but still pretty good. Getting tagged by Grendel makes it even better.

These are the rules of the game we’re playing: better listen closely ‘cause you could be next.

1. You have to post the rules before you give your answers.
2. You must list one fact about yourself beginning with each letter of your middle name. (If you don't have a middle name, use your maiden name or your mother's maiden name).
3. At the end of your blog post, you need to tag one person (or blogger of another species) for each letter of your middle name. (Be sure to leave them a comment telling them they've been tagged.)
Let’s go!

My middle name is BlackStar. That’s the same as my first name: Dad says I’m so good they named me twice, just like the city his brother used to live in.

B is for Birdies, and chasing them is the Best game of all when you’re a Big, Black dog. It also stands for Broken ribs and jaw, which is what I had when I was first rescued, (that’s probably why I want to Bite Blokes in Boots), and Bowl, Bed and Babies, which are the most important things in our house (after Dad & Mum, of course). And I haven’t even Begun to mentions Bones. Bliss!

L is for Love, which changes Life. Not too mention Legs, which in my case are just the right Length and turn out when I’m resting. It’s a dachshund thing.

A is for Adventuring, which is what I do in the mornings with Dad and Missy Madam. My job is to run Alongside and Attack anything that looks Aggressive (like plastic bottles or birdies).

C is for ‘puter, which is a box thing Dad works on when he should be playing with me. It’s also for Cuddles. ‘Nuff said.

K is for the Kitchen, which is somewhere sort of like heaven. And Kites, which are really good things to chase that Dad plays with. When they’re flying I run around and bark at them, and then when they crash my job is to stop other dogs from chewing them.

S is for Silly. That’s what Mum used to call me, but then Fiver came along and she realised I’m actually quite Sensible. It’s also for Snout-rubs and Scratches, which make me feel So Special, and Splashing, Seagulls, and Slobber, which I do a lot when I’m excited.

T is for Tiny. He was my senior dog when Dad first brought me home from Doggie Rescue and I loved him almost as much as I love Dad. He was killed when we stayed at a Terrible place which didn’t care for us like they promised. Tiny and I we were separated and he was murdered because I couldn’t be near to protection him. I was Traumatised and although Mum had them closed down, she and Dad still can’t speak about Tiny without Tears. Afterwards I couldn’t eat if Dad wasn’t next to me, and if he left me for even just a little while during the day I would go all Trembly and couldn’t eat at all afterwards – not even Tasty cheese or Treats. In Two months I went from my usual Twelve kilos to 8 ½. Finally our friend Aunty Caroline who knows everything 'bout dogs suggested we ask another dog to join our pack and Doggie Rescue found us Fiver. He Tried so hard to cheer me up that eventually I recovered and Told him I’d be the senior dog now. This means he Tickles my Tummy when we snuggle up Together.

A is for Armpit. When Dad cuddles me I love sticking my snout into his Armpit. Sometimes in the night when I have bad dreams he holds me and I keep my snout there until I stop shaking. Mum says it must be awfully smelly, but I find it calmingly Aromatic. That's the kind of dog I Am.

R is for Running and Rolling, which are Really good things. Along with Rubdowns, Rabbit holes and Rodd Point, where I go swimming.

Ok, that’s 'nuff 'bout me. There’s more because Mum says that I’m just as complicated as Dad, but now it’s somebody else’s turn. So I tag Noble Wolf, BooCat, Rowan, and johnieb.

Yes, I know Grendel said I had to name one person for every letter in my name – but it’s not really a game unless you break some of the rules. Which is something else I’d have written ‘cept I’m not sure what letter it starts with.

Happy Sydney GLBT Mardi Gras!

Kiss someone you love, because love is from God.


*Anyone concernedabout possible hygiene risks involved in the taking of this picture should relax: Fiver's immunizations are all current, so there's absolutely no risk of him catching anything from our little chap. ;-)

Bedraggled & Slobbering... but still Laughing

Sorry 'bout the recent absence - the weirdometer was just stuck on "stun" for a little while. The littlest duck-noodle-to-be hasn't arrived yet, but we've finally move house - in the course of which: my mother developed heart problems and ended up in the intensive-care unit (she's fine now); a truck became entangled with the overhead power-lines outside our new place, pulling them down and blacking out the street (as well as converting a number of parked cars into electric chairs), Mrs. Caliban lost her Visa card (so we're going to pay for the removalist's truck how?); the phone line into my office was laid sometime before WW2 and died (so Telstra will be spending the next 3 weeks digging up the road outside to replace it); the builders we have in the office preparing for a new project we're launching keep failing to show up (thanks guys - I love spending half a day waiting for you to not appear); it's been hotter than the hell I no longer believe exists (January in Sydney - why do I do it to myself?); a car parked 50 metres away rolled out of its parking spot, down a grassy incline, across a driveway and into the side of the Auto del Alcibiades - converting it into a green metal banana with broken glass icing (nobody hurt, and everyone insured)...

I won't go on, but wow - I could. Maybe that's one of the reasons God made dogs - nobody reminds you to see the funny side of everything as well as a sandy dog. And nothing's better than letting yourself get dragged into the mirth...

PS. Happy Groundhog Day for Saturday! If anyone's ever been to Punxsatawney please let me know if it's anything like the movie.

BlackStar is sorry (we had an Incident)

It all happened ‘cos Fiver an’ me were in the Cemetery Park. Dad was tapping on his ‘puter an’ we had marked lots of lovely territory all around him an’ we were the Most Very Important Dogs in the whole park.

Because it’s getting very Summer hot an’ Dad needs Protectioning I was close by under the shady tree while Fiver dug holes. Fiver doesn’t really understand Protectioning ‘cos he’s little an’ wasn’t kicked by a Man-in-Boots before coming to live with us, but I do it all the time. When you’ve had your jaw and ribs broken by a Man-in-Boots then Protectioning the ones who taught you how to Love gets in your system. This was made stronger by the time I bit the burglar’s leg so he got arrested, but Dad says I mustn’t blog too much about that because it might make the people-who-don't accept-dogs in our building get afraid of me.

I was sitting being A Very Good Dog an’ Protectioning like I was when Dad took this picture of me. If anyone wonders why I am A Unique Shape it’s because my Ancestors were Dachshund and Labrador. Dad often makes himself laugh by telling people who are pompous about these things that I am a Nova Scotian Seal-Dog (which is just something he made up) an’ then trying to keep a straight face while they pretend to know all about Seal-Dogs. Mum says I am a bad influence on Dad because she knows I understand and find it as funny as he does.

So what happened today was that a man came into our territory when Dad wasn’t looking. The man was holding a long-stick that wasn’t the playing kind of stick AND HE WAS EVEN WEARING BOOTS so I knew he was a Man-in-Boots trying to sneak up on us an’ take our territory and hurt us and MAYBE EVEN HARM DAD which just thinking about makes me go all growly and trembling.

Dad told me to CLOSE! which I usually understand but because I had been startled I thought this was a Very Serious Situation like the other time I’m not supposed to blog about which was when a man with gold chains around his neck road-raged us an’ put his hand in our car to drag Dad out and hurt him but instead he ended up learning a good lesson about Protectioning when I jumped over from the back seat.

‘Cos I was too distracted to CLOSE! Dad had to grab me. Then Fiver got excited an’ started barking an’ he had to get grabbed too an’ it was all a mess ‘cos the man in boots wasn’t really a Man-in-Boots. I know I’m supposed to look to Dad and do what he tells me like we learned when he an’ me went to Dog School every Saturday morning but that was different because people who look like the Man-in-Boots weren’t allowed to sneak up on our territory at Dog School.

Dad told me off an’ we had to go back home. Mum found out and gave Dad a lawyer talk about the New South Wales Companion Animals Act and how much trouble we could get into. Then when Dad saw how sorry I was looking he picked me up an’ gave me a Cuddle, an’ then Mum patted me too. Protectioning them is important because they understand about Cuddles …



Dad also understands about Itchy Places and Dinner, but I’ll tell you ‘bout them some other time…

Fiver is Happy.

My name is Fiver and I am Not A Very Big Dog and it is nearly summer hot and we went splashing in the harbour and digging holes and barking at the squawky seagulls and I ran around and around and around and nearly caught them all while the waves were splishing sploshing up the sand but I am too quick to get splooshed because I ran up onto the green green bouncy grass and rolled all the splashy away.

My name is Fiver and I am Happy.

Slice of Heaven

On finding this clip I simply had to share it - right after I'd given our dogs a big cuddle and told them how special they are.
You'll understand why after watching it.



(Dave Dobbyn is an Aotearoa/New Zealand icon, and "Slice of Heaven" is one of two unoffical national anthems he's written. It's not the most sophisticated of tunes, but I defy anyone to keep a straight face while singing along - esp. when sinking a few South Island beers with Kiwi friends and family ;-)

Thank You (Wondering where the lions are?)

Since making the previous post things have been a bit of a blur. The weather’s been spectacular, the dogs have been full of the kind of exuberant canine silliness only seen on a warm windy day, and two very dear family members are visiting from New Zealand.

And the incredible number of people who read my confession (especially those of you who have made such overwhelmingly supportive and empowering comments) have left me feeling…

… words can’t describe the sense of freedom and renewed strength.

Thank you.

Thank you also to those Sydney Evangelicals who’ve taken the time to read what I have to say: IP addresses and Google will give you away every time, so there’s no point thinking you can lurk undetected ;-) I understand that you may well have found what I wrote deeply offensive in that it criticizes someone you’ve been brought up to believe is beyond criticism, and I realize that you’re probably feeling very angry as a result. However, what you must try very hard to understand is that the vicious lack of empathy John Chapman displayed that afternoon is only a symptom of the heartlessness and systemic judgementalism that has become a defining feature of your church. It’s incompatible with the Gospel of Christ, and it must stop. It doesn’t matter how brilliant your exegesis might be, no church can legitimately call itself “Christian” if it doesn’t display love and compassion to the alienated and marginalized.

Running over and over in my head at the moment is a Bruce Cockburn song called “Wondering Where the Lions Are”. After writing my confession I decided to wait a few days before posting in order to think things over first. That night I had a terrible dream; a nightmare about long distant pasts, of children I’d loved who are now gone, time I spent as involuntary hospital patient, and all that might have been. I must have been screaming out, because my dog jumped up onto the bed, and gently nuzzled me awake. We lay together in the quiet dark while he softly growled at the ghosts that had howled in my nightmare. Together we fell back asleep snuggled next to my sleeping partner, who is expecting our son in February.

In the morning I played this, and you've seen what I posted later in the day. The song’s become a bit of a personal anthem since, and it really does sum up how I feel about where all this might lead. The lions may not have gone, but they’re not half as frightening as they were before…

Listen for yourself.

Love is.

Isn't it wonderful when someone loves you so much they'll groom you even if you're slobbering?

Mornings are made for exploring.