COVID-19 BAFFLES KELPIE SAM

COVID-19 is very confusing for some dogs in Sydney and my pooch Sam is one of them. Sam, a pure-bred black and tan Kelpie, was born on a sheep station in the Snowy Mountains six years ago, and when I first saw her, at the age of eight weeks, she and her five siblings were alreading mustering recently born ducklings into jam tins that had dropped into their enclosure.

By the time she was six months old she had all but mastered the art of mustering sheep — but she was suddenly whipped off to the urban surrounds of Darling Point, whre there have been very few sheep for more than 150 years. Most evenings for the past five years, I’ve taken Sam to Yarranabbe Park, a stretch of parkland that skirts Rushcutters Bay on the south shore of Sydney Harbour, for her second big run of the day. She loves the park, partly because she sees a few of her doggy friends but mainly because each day a steady, if small, stream of humans walked along the harbourside pathway.

A couple of years ago when a bout of heart maintnance slowed me down for a few months, Sam worked out how to keep herself active and amused. She would pick up her tennis ball, lope over to the most likely looking perambulator and drop the ball at their feet. She would then back away about five metres and fix them with the Kelpie stare – the classic sheepdog pose of arse up, head down and one paw tucked to her chest. It worked about 70% of the time and her ball would be thrown. The sucker would then discover that if you throw a ball once for a Kelpie, you are expected to keep doing it time and time again. And it is not easy to wear out a Kelpie.

But on March 16 Sam’s world was wrecked by the bloody COVID-19 virus. That was the day Gladys the Cruel started to shut down New South Wales. At first we were told to keep a distance from each other, but then Our Glad sooled the coppers onto us and said we couldn’t leave home without a reasonable excuse, and worst of all, she shut the gyms.

Shutting the gyms in a city of five million people made the parks a nightmare. Yarranabbe Park went from seeing 30 to 40 walkers each afternoon to seeing thousands. Great muscle-bound lumps of sweaty and puffy humanity were packed shoulder to shoulder on the paths, and the grass was covered with perosnal trainers and their victims attempting to do push-ups or master the plank. Sam was totally confused. She quickly discovered these new people were too busy to notice a dog. Those who stopped when confronted by the classic sheepdog pose paid no attention to the tennis ball at their feet. They thought she was about to attack them and rip out their sweaty throats.

They grabbed their mobiles phones and rang the cops.

We moved to another park well away from the harbour – but now the personal trainers have discovered it too.

At the end of March, Sam and I slipped down to the Snowy Mountains to do a bit of trout fishing — but the local coppers ordered us home. Fishing, even on a totally isolated river, is not a Gladys-sanctioned activity.

Sam is now baffled.

  • DDMCN

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