Cruz has just turned 70. Therefore he feels entitled to take up residence on top of the dirty pink sheets in my washing basket at the top of the stairs. We brought him home from Queensland as a too-young puppy, whom my son rescued from extermination. He was one of a litter of ten, and my daughter has his brother, Loki. Cruz travelled for two days in the car from Queensland to Potato Point up J’s jumper, and he’s still ecstatic whenever J visits.
He’s a great addition to our household. Everything is impregnated and interwoven with his white hairs: there are never any foodscraps to dispose of; he barks madly whenever anyone stops in the drive; and he lays claim to every patch of sun – which is why he’s in the clothes basket.
Cruz and Loki were once very tiny snub-nosed puppies.
Here’s my daughter’s account of their birth, snaffled from her Facebook birthday post:
Ten years ago a ten-pup litter was born during a huge thunderstorm at the Happy Apple (a Stanthorpe caravan park). I had to drive a tractor over from work because the road was too muddy to get my old Pulsar out, and these are two of the little faces that greeted me. Happy birthday to the two funniest, weirdest dogs in a long life of peculiar canines.
They are still cosy companions on occasional visits.
For a collection of wonderful black and white headshots – but none as handsome as Cruz! – have a look at Paula’s black and white Sunday.