My Personal Letter to Rani

Dear Rani,

You came into my life as a cute, cuddly, lively and mischievous little puppy, when I was living in a unit in Whyalla.

I remember the joy you brought with all your funny puppy antics, like at night time when I said “In your bed!” You would take hold of your little pink teddy and curl up in your beanbag beside my bed. We had such fun playing games like hide the teddy and whenever I said “where’s teddy?” you would go looking everywhere for it.

You were such a character, always popular at parties and when you came to netball with me, children would always gather around you and keep you company while I played.

You were my pride and joy. Everywhere we went; people admired you and couldn’t help but comment on how gorgeous you were.

Naturally, I was keen to take you to the dog shows and show you off. We collected quite a few ribbons and you won the Rhosyn Pointscore Trophy that first year. You got your “A” stamp and later sired some lovely litters of puppies. Though you could have achieved so much more with what you had going for you, fate wouldn’t have it that way.

I was glad though, because we had more time to do other things together.

The trouble was that with all your show training, you never wanted to “heal”.

As we walked by, people would comment “who’s taking who for a walk?”

Remember when I would put your bowl of food down in front of you while you sat and waited? Then as soon as I said “OK”, you would “spin your wheels” to get to it.

Our neighbors in Port Lincoln used to love looking after you while I was away overnight sometimes for work. They would put you to bed at night and let you out in the morning and always enjoyed throwing sticks for you to chase.

One time I took you up to Yalata with me in the Government car (which was a bit of a no-no), and you attracted the attention of all the Aboriginal children who were jumping up to see over the fence while you barked at them. You weren’t anything like the mangy camp dogs they were used to.

You always made me feel safe and protected. When our neighbors were burgled, a policeman came into our yard while looking for the culprits and I was told that as soon as he saw you, he hopped back over that fence in a big hurry.

We must have walked hundreds of kilometres together over the years. We went over roads, dirt tracks, sand-hills, rocks and water. How you loved chasing sticks and balls and didn’t like to give them back. You especially loved the beach and would swim through the waves to fetch a ball. It seemed a strange habit when you would dig a big hole in the sand and then stick your head in it. Remember the old Holden I bought especially so we could go beach-bashing together around Port Lincoln?

You were my closest friend and companion during those first six years while I lived and worked in Whyalla and Port Lincoln. We did a lot of travelling together, although it was always a challenge to contain your excitement when in the car. It was such a relief when I finally discovered the calming tablets for our trips back to Adelaide.

Those were special times with memories I’ll always cherish.

Things changed when I met Olly and we went overseas travelling together for a year, while you stayed with mum and Kev. It was hard to leave you for so long but I knew you would be well looked after.

When we came back it was so wonderful to see you again but it was a while before we were able to buy a house so you could be with us again.

Then it wasn’t long before you were no longer like our only child. One day we brought home a curious bundle of joy who we called Eli. I remember how you sniffed at him and got all excited. Then came an understanding and acceptance of how things were and I knew that you were completely trustworthy as I watched children climb over you and pull on your ears and tail.

How gracefully you accepted the calamity and mayhem that came along with the arrival of each of our two little boys. They will never know the boisterous clutz that jumped up and down every time I put on my sandshoes. They will however, remember the calm, gentle, patient and loving Rani as they now struggle to understand why you are no longer with us in the way that they have always known.

I’d hoped you would understand why I wasn’t able to give you the same attention as before. I often noticed you quietly watching me and wondered what you were thinking. It was always so comforting to feel your unconditional love and to know your willingness to protect us if necessary.

Now, you are a missing part of our family. When we look around and see you’re not here, there’s a pain in our hearts and an aching feeling of emptiness at having lost a precious family member.

I never thought I would cry when I swept the floor and found no dog hair!

I feel such a strong urge to cuddle you again and shake hands like we used to. I know that even though we are all missing you terribly, we can feel grateful for the privilege of having you with us for the time that we did, and of course for the many wonderful times we had together.

You will always hold a special place in our hearts and we’ll always love you dearly.

In loving memory of you, Rani.

23/2/89 – 13/4/02

Love from your family

xxxx

copyright 2004 Karen Dangerfield