In God's Waiting Room

I have been meaning to write some more about my 16 year old dog while he's still with me, because I'm feeling he's slipping away each day bit by bit.

My dog, Walter, is a handsome Shetland Sheepdog (think smaller version of Lassie) who as a puppy my mum brought back from Adelaide (to Melbourne) with her on a trip with dad. We'd lost mum's beloved German Shepherd about a year before quite unexpectantly and through family friends had been introduced to a dog breeder in Adelaide - which inevitably brought us Walter.

Meanwhile during this time I was at uni and had developed a mad crush on an Arts student called Walter. He was heavenly looking - everyone saw it - and for a long time my friend Linda and me called this stallion 'Wild One'. It would be "Oh, there's Wild One" and I'd have to run off and eat a chocolate Magnum to help fill the void of burning desire...!

Wild One wore black; black jeans, black tees and being of Euro/Asian descent he had gorgeous brown tinged skin, black hair and deep brown eyes. I later came to learn his name - Walter - and like any lovestruck teenager brimming with thoughts of first love I did nothing at home but rant onto my mother about Walter this and Walter that.

As a bit of a joke, my mother called the new puppy - Walter. And to add further mirth, she called him Walter Warwick, as I'd dated a Warwick not long before.

While Walter the dog's namesake never returned my lustful affections - remaining the great unrequited love of my life - he did once say to me when I ran into him at a cafe years later: "Yeah, I heard you named your dog after me..."

Walter the dog, had become what Walter the man never could - the love of my life.

Today, it's just me and Walt, and I've been honouring this relationship by working from home to be with him through the golden years.

Walter is a most special dog.

I lost my mother to cancer 14 years ago - Walt was two.

He has seen through every significant love in my life and relished having a new 'alpha' male about the place during this time. He's seen the relationships fail, mourned their loss and been a darn fine comfort to me in trying to make sense of it all. Walter has been a staunch support. He's seen me cry more than anyone - hovering to let me know he's there - watching. In these times, he's stuck to me like glue. And when things are going ok - he's off doing his own thing - usually resting - but often with one eye watching.

We've been through so much in the past 16 years - my mother's passing, getting another dog (free to good home) as a companion, only for Maggie Charly (cross Lab/German Short Hair pointer) to turn on Walt and gnash him so badly that with the recommendation of a dog behaviouralist "I have grave concerns for Walter's welfare" I had to have Maggie Charly put down at age eight (Walt was 12 at the time).

At 10 Walter became the "miracle survivor" of tick paralysis - I had been away and my boyfriend at the time didn't notice anything wrong (he hadn't been around to notice) but fortunately when he did see Walt, and intuitively suspected as a doctor, something was very wrong. I'll never forget leaving what I thought was a healthy pet one day to hear the voice of the vet on the other end of the line saying "50/50" by chance of Walt making it through the next.

In his old age, he's grown mostly deaf and has episodes of dementia - he ended up in Albert Park Lake in Melbourne one evening on a walk wandering across the path and falling into the water. A passing jogger yelled to me as I searched for Walt "Is that your dog swimming in the lake?".

We've lived in Melbourne, Darwn and Sydney together and he's travelled with me to Canberra, Adelaide, Mount Gambier, the Mornington Peninsula and Beechworth (Ned Kelly country) in Victoria. This dog, you could say, has lived a cat's life (nine lives).

We're currently in Sydney - having endured an 11 hour car trip from Melbourne to stay a fortnight in a beautiful home on the harbour - wide open spaces, just me and Walt.

I watch him laying across from me, resting so quietly that I'll often spy his rib cage for signs of breath. I bless every day he's here to share in my life.