My Dog Fire Reads Lips

by Sam Neill

Not that she’s smarter than other dogs. Smart enough though. It’s just that she’s now stone deaf, poor old thing. So when it’s time for a walk, I come up behind her, tap her on the shoulder; she turns around and looks at me intently and I mouth silently the magic word W-A-L-K. In a heartbeat she jumps up and rockets out the door.

When I say, old, she’s probably very old, but we’re not quite sure how old exactly. She’s a rescued dog. When we found her she was starving and much neglected. We took her on temporarily while we waited for her owner to get better. In those few weeks she so quickly worked her way into our family, and into our hearts, that we couldn’t bear to part with her. With luck, the owner decided she was better off with us, and she’s now been central to our lives for about ten years. Now we dread the day when she finally dies. Unthinkable.

One thing we know for sure is we couldn’t now own another breed. I get incensed when I read Staffordshire Bull Terriers lumped in with “dangerous breeds” in the press. While she doesn’t tolerate nonsense from other dogs, Fire couldn’t be a more gentle creature with people, and in particular small children. Even now in her old age, she loves to play with kids. And with oldies like me.

She’s everything you could want from a dog. Loyal, patient, friendly, loving and the best company. Everywhere I go, she insists she goes too. But when I go overseas to work she has to stay behind. This breaks her little heart. And mine. Just the sight of a suitcase, and she slumps into despair. Nowadays I use all kinds of tricks to try and conceal my departure, but somehow, a day or two in advance, she knows, and I see her getting sad. Still she’s a resilient and cheerful dog and she soon settles into the manager’s house on the vineyard. I’ve made her a kennel there (heated for God’s sake, as a salve to my conscience). She hasn’t used it once; she prefers to sleep with the kids. Who can blame her. And anyway she’s always been a part time nanny.

Ironically her deafness has turned out to be something of a blessing. For years any kind of a bang would send her into a tail-spin and under the table. Guns, fireworks, thunder; all a source of terror. This is tricky if you’re a farm dog, which she now is. Now, however, she sails happily through the vineyard and the orchard at duck shooting time, or while bird scaring is at its zenith, not a care in the world.

She’s only ever had one job, and a job she took very seriously indeed: rabbit control. To my knowledge I think she only caught one ever – and that was very small indeed. And probably a bit thick. Still every time she got a chase on, she couldn’t have enjoyed herself more.

We hope we’ve still got a few more years of rabbiting to go. Fingers, and paws, crossed. And here’s another word she can lip-read: R-A-B-B-I-T!

© Sam Neill, 2008.
This story will appear in “Vineyard Dogs” later this year. Look out for it.

Updates:

20 June 2010 -- After 15 happy years, our company dog makes a dignifed departure. Read more in our blog post entitled Company Dog Departs.

31 August 2010 -- We have a new dog on staff. Read about Zappa here.