Dear Zak,

We have had a refreshment of the photo board in the passage. Most have been changed except for a few favorites that I cannot find the originals for. I trawled the computer files for new ones and the emphasis was on dogs – of course. I have just counted and of the 50 there only 10 that don’t have dogs in them. Plus ça change, plus ça même chose.

I bet there are lots of me!

Of course there are, you are all there – Cassie and Kim, Tina, Jenni, Kharma, you, Roxy, Tia, Molly, Greeta, Themba and Tara. After all, dogs have been central to my life since 1989 so I couldn’t leave anyone out. They have even changed the course of my life. Now I need to record those early days for posterity.

Do you mean that you might forget?

Anything is possible – my memory is already not that great. I had to go through the blogs just for writing up this account.

You’d better get on with it then.

Back in 2008 in the dark days of Zimbabwe’s hyperinflation I applied to emigrate to New Zealand. I was granted a visa but to fulfill the requirements I had to visit first. I had a great holiday there but realized that as a disabled person I was going to struggle to find employment. I was mulling the move over one day after I’d returned and looked up and saw Cassie and Kim watching me. They seemed to be thinking: “If you go, what will happen to us?”. What indeed? They were not young dogs anymore and I would have struggled to find them new homes. They’d been together since puppies and to separate them would have been as unthinkable as having them put to sleep. So I stayed.

Ah, the power of Dog.

Cassie. My Softdog – an ever so typical Labrador (except for food). She was not obsessed by food at all and being the gentle soul she was would not even defend her bowl from Kim who most certainly was obsessed by food.

One day when I was living in Harare I was walking them in the park in Greystone park. The time came to go home and in helping her into the back of the pickup truck she got her back leg trapped between the tow hitch and the bumper. She yelped and grabbed my hand – “you are hurting me” she was saying. It was just a hold – she was too gentle to bite. I quickly freed her and of course she wagged her tail.

Cassie was my first dog. I was living on Mike Wilson’s farm near Lion’s Den in the Chinhoyi area of Zimbabwe, north-west of Harare on the Kariba road. Someone in the area had a litter of Labrador pups and I decided it was a good time to get myself a friend. We’d always had Labradors growing up so she was a natural choice.

I never had any intention of breeding from her so had her spayed. Not long after I was walking with her in the wheat fields around the homestead she saw something that interested her and stood up on her back legs for a better look. This was certainly not Labrador behaviour. I wondered if I’d made a mistake having her neutered. Her digging most certainly was typical.

On her first day, after having proudly shown her off to my landlord’s wife Wendy, I decided to plant out some daffodil bulbs. I’d planted about half when Wendy said “Look behind you”. There was Cassie thoughtfully digging up what I’d planted!

She had an eventful life. I used to walk her with Kim and Freckle, my mother’s Jack Russel terrier, on the hill behind my mother’s house in the mining village of Penhalonga on the eastern border of Zimbabwe. My mother had recently died of cancer and I’d given up my job at Lion’s Den to help care for her in her final days. I wasn’t upset at leaving the job – which I hated – but I did miss walking in the bush which I loved.

I used to let the dogs run free on the hillside, they always came back to me. Except one evening when Cassie didn’t. I scoured the area, calling and whistling. Nothing. Darkness fell and desperate with worry (had she fallen foul to a snake or a snare) I decided to leave all the gates and doors open, security be damned. I was getting close to bedtime when I heard a strange scraping sound on the sprung wooden floor. I came out of my bedroom and there was Cassie, my softdog, walking along the passage with a broken wire snare around her neck.

On another occasion, I was driving along a narrow grassy road in the bush near Lion’s Den with Cassie and Kim running in front of the pickup. There was a dark brown stick-like object standing up beside the road. I wondered what it was and then it moved. A black mamba, the largest of the venomous snakes in Zimbabwe and renowned for their aggression. I panicked and did the worst thing imaginable – stopped and shouted “No!”. Cassie and Kim stopped, turned to see what the problem was, and ran back to me straight past the snake. Fortunately it had just raised up for a better view` and, deciding there wasn’t a threat, slithered off. She had another run-in with a snake that didn’t go well at all.

The bush around Chinhoyi was thick with snakes and I came home one day to my girl with a massively swollen face and copious watery blood leaking from the bite sites on her muzzle – probably from a puff-adder. Of course all the vets in the area were at a function out of town so in desperation I phoned a local pig and cattle farmer. Johan was a big man with a strong Afrikaans accent and he never wore shoes that anyone in the area could remember. Some said he didn’t even wear shoes to church. He said in a strong Afrikaans accent, “Ag man, bring her over, it won’t be a problem – my dogs get bitten all the time”.

I arrived after 10 minutes and he could see I was very upset. He gave her a shot of penicillin and told me to take here to a vet in the morning. It turned out that the nearest vet was a good 45 minutes away so I made the trip as I wouldn’t wait for anyone closer. The vet injected her still massively swollen muzzle with cortisone. Three days later the swelling started to subside and by the fifth day I had my happy girl back. To the end of her nearly 14 year-long life she had a very special panicky bark for snakes.

She also had a special bark for the moon. “Woof”. Pause. “Woof, woof”. Pause. Repeat, and repeat and repeat. It wasn’t saying anything – now excitement, no warning, no panic. Just “woof”. Whilst like all my dogs who were allowed into the house during the day, at night both she and Kim and later Tina slept outside. What else was a dog to do on a moonlit night?

Cassie was a mother figure to both Tina and Jenni – she was that sort of dog.

The end when it came was not a difficult decision. For some time Cassie had been what I can only describe as senile. She would bump into something and then look puzzled as to where it had come from. She was also bowel incontinent. I could deal with that but one day I arrived back from work to find her on the verandah in hot sun and very distressed because she couldn’t get up. Her back legs had been weak for a while – not surprising given she was in her 15th year. I booked the appointment with the vet, steeled myself and held her while she slipped away. A good, long life.

There were two Kims. I was looking for a companion for Cassie and found that a litter mate, a black Lab female, was still available. She didn’t stay long before the breeder, very embarrassed, told me that she’d promised her to another person who’d decided to take her after a lot of dithering. It was only after some months whilst chatting to Gary Hensman who lived in the area that I discovered that he had a litter of Rhodesian Ridgeback pups and some were still available to be homed. So I chose a female and called her Kim too.

She was an unusual dog and, like with Cassie, I don’t seem to have any photos of when she was young – it was well before the days of digital photos of course. There’s one that has been framed, from when I was living in the Enterprise Valley, of Cassie and her on a granite outcrop where I’d taken them for an evening walk. In those days I could do things like that and even had a mountain bike that I’d use to take them on exercise. They are both looking to the setting sun where they’d heard someone chopping wood. Both young and full of life with some 10 years or more to live.

Kim was sitting in the lounge looking at me expectantly. I moved from the armchair onto the floor and she walked over and sat down facing me. We bent our heads together and sat like that, our foreheads touching. Gary said “Hey, shamwari, she’s human!”

When I got Kim as a companion for Cassie I thought that they would have very different lifespans and I’d be able to get over the death of one before having to say goodbye to the other. They left me within two weeks of each other.

It was obvious that Kim was in pain and an X-ray showed that she had problems with her vertebrae. The vet prescribed cortisone and she responded well but relapsed as soon as the course finished. John said that she’d respond well again and he “was interested in cases like this” but I’d steeled myself and once again I held the head of a special friend and told her she was a good dog. She was just a few weeks short of her 14th birthday – 22 years ago.

Most people associate the Olympics with a sports extravaganza, often hyped. I associate it with the death of Tina, Jenni’s sister from an earlier litter. She was initially with one of Gary Hensman’s daughters but she didn’t mind giving her to me. In the short year that I had her she became my shadow, my best friend, my team mate. An extraordinary dog, she was the dog of a lifetime, literally. She was not as good looking as Jenni. In fact she had no ridge (as in ridgeback) though I liked to tell people that it just ran the other way. Her ears were too big and her tail was too long but she made up for it all in sheer joie de vivre. She was the first dog I had that was protective of me and she was just irrepressible. Extremely naughty without a hint of malice she kept me on my toes and entertained. Then in a moment of carelessness that will haunt me forever, I drove over her and she died before I could get to tell her that I did not mean to hurt her. She was all of a year old. It was also the day that Kirsty Coventry, a Zimbabwean swimmer, won her first gold medal.

One morning as I was getting dressed for work she walked past the bedroom window and jumped up putting her paws through the burglar bars, a big goofy grin and tail wagging in delight at another day just starting.

Jenni – the dog of the song – Dreams are ten a penny. My life revolved around her. She loved everyone she met and, unlike the breed description that requires them to be reserved with strangers, would greet them with enthusiasm. She once jumped up on one of my customers. Mortified I apologized but he said “No, my father had these dogs, they are just great!”

When I first saw Jenni I wasn’t very impressed – having just lost Tina in tragic circumstances I didn’t really want another puppy – I wanted Tina back. Little did I know how she would come to influence my life.

She was my first fully inside dog starting with a mattress on the floor but she spent a fair bit of time on the bed too! Like with Tina she gravitated to Cassie as the mother figure though Cass was a bit overwhelmed on occasion.

Jenni loved to run. Anything was chaseable but nothing was caught. There were resident jackals on ART Farm where I lived and one used to exasperate her. Yes, she was much faster than it but it was more agile. Eventually she’d give up and the jackal would trot behind nipping at her heels. It had a den in one of the ditches at the bottom of a land and was trying to distract her. A vet assured me that as it ran away from me it wasn’t rabid.

If I could take her with me she’d come along, often trotting ahead of me as I cycled to work, and on one occasion rolling in the slurry of the pig sties on the way back. I was concentrating on the cycling, I looked up and saw a black dog where Jenni had been. I thought: that’s odd, I don’t have a black dog and then I made the connection. She was most unimpressed when I put her under the hosepipe on getting home.

One morning I was helping a friend set up a floral show at the ART Farm hall. I looked up as a dog trotted into the hall. I thought: that’s interesting, someone has a dog just like mine. Then I realized it was Jenni! Somehow she’d opened the gate and found her way down the road to find me. Did she know that I hadn’t gone far and she could easily find me?

Of course she did. Us Ridgebacks are know for our intelligence!

Jenni always slept on the bottom of my bed. In the morning when I got up she knew that I was not coming back to bed and would move onto the pillows.

One Sunday evening I fed her, she went and climbed onto the couch and I had supper. About two hours later she came to me looking like she needed to go outside. I opened the door and she dashed out, clearly distressed. I panicked and went to get a torch. The batteries were flat. I went outside and called and called. I couldn’t find her. Now and again I caught glimpses but it took a full hour before she would come to me. Finally she came, I got a leash on her and got her into the pickup truck. There was only one 24hr vet that I knew of so took her straight there. They were (and still are) useless.

Jenni’s stomach was bloated and she was whimpering in pain. The vet examined her and said he would have to wait until morning when the owner arrived. I told him that she would be dead by then – even I could see that. “I don’t know what else to suggest” he responded. Fortunately one of the assistants thought he knew of another vet who could help and he gave me his number. It was late and I was desperate. Ant answered and asked me for Jenni’s symptoms. I told him and he said “Bring that dog to me right now!”.

It was gastric torsion, every dog owner’s nightmare. Jenni, being a big dog with a deep chest was a prime candidate. We chatted as Ant started the surgery but after a while I couldn’t take watching and had to sit down in the next room. Ant finished the surgery and said “She came through that well, I’ll be very surprised if she doesn’t make it”. I left buoyant – my precious girl was going to be fine!

The next morning I was in the nursery between two blocks of seedling racks when I got a call from the veterinary surgery – “Is that Mr Roberts?”. I said yes, it was. “Dr Donahoe wants to talk to you, please hold on. Oh, he will call you back just now”. I went cold. I knew my girl was gone.

I went to pick up her body. Ant told me that when he’d checked up on her at 2.30 in the morning she’d stood up to greet him, tail wagging (of course she had, she was that type of dog). Then when he got in to work at 7.30 she had died. My soul mate, my best friend, my Jenni Girl, my raison d’être was gone.

Kharma, quite simply, was the dog who loved me. One day I drove to work and remembered I’d forgotten to take something along. At all of 200m I had to turn around and go home. Kharma was delighted, tail wagging furiously and a big doggy grin – I was home again. Then when I drove out of the gate again a few minutes later without her, her tail sagged, her ears dropped down, her whole demeanor was dejection – you are going again without me.

She was easily the most expressive dog I have ever owned – I could see exactly what she was thinking at any one time.

I’d been terribly lonely without Jenni so I started to look around for another dog. I cannot remember how I got hold of Cheryl, a breeder in Johannesburg. She had a female Ridgeback who hadn’t bred well and was being picked on by the rest of her pack. Of course she wanted to meet me and fortuitously I had to go to Jo’burg for a medical issue. We got on well, though Kharma was indifferent to me, and Cheryl agreed that I could have her.

I picked Kharma up at the Harare airport in my old Land Cruiser and took her back home. I opened the back door, opened her crate and she reluctantly climbed down. She hesitantly followed me to the house but wouldn’t come inside. I’d never taken on an adult dog, she was 2 years old, so I left her alone to make her own decision. A short while later I went outside to see what she was up to and couldn’t find her.

I panicked. I checked the gate. Nope, that was well closed. I looked around the garden and couldn’t see any holes in the fence. How was I going to tell Cheryl that I’d lost her dog? I went back to the Land Cruiser and there she was, back in her crate! Relief washed over me.

Kharma took a long time to settle in. After some three months I was beginning to wonder if she’d ever accept me and her new home. Then one day she decided that I was hers and she was the dog that loved me.

Like Tina and Jenni, Kharma came with me wherever I could take her. She became a firm favorite of Derek and Helen at the Gallery Delta art gallery that they owned in town. Once Helen asked me if she could give Kharma a mutton bone. I looked at it and deemed it OK for her to chew. A while later it had completely disappeared – she had eaten it all! I did watch her over the next day and she was fine. She was perfectly behaved except for one occasion.

What about me, was I there and did I misbehave too? Never! But I can’t wait to hear this story though.

You were probably three months old my boy and I had a committee meeting of the Dance Trust of Zimbabwe where I was responsible for the dance group Tumbuka, putting together the newsletter and taking photographs of the various shows. You were too young to leave at home (you were at the mischievous age) so I brought you and Kharma along to the evening meeting. You wouldn’t stop barking and Kharma helped herself to the milk on the tea tray. I wasn’t popular!

Well, I did feel I needed to make my best impression.

Schmusekatze (German) was what Florian and Ute called Kharma. “Cuddly Cat” Kharma – and she most certainly was just that. I also called her the Barge Queen for the habit she had of barging past me to get into the house as I opened the kitchen door. No matter how I scolded her she barged past anyway and would scurry down the passage, jump on my bed and thump her tail in anticipation of the affectionate tummy rub that she knew was coming. I would pretend to scold her as I walked down the passage and her tail would thump even faster!

She took a while to accept you but in the end she became the mother figure to you that Cassie was to Tina and Jenni. I think that this photo is one of my all time favorites!

She has her own post – gentle girl. And the rest I think you know.

Wow, us dogs really have been central to your life. It is strange that there are people out there who actually don’t like dogs. They really don’t know what they are missing.

No they don’t and there are those who just don’t care. We saw a very pretty GSD cross running down the road on our way back from walking Themba, Tia and Tara this morning. He (or she) was clearly lost and very frightened.

So, to change the subject a bit, who was your favorite?

You mean apart from you?

Naturally!

They were all special in their own way. Cassie for being my first dog and ever so gentle. Kim for her own quiet “humaness”. Tina for her sheer enthusiasm for everything. Jenni for being my best friend when I was so often very lonely – an only dog can be very special in a one-to-one relationship. That was also true with Kharma before you came along.

And finally… why us Rhodesian Ridgebacks?

I guess I rather liked your independent, often slightly bloody-minded, nature as in: “I’ll get back to you when I’ve investigated this smell even if you are getting frustrated with me ignoring you”. I loved your athleticism and of course your great looks!

Naturally!

And your loyalty and affection.

That’s us – not quite perfect but very close!