Saving Private Sarbi Page 3

  Tiny became a celebrity at the Animal Magnetism pet shop and helped draw in customers. After Tiny’s death, Einstein bought a second Newfoundland, Goofy, who was also a working dog—of sorts. He lumbered around the shop welcoming potential buyers and putting smiles on people’s faces, unbidden, as dogs are wont to do. He also read people and sized up their intentions, a skill at which Newfound-lands in particular, and dogs in general, are highly adept. If Goofy detected foul play on the agenda, or sniffed a wayward teen trying to pocket free treats, he presented himself, an unavoidable and potentially dangerous bear of a dog. That was usually enough. Big dogs can be fearsome, especially if you don’t know them.

  The canine caper helped business and gave potential buyers an idea of the breed’s temperament. No surprise then that Goofy was the poster pooch for Newfies when Einstein began selling his rogue litter.

  Wendy Upjohn was determined to buy her children a black dog. She has a thing for them. Maybe it’s because of the initial bonds formed in childhood, when colour, sense and memory is imprinted in our plastic, sponge-like brains, which absorb information at a rate we can barely fathom. We are infinitely receptive as children, hopelessly honest, fearlessly inquisitive. We are trustworthy, guileless. If something pleases us, we giggle with glee. If it doesn’t, we recoil. No poker face for the young and innocent. Ditto a dog.

  Wendy Upjohn grew up with a small menagerie including cats, dogs, a horse and even mice, the latter of which she was not particularly fond. Her first dog was a scruffy black and white terrier type named Taffy. A black Labrador, Lena, followed her. Later, Wendy bought a black cocker spaniel named Becky, who was re-housed to a farming family in New Zealand when Wendy and her then husband moved to China with their six-month-old daughter Gemma. She desperately missed having a canine companion and yearned for the time when that would be possible once more. ‘Dogs are really, in my mind, angels given to us as a reminder of how much better we could be,’ she says.

  By October 2002, Wendy, who had remarried, was ready to introduce the species to her three children, aged between fifteen and five. Gemma, the oldest, had been joined by brothers Nic, who was eight, and Marcelo, then three weeks shy of his sixth birthday. The children had been nagging Wendy and the boys’ father, Carlos, about adding a dog to the family for years. Wendy thought the time was right. What family is truly complete without man’s best friend?

  They lived in Bowral, a verdant and historic township 120 kilometres south of the Sydney GPO that was first established in 1823 as a cattle run. The family occupied a stunning block that backed on to 100 acres of scenic bushland and came with a century-old stone cottage. Their acre-sized property had a majestic oak tree in one corner around which they built a new Federation style house. It was idyllic. The neighbours had dams and duck ponds, the children built billycarts, rode their bikes, and lived a life among the great outdoors. All it needed was a dog.

  On Wednesday 23 October, with the children at school, Wendy made the seven kilometre drive north to Animal Magnetism in Mittagong. She wanted to surprise the children with the dog they had long wanted. She was smitten as soon as she saw the Labrador–Newfoundland mutts playfully rolling around their box like tumbleweeds. This is love at first sight, she thought.

  Goofy, ambling around like a barrel of happiness, helped, not that Wendy needed convincing. The Newfie’s temperament reminded her of another dog, a soft natured German shepherd that had brought her family nothing but joy. ‘I thought Goofy was adorable. He was big and even more boofy than my dad’s Rommel and I had always loved him too,’ Wendy says now.

  People don’t choose dogs. Dogs choose people. As Wendy swooned over the mischievous pups, fighting for attention with high-pitched yips and yaps, one crabbed its way to her in that distinct wobbly sideways walk of puppies. It snuggled under her hand, sliding its wet nose against her palm. She picked it up. ‘I cuddled him and he was a real sook. He was the one for me—I am a sucker for a sooky animal,’ she says. The dog was whimpering, a sure sign of dependency and need.

  Wendy paid $375 and walked out with her children’s first pup—vaccinated, microchipped and wormed.

  But it wasn’t Sarbi. She hadn’t made the cut.

  Eight-year-old Nic burst into tears as soon as he saw the dog. His dream had come true. The pup was small enough for him to hold in his little hands and Nic gently patted the coat, as feathery as that of a newborn cygnet. The pup scampered from person to person, introducing itself and busily gathering intelligence through its nose, breathing in the smells of the established pack to ascertain its position in the hierarchy. The pup’s puppiness was infectious and the children giddily raced after him.

  The boys named the pup Rafiki after a character in the animated Disney movie, The Lion King. The film had been Nic’s favourite for the past couple of years and the children had seen it literally dozens of times. They loved the rich cast of funny, adorable and decent animals that roamed the fictional African veldt called the Pride Lands. They also had the soundtrack and knew every song by heart, not surprising for children of musicians.

  If you’ve seen the film you will have been enchanted from the opening scenes, too, captivated long before the title credit appears on the screen. As dawn breaks, a native African voice calls out a haunting song through the darkness and is answered by an unseen chorus. Then, as if choreographed by an ancient ethologist, rhinoceros, meerkats, a cheetah and Marabou storks start to move across the plain, over which towers the breathtaking majesty of Mount Kilimanjaro. Elephants amble, gazelles leap, a mother giraffe and her baby lope in a mass migration of species heading towards a soaring outcrop called Pride Rock, upon which sit a lion, the eponymous king, his lioness and their newborn cub. A veritable United Nations of animals—zebras, guinea fowl, a hornbill named Zazu—merge below in a kaleidoscope of colour, waiting for a sacred ceremony to begin.

  Out of the teeming mass emerges Rafiki, a wise and jungle smart old baboon walking on all fours and carrying a walking stick topped with gourds. He straightens up and walks to the lion, King Mufasa, who beams with obvious pleasure as Rafiki throws his arms around him in a hug. As the original script notes, ‘these guys go way back’. Mufasa bends down to tenderly nuzzle his lioness, Sarabi, before doing the same to his cub, Simba, nestled safely out of harm’s way at the feet of his mother.

  The animals have gathered for Simba’s anointment as the heir apparent. Rafiki smears the little lion with a substance from his gourd before tossing a sprinkle of dirt over the cub’s cherubic, expectant face. As he does, Simba responds with an explosive sneeze and his parents beam adoringly. Rafiki raises Simba high over his head and presents the cub to the animals below. As one, they react with glee. Zebras stomp. Elephants trumpet. Monkeys applaud and do somersaults. A beam of golden sunlight shines down on the future king of the jungle.

  As opening scenes go, it is memorable and spectacularly uplifting. What’s not to love?

  Rafiki wasn’t necessarily the children’s favourite character but the name had a certain uniqueness and magic to it. When translated into its native Swahili, it means ‘friend’ and the family reckoned, What name could be more perfect for a Labrador than ‘friend’? And so the pup was named. When shortened, it became Rafi, which sounds like Taffy. There was indeed a circularity to it, however unintended, almost as if ordained by the film’s signature song, ‘The Circle of Life’.

  The children fashioned a soft bed out of old blankets and towels in a big cardboard box, and placed it on the floor in the boys’ bedroom, puppy central. They added a clock, to simulate the comforting sound of a maternal heartbeat, a trick veterinarians encourage to reduce a pup’s anxiety when separated from its mother and littermates. An old teddy bear was found for the pup to curl next to and he immediately adopted it as his own. Too small to escape, Rafi twirled around a few times, looked up at the human faces looking down at him, found a nook and fell into a deep sleep.

  Not for long.

  Communicating their needs is hugely importan
t for dependent pups, unable to fend for themselves, and it wasn’t too long before Rafi’s plaintive puppy cries began, manipulative whimpers calling for any number of things— a desire to be held or played with, hunger, a need to be taken outside to go to the toilet.

  Yes, dogs speak. Not like humans with our highly articulated and evolved languages and patterns of speech; rather, they communicate through scent, sound and sight, generally in that order.

  The music of dogs is a melody of meaning and intent. They are phenomenally and elastically orchestral. When you own a dog you know how they growl, yowl, howl, squeal, squeak and bark. They cry and yelp, sigh and moan, whimper and whine, rumble and snort. An adagio of low range pitches variously signal threat, aggression or anger, and they use higher-pitched sounds to call for help or announce they are safe creatures, not about to attack, and should not be rated a threat. Puppies almost always use a higher pitch for self-preservation.

  Rafi was a quick learner and had succeeded in talking, or communicating, with his new pack that first night in Bowral.

  Gemma, Nic and Marcelo slept together in puppy central, with the brothers sharing one of the boys’ beds while Gemma took the other. Rafi started out in the box on the floor but his persistent high-pitched cries for attention demanded a response. The only thing that silenced the pup was the boys letting him crawl under the blankets between them. Mother warmth dressed up as brotherly love. They giggled and tickled Rafi until his squirming turned to sleep, exhaling warm pillows of air.

  The next morning, bursting with excitement, Rafi piddled on Marcelo’s bed. No one complained.

  Wendy and Carlos had work and appointments to attend and Nic and Marcelo were too young to miss school, to which they went reluctantly. Gemma volunteered to stay at home and puppy-sit. Well, someone had to! She spent the day chasing Rafi and being chased by him. ‘He’d suddenly conk out,’ Gemma says now. ‘He perched on my chest and because he was so tiny I could hold him with one hand.’

  The second night was just like the first and by day two, fatigue reigned. Rafi was spent—the children, too. Wendy had a plan.

  Chapter 3

  TWICE AS NICE

  Two days after Rafiki galumphed his way into the collective heart of his new family, Wendy and Carlos realised they had to act. The surest way to combat another sleepless night was to get him a permanent playmate. Wendy figured, In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, what could be cuter than a pup? That’s right, two pups. They drove back to Animal Magnetism with Rafi snuggled safely in his box, hoping he would help choose his new companion from the pups that had yet to be sold. Rafi was, as Wendy describes him, ‘sooky’ and physically affectionate, certainly not a dominant animal, and it was important to pick the right mate.

  Dogs have personalities and, as with humans, no dog is the same even when from the same litter. Not all pups are equal and some are naturally more dominant than others, just as some are more energetic or more motivated by food or affection or games or mental challenges. Some are preternaturally fearless while others are more timid or nervous—the runts of the litter. Sometimes the dog’s manner is a breed distinction and genetic prerequisite. In other words, it is fulfilling the role or roles it has been designed for, through hundreds of years of breeding. But there’s another level to the equation, too.

  The way a dog acts can also be the result of the dog’s unique predisposition or personality. Dog lovers are adamant their dogs have personalities; we can’t help ourselves and nor should we, because we see the canine personalities in action every day. The great naturalist Charles Darwin asserted in The Descent of Man that many animals and specifically dogs feel pleasure and pain, happiness and memory. He noted with great eloquence that as dogs became more domesticated and less wild, they ‘progressed in certain moral qualities, such as affection, trust, worthiness, temper, and probably in general intelligence’. Music to a dog lover’s ears.

  The bottom line is that a dog’s DNA does not necessarily always equal a dog’s destiny. Rather, it is an exquisite mix of environment and genes.

  Animal experts counsel that when introducing a new dog to the family, it is best to do so on neutral turf and to take the first dog with you when picking out the next one. Back at Animal Magnetism, Wendy placed Rafi in the pen with his littermates, most of whom inspected him with a conga line of sniffs to the rear end—a native canine courtesy— before scurrying off to other puppy action, wrestling, play-biting and sniffing.

  But one stood out, a fiery ball of energy that showed a keen and instant interest in the returning arrival. Whether this was out of familial recognition or simple canine curiosity no one can be sure, but Wendy and Carlos noted how playful the pup was and how it interacted with Rafi and how he responded in kind. The canine chemistry was more than appealing.

  Wendy picked up the curious puppy, checked the sex—a girl—and was taken by her vitality and exuberance. This one was confident, adventurous and inquisitive and ever so bouncy. She was high-energy and looked like she might just be unstoppable. The little pup was an ideal counterpoint for Rafi’s more restrained and babyish traits that had so endeared him to Wendy in the first place.

  Another thing. She also looked slightly different to Rafi, enough to easily tell them apart. The pup was smaller than her brother although she too had the white tuft of fur on her chin and chest. Her fur was slightly different as well. Rafi’s ears were fluffier, as if they were topped with little patches of freshly combed lambs’ wool that stood up at right angles to his floppy, languid lobes. The female’s ears were smoother, flatter. His paws were bigger than hers and his snout wider. He stood slightly taller, and his tail reached out longer.

  They looked like brother and sister with their big, round, chocolate eyes but they each had their own style. If it could be said that Rafi was a bit more Newfie, then that’s how Wendy would sum it up. The female was a bit more, well, Lab-like. Their rogue heredity was naturally on show and you didn’t need to look too hard to find it. In the end, it was a simple case of mutual attraction. Puppy love? Rafi and his sister played well and as far as anyone could tell—because how can you really know what’s going on inside the minds of eight-week-old pups other than recognise the expected biological and developmental signposts—would be well-suited kennel companions. There was absolutely no reason to suspect otherwise. Neither had shown any aggression to the other nor any dominant behaviour. Rather, they gravitated around each other in a little dance, sidling up together and taking turns with licks to the muzzles and sniffs to not-so-private parts. It was as if the two pups had choreographed their own getting-to-know-you waltz, albeit a clumsy one. I like you, let’s get to know each other a little better.

  Likewise, neither appeared more submissive or nervous and, considering Rafi’s likeable sookiness so far, this was considered a bonus. He held his own with his sister and the pair behaved with perfect puppiness.

  Pups learn to communicate and play with each other through a process of trial and error—or, perhaps more accurately, through nips and responses. They learn puppy etiquette from their mothers and littermates: what is acceptable and not. Playtime is school time. As Stanley Coren writes in How to Speak Dog, ‘play is serious business, not just random chaotic behaviour’.

  One of the most important things a pup learns from playing is that physical aggression is completely undesirable and intolerable in the pack. If a pup nips a sibling too hard in the rough and tumble of playtime, the hurt pup will yelp loudly and stop the game until it has recovered. In this way the nipper is taught not to bite too hard. With order restored, the pups will go back to their puppiness and gentler jaw play. Play-fighting teaches pups about dominance and pack hierarchy, as well as self-defence and ways to hunt and escape from danger. Watch a dog wriggle out of a sticky situation—or get out of a wrestling game of mutual take-turns somersaults—and you’ll have a mental image of a canine escape artist.

  Pups also use their bodies to communicate. They shift their height, wag, stiffen or straig
hten their tails, alter their stance, stare, avert or drop their eyes, prick up, flatten or curl their ears over to better hear with, or just plain let them flop as a sign that nothing much is going on. Whiskers, snouts and teeth all reveal an act about to be commissioned—or not—or a motivation or mood. Dogs have built an armoury of postures to signal timidity, submission, fear, warning, imminent attack, playfulness, contentedness, relaxation, work, readiness for a mission, picking up a scent, even stubbornness. The list goes on.

  Have you ever seen a dog track down a scent undetected by humans, stare at it, sniff it with growing urgency and, before you have a chance to react, roll his shoulder into it and flip over his body and rub it vigorously over the stink? You have? Well, you’ve seen a dog on a mission. For humans, a sign of canine stubbornness is when your dog puts the paw-brakes on while out on a leash-walk, nearly ripping your arm out of the shoulder socket. He stops suddenly, perfectly balanced on all four paws, then leans back on his hind legs with his rump slightly elevated while pulling his head down into the shoulders and simultaneously straightening his front legs. Your dog has become an immovable object. Good luck moving on. The message? Your dog wants something right there and then, or has seen something he doesn’t want to go past or is too afraid to pass.

  Canine communication is a wonderful thing to behold and dogs learn it at the earliest age.

  Misbehaved, aggressive or overly dominant pups are regularly disciplined by the mother dog that will put her mouth over the offending muzzle, or a paw on their naughty pup’s shoulder or head to push it down and into a submissive position. Both are classic canine displays of dominance. The mother dog has just taught her pup two lessons: the first about aggression, the second about respect.