50 years after the Soviets celebrated victory over the Nazis, our own party rocked up in the form of Goldie. I suppose you could say in a way he celebrated the victory too by having his very own Hitler moustache markings under his nose.
I don't really remember much of Goldie as a young lad, probably because by the time he was 8 weeks old, he was already older than me in "dog years", although he was quick to learn bathroom habits.
He was the King and wanted a big ivory tower. But it was probably because he didn't wanna sleep out in the cold. I do remember showing off at primary school. You know why? Because he was gold. That meant he was the King of all dogs, which is true. Those were the days when Shane would race him to the front gate.
In his youthful, dashing days, he knew when it was time for walkies. Although he got a bit over excited, and you couldn't quite keep his head in the same spot long enough to get his damn collar on! But eventually he'd work it out, after going through the same routine every time.. He went to the park a few times, once I thought maybe he could run in circles and spin the swing for me, so I could go around in circles on the swings. I got yelled at, and should have learnt to maybe make some friends. But who would need anyone else when you had a dog like Goldie?
He was there when my neighbours dog bit me, he kept sticking his head under my arms when I curled up into a ball after falling off the fence in fright/shock. He was good like that. I know he was just looking after me, again, he was good like that. At the time, I didn't know how good he would be like that.
He used to rip the sheets off the line, and chase all the birds away, he'd have big blues with the cockatoo, but Goldie was no match for Georges beak, and Goldie quickly learnt the small, but vicious bird was a force to be reckoned with.
He used to love the paddock. Once he bolted up the small hill to the paddock, as I had him on the leash I went with him...straight into a tree! I cut the side of my finger, and I still have the scar. For such a tiny little scratch, it really did leave a nasty scar. He was one of the reasons I made my decision to become vegetarian, I can say that he helped influence one of the biggest decisions so far in my life.
He used to drool alot too. But he really enjoyed his steaks! He was usually put outside for dinner because of his drooling, but that was just his testament to Mums good cooking. He grew out of that habit, and he was allowed back inside for dinner.
At Christmas, he'd be all over my Nan, waiting for the next bit of chicken she would always share. She was a sucker for him, and he played on it as much as he could. Before each bit he was reminded to be gentle. Too bad one year, we all went crazy with bon-bons, and Goldie cowered behind Mark, so much so that he was literally on top of Mark.Whenever the car pulled up home, he'd be waiting under the house to say “welcome home, feed me.” And when we were leaving, he'd walk us to the steps, and hang his head between the rails to get some extra pats before whoever was leaving, left. Eventually, though he just waited at the wooden gates. Less walking, less effort, and he still got what he wanted. Just to see us come home for him.At some stage after this, he turned into a bit of a porker, and was, from memory, quite large. After his quick visit to the dietician and several personal trainer sessions later, he transformed back into the handsome little heartbreaker he was. A friend at the time thought he was a whole new dog because of his weight loss. A photo of him at that stage is still on our fridge, in a Simpson washing machine frame that I got in the newspaper once. I gave it to my mother, because I’m just that charitable.I thought he was a bit silly in the photo though. I called him once to take the photo, and called him another 3 times, because he kept walking away after each photo I took. He was there for my pool parties. Lucky me being a summer baby. He chased after me and my friends when we weren't in the pool. But he was no water dog, so much for webbed toes. Useless.Coming out of my own distorted shell after a dark age, we used to eat our brekky in the mornings together, I'd always give him my crusts from my vegemite toast every morning before school. And he'd be ready to say goodbye to me before a long day of sitting at the bridge. At this stage he went through a few name changes though. First, he was Kitty. Then he became Peaches. Then, after nearly 10 years, I noticed his little Hitler mo. Then he became Peaches-Hitler Kitty McSex. Quite the rockin dude, he was.He was the first member of my family to meet my boyfriend/soul mate when I managed to be organized enough to sneak him into my home while home alone. Even though Warren pushed Goldie away for sniffing him, I think Goldie approved because he didn't bother him again. Goldie was a hit at my birthday parties too, he formed part of the conga line at my 15th. He was the leader, in fact. He had his own fan club amongst my friends, just because he was the best dog ever. He'd started staying up late with me and we'd watch the music channels. Although we did reach common ground on Morrissey, except for the song Unhappy Birthday. A good song for certain days, but a few lines in the song I cannot sing (I say "No, I'm gonna kill my dog."). I think Goldie heard them too and got a bit worried, especially with my budding interest in true crime. Goldie was the subject of one of the very, very few projects, I actually handed in for year 9. In photography, we needed to design a poster. I chose to do MEAT IS MURDER, with Goldie as my model. He was the subject of my year 8 final submission. We had to write a biography of somebody. I failed, because you had to choose a human. I also included him in my family tree for English that year too. My family looked a bit plain with only 7 people, so Goldie made us an even 8.Goldie was still a hit with my friends. He was particularly fond of one boy, because of Goldies arthritis, he could no longer jump to his prized seat on the couch. The boy grabbed his back legs and lifted him up on the couch. The look Goldie gave him was priceless.During my second go at adolescent shell-crawling-into, which I must say was worse than first time, Goldie would sleep on my bed to make sure nothing would happen to me at night. Or to make sure I wouldn't happen to me. He'd knock on my bedroom door each night, and sprawl out across my bed, waiting for me to sleep. Too bad he didn't realize I can't sleep with an open door and he'd wake me up to let him out. But usually by that stage, he'd said everything he needed too through cuddles. He knew he needed to look after me just like he did when I was a kid. He did the best he could, and did very well at doing the best. After a while, he was getting too old to jump up with me, so he just sat next to my bed, pushing my random junk out of the way to make room for himself. He came with me when I thought I'd be brave and get a pennicillin shot in my backside. I bet he laughed so hard at that, that's why he came with me. We used to play dress ups, he wore pretty skirts and nice shirts with matching scarves. If he stood still long enough, he'd have purple toe nails. Sometimes he'd be coloured in like a zebra.Sometimes he'd have a nicely drawn 619 drawn on his hips. The handsome devil. Or he'd have DOG written on his head, so we would all know what he was, but he'd read it in the mirror and think he was GOD. He had regular tail trims just to fix his split ends of his tail. In his twilight years, he wasn't very well. He got medication for his arthritis which helped him alot. But we'd sit up til 3am watching Spongebob Squarepants together, generally being hapless lazeabouts on the couch. We'd moult together, so big hairballs of both our hair would be found together. In his final days, he spent it under the vents, where he was happy watching us walk by. He knew his place at Rainbow Bridge was awaiting. He gallantly rose for one last walkies to the vet, he seemed to love the vet. He proudly walked himself to the corner of our street, before his body gave way on him, and he had his very first car trip the rest of the way. Warren stayed with him until the end, because I couldn't do that. He had a dried chicken strip for his last meal and a few belly scratches. I’m sure he got what he wanted.
Goodnight, Sweet Prince.
