dogs are an integral part of South African life.
How you treat animals I believe is a reflection of your humanity and civilization.
Regularly there are news reports in South African Media of how people get killed by dogs, often by Pitbulls. One time when our family was going to visit my brother, we saw an old black man pushing his bicycle along the road with all his weekly groceries loaded. All of a sudden a bull mastiff came racing out of a yard and attacked the old man. I slammed on brakes and jumped out to help, the dog had the old man’s hand in his jaws and flesh was coming out. I was acting like a lunatic by now, swearing and kicking the dog with all I had (all that happened is I hurt my foot). The dog was like iron and nothing would stop it. A boy came out of the yard and was hitting the dog with a sjambok (whip), this did nothing to stop the animal. I was now shouting to the boy to stick the end of the whip up the dog’s “poepal” (anus). So the young kid was unsuccessfully trying to jab the whip up the dog’s butt. The poor old fellow retreated into the front seat of my car with the dog still attached to his hand, now my wife and the girls scattered out of the car. A white policeman was walking by when the dog let go and ran back into his yard as the owner was coming out. I was livid and shouting at the cop to open a case against the family for not restraining such a dangerous animal, but the cop said he was off duty and did not intend to get involved. Hastily the owner came over and helped the poor old man. He assured me that they would take the old fellow to hospital and were taking his goods to keep them safe. I was placated when I saw the anxiety of the owner and his intention to help the old fellow. I can still feel my blood pressure rising when I think back. I am not a brave kind of person but I lost all sense of self preservation, luckily the dog did not turn on me (probably because I am white).
Dogs in white residential areas bark at black people as they pass by. When I went into the Mdantsane Township for the first time in 1990, I found that township dogs regarded white people with the same kind of hostility.
I have always believed that a dog must have another dog for companionship. Also all our pets must be spayed or neutered, because there is a serious problem of over breeding domestic animals in South Africa. There is a lot of animal neglect, particularly in the townships where poverty is rife.
The first dog that we ever got was supposed to be a thoroughbred Staffie (Staffordshire bull terrier) that my mother in law “organised”. We named her Rosie as she looked so sweet and it was also the name of my brother in law’s mother. Duncan was amazed at the name and said it was his mother’s name also, what a co-incidence! (heh heh). However the older Rosie got, the longer her legs got and we realised that this pooch was no pedigree! She stayed in the backyard of the first house we rented just after we got married. The backyard was full of beautiful mature fruit trees rented. The house was located in Chamberlain Street in Berea of East London> We we moved in just after we got married. Rosie kept getting inside when she was put in the backyard and the door was closed. We couldn’t understand how she kept getting in the house. We put her out and watched; she climbed up the “kitty walkway” to get in the house. Now it must be understood that the most highly esteemed life form in our home has always been the cat. Two kittens had been acquired and my Better Half felt that a kitten could never jump up two and a half foot to a low window ledge, therefore the ladder was created. The puppy Rosie observed this and also climbed the ladder with much wobbling, some whining and yelping.
Humphrey joined us when we moved to the first house that we bought in Middlesex Road in Amalinda. He was a magnificent cross between a Bull Mastiff and a Staffie with the most beautiful nature. He weighed in at just over 45 kilograms and had a dark tortoiseshell colouring. He contracted tick fever (biliary), we took him for a blood transfusion hoping to save his life. I stayed up all night with him as he lay in the passage. He was so anxious when he wet himself trying to get outside but he was too weak. I just comforted and reassured him. In the early hours of the morning he died in my arms.
There was a sad end to the story of Rosie.
We moved to a beautiful little town named Stutterheim after the German Baron by the German Settlers who settled there in the 1850s. We bought a beautiful home but the boundary fence was only chicken wire. Over the road lived our black neighbour who was a farmer raising chickens amongst other things for a living. After a while, Rosie was found to be killing his chickens. We did everything we could to keep her in the yard, but she kept burrowing new holes under the fence. She had the blood lust so we had to have her put down. I will never forget her last plaintiff bark as I left her behind at the vet. My eyes were so full of tears, I had to wait a while before I could see the road to go home.
The next dog we got was Sasha. She was three quarter Alsatian and one quarter Bull Mastiff. When my mother in law still lived in Cambridge West, an East London suburb, her neighbour had a young dog that was always roaming the streets. She was offered to us, so she became part of our family and a companion to Rosie. She was a lovely dog but the one time while sitting in the lounge, we smelt the most dreadful odour. Upon investigation I found a huge steaming mountain of crap in the one girl’s bedroom. From that time forth no hound was permitted to come into the hallowed sanctum of our lounge and have been banished outside.
Only once in twenty-six years of marriage have had a dog that had puppies in a manner of speaking; the puppies were actually from my brother’s dog. When we moved to Johannesburg from Stutterheim, our dog named Elder (named by the girls with a “holy” name because we got the dog from some American missionaries on a Sunday), he was a mongrel coloured black, he mounted my brother’s pedigreed Rottweiler and made her pregnant. Needless to say my brother was not impressed at all but he had ignored our repeated warnings that his dog was on heat. So the fruit of her womb came to our home, two pups we named Dusty and Zeena. Poor old Dusty could not gain any nutrition as there was an obstruction in his throat. It was inoperable so we had to have him put down. Zeena is still with us today, more than thirteen years later, bouncy and starting to get quite fat.
We first moved to Johannesburg in 2002, we stayed at my brothers house. Elder escaped out the yard at 267 Voortrekker Road and inexplicably bit a 97 year old lady who always did her daily walk past the house. He had to be put down, we were horrified that this placid dog went nuts that day. Strangely enough I had insurance on the dog and was able to pay the old dear’s medical bills that amounted to R750. What weird things get insured without us even being aware of it! My wife is still irritated that my house insurance covered the cost of a round of drinks when I hit a hole in one at golf.
Sweetpea the boerboel was given to us as a puppy to replace Elder. Boerbuls are terribly powerful animals and were primarily bred to protect the farmer’s homestead, even from large predators such as lions. They usually focus on the male of the house and are extremely obedient. I did not want a male as they are monstrously large, so I took a female. However the loyalty she had towards me and the family did not extend towards the other dogs in our home. One time she mauled poor old Sasha when she got too excited. Sasha’s injuries were so bad we had to have her put down.
Dogs are very territorial, when we parked our car in the yard from our current home in Krugersdorp, our dogs, Zeena and Sweetpea, would see the neighbour’s fox terrier on our wide pavement, so they would run full tilt after the small beast, the retreating dog ran for his life yelping all the way home. But as soon as the foxie arrived in his territory, he turned and attacked his foes. Now my dogs were in his territory and had to beat a hasty retreat, running flat out until they got in the yard, all the while with me bellowing at them to get back inside the yard. The two of them seemed to be as happy as a kid in a candy store. This happened several times until the streetwise Foxie worked out when we came home, it was time to depart to safer pastures.
Several years ago after a huge hailstorm hit Krugersdorp, the hail collected against the prefabricated wall that separates us from our neighbours. The hail collected to about a foot (30 cm) high against the wall. Sweetpea burrowed her nose and head under the hail and walked along like a plough, snorting lustily in absolute pleasure. Now more than ten years later, she is struggling terribly with arthritis. When do you say goodbye? When are we being selfish keeping her with us while she suffers needlessly or having her put down too soon? We have had a fellow over, who is an expert with Boerboels, and asked for his opinion on what we should do.
She is happy and eating well; enjoying sunshine while chewing her beloved bones, so we can keep her a little longer...
