A Bushie's Life: Protecting Your Pet

The death of the family pet has started me thinking about what people fail to consider when they decide to move from an urban environment to something more rustic: how to protect their pets against feral animals. Here are a few tips for maximizing the longevity of your animal companion if you live in the bush:

1. Encourage them to stay close to a populated area. (Home Base)
2. Fence off areas for your pet's protection. Stake it all down underground. (Moat it)
3. Give your pet lots of attention so that they will prefer to be close to their human companions. (TLC)
4. Have more than one animal companion. (Pack animals)
5. Spend time getting to know the area by walking about your property with your pet. (Know your battleground)
6. Be a part of the grapevine so that you know when the wild dogs are around. (Intel)

There are a lot more ways to protect your pet without lessening the quality of life and though, these tips may not guarantee your pet's longevity it is my hope that considering the problems associated with them will enable you to optimize the time with your companion, as well as cut down on the financial and emotional costs related to an attack upon your pet.

Meg: A Tribute

For those of you that haven't heard the family dog, Meg, was attacked by wild dogs over a month ago. Being over fourteen years of age, Meg was unable to protect herself from the vicious attack. She passed on in the middle of the night far away from the house, and was found in the morning after my mother-in-law noticed the other dog acting frightened. I felt really bad when I heard about her passing because Nelly, the other canine companion, was trying to get my attention as we arrived late the evening before. She wanted me to go with her and try to help her older friend but I didn't and this might have made the difference between life and death given the wintry conditions that Meg suffered through.
Meg was a cross-breed brindle whatsit with a heart of gold. She was a loyal companion who had your usual collection of bad habits, such as begging at the veranda table and rolling around in the pungent decay of dead or smelly things. My husband and I nicknamed her the "Wookie" because when she got excited she would let out a whine that came straight out of Star Wars. For a while she used to sleep on some old sleeping 1. bags under our kitchen table but soon worked up to a nice couch when it was moved to Fran's front veranda after she became too smelly for inside of the house even in the cold months.
Although she wasn't my pet I developed a report with her and went out of my way to give her lots of attention whenever I saw her. When I first saw Meg, she was one of four dogs that my mother-in-law cared for. There was Neddy the blue cattle dog with more energy than smarts; Jesse, who was almost Meg's twin in appearance, who was an outgoing dog; and finally Peppy, who was an adoptee of Fran's de facto for the time when he was living in Sydney. She was always pushed into the back of the pack unable to gain the sort of attention that the other dogs did. Eventually Jesse and Peppy died leaving Meg with Neddy. Then Jane, a staffy cross who was cared for by my hubby's brother came out to the farm. Neddy disappeared soon after, then Jane and Meg were attacked by the wild dogs. Jane was mauled to death soon after, trying to protect Meg. Meg was traumatized from seeing what happened to her buddy and wouldn't come off of the veranda unaccompanied until my husband and I moved out to the farm and the couch was placed out front as a place for her to sleep.
I used to spend a lot of time walking with Meg and she seemed to enjoy the attention that I gave her. Then she began to fade quickly, losing muscle density and was stricken by what we believe was the canine equivalent to Arthritis. Fran gave her healthy doses of Quarterzone to relieve the pain, but over time old age resulted in her barely being able to walk fifty meters before needing to rest. By this stage she was having serious problems walking up the stairs to reach her doggy bed. Nelly's presence gave her some boost for a while, as she didn't feel as alone, but didn't stop the degeneration of her weakened body.
Then, on a cold evening in July she walked some three hundred meters from the house to where she pooped regularly and was attacked by the wild dogs. It is a hazard of living out in the bush that there will always be wild dogs to create danger for domesticated animals. No matter how many baits the State Forestry puts out it didn't make much of a difference so you have to encourage safe habits for your animals. And much of this problem is due to irresponsible owners dumping their pets out in the middle of nowhere. It saddens me that Meg's death and the death of many of the other animals in the area could been prevented by a family taking an animal to a refuge where a good home could be found for the unwanted pet.