Competition

Rusty
by Catherine Clarke

They summoned us to hospital two days before he died-­
my father had collapsed from illness, which he'd tried to hide.
Just three years prior a heart attack had led him to retire –
­he'd shifted to the seaside, knowing that was Mum's desire.

Third generation sheepman, he was loathe to leave his land,
which filled his life; at first we found this hard to understand ...
He'd failed to tell us cancer had him in its evil grip,
convincing him that it was time Mum had her pleasure trip.

Though unaware of this disease he couldn't keep at bay,
each one of us was happy for them when they moved away­ –
Except poor Rusty, Dad's old dog with torn and ragged ears,
who'd worked beside him every day for just about nine years.

A big red, long-haired mongrel kelpie, Rusty was his pride,
who slept out in the yard at night; was not allowed inside.
But though a stringent master, father's love for him went deep –
­they spent each hour of light together; fencing, driving sheep.

There wasn't much for Rusty in the new place Dad had bought;
he'd have to stay tied up-my father couldn't bear the thought.
To cause his mate to end like that he could not justify,
so really there was nothing for it but to say goodbye.

The dog then worked for me a bit those three years, here and there,
but Rusty missed Dad terribly; it seemed a sad affair.
Quite often I would find him on the now abandoned ute,
just looking, waiting, hoping; optimism absolute.

Arriving at the hospital we heard, and all were shocked
at news of massive stomach cancer, bowels severely blocked.
Though artificial pipes and tubes were fitted down his throat,
Dad's chance of more than several days was looking quite remote.

Because of post-op weariness and drugs he'd had to take,
my father was too dazed to talk; he wasn't quite awake.
We'd gone there with my sister, so to get back home all right,
I borrowed Dad's sedan and drove it home that gloomy night.

The car sat in the yard next day, and Rusty soon approached –
he fought off any other dog which foolishly encroached.
He strutted round and round it, ever watchful, on his guard,
then sat alone and waited, all day long within that yard.

The scent was strong, his hopes were high he'd hear Dad call his name,
but only silence reigned - the hand, the right voice, never came.
I don't know if the mournful mutt in due course would have slept –
­at sight of such devotion I at last broke down and wept.

I lay awake all night and pondered just what I could say
to Dad, to reassure him when I visited next day.
To say 'Goodbye, God bless, I love you,' as he fought for breath?
These now seemed so inadequate when in the face of death.

With dawn I felt distressed, confused, as we prepared to leave­ –
I wanted just to be alone to contemplate and grieve.
Then Mum phoned up to say the doctors had, apparently,
agreed to grant my Dad three hours at home with family.

While standing by the car outside and waiting for the rest
to organize themselves within, all neat and smartly dressed,
I stared into that disappointed, ageing dog's sad eyes,
whose pleading, searching, hopeful aspect he could not disguise.

I opened up that door for reasons I don't truly know,
and told the dog to jump on in, for it was time to go.
The ears pricked up at scent grown stronger- it had been so long!
he didn't need the offer twice; he leapt up sure and strong.

Then pandemonium set in, whilst I spoke not a word­ –
"You're crazy! There's no room!" they cried - but I was undeterred.
That drive brought no support for my impetuosity,
and things got even worse at Mum & Dad's home by the sea.

"Well now what will you do with him in this scenario?"
He'll only fight with Mum's dog Rex, there's nowhere he can go!'
So after hoping those three hours, poor Rusty was let down –
We bundled him inside the shed, and drove on into town.

We picked up Dad - he coughed up blood; looked sickly, tired and numb –
he tried to smile, but knew for sure that he would soon succumb.
At least he could be satisfied he'd made Mum happy there,
With peaceful beach walks, swims, and many memories to share.

We put him on the lounge, propped up on pillows like a bed,
and everyone was crowding round, yet leaving things unsaid.
I found it overwhelming, all that fuss, and nervous talk,
so disappeared along the beach awhile, to think and walk.

Much later someone said they wanted photos to display,
of Dad with all the grand-kids, on this special poignant day.
But suddenly Mum's labrador began to make a din,
his barking such an irritant we had to let him in.

He bounded round and sent things flying, causing such melee,
he soon was banished to the shed, to teach him to obey.
Mum grabbed him by the collar and she brusquely led him out-
his tail drooped low, he knew that his disgrace was in no doubt.

Not one of us had mentioned Rusty being out there too,
so when my mother saw him she was unsure what to do.
For Rusty hadn't been inside a house in all his life,
but anxious ears and woeful looks were piercing like a knife.

The frantic dog was begging for permission to get out,
and seeing his unhappiness Mum pushed aside her doubt ...
Inside stood twenty people, rendered wordless in the gloom –
­then quietly another entered that despondent room.

He padded over quickly, with his proud head carried high,
eyes gleaming, ears on end, to scent he could identify.
Between our legs he came; all stared but no-one said a word –
the panting of his breath the only sound that could be heard.

The kelpie only looked ahead, tail waving, jawline set,
till finally he stopped, glanced upwards, and their gazes met.
But only Rusty moved - a slight bound, landing on all fours;
confronted Dad with loving tongue and matted, hairy paws.

They stared into each other's glistening eyes again at last­ –
between the canine and the man deep understanding passed.
Acknowledgement of what had been, and what was soon to be –
­a quiet calm acceptance of this sad reality.

Long nose reached out, a soft moist tongue licked rough and sunburned cheek;
Dad's tears fell, shining, uncontrolled; I felt my knees go weak.
He reached to pat his loyal dog, his countenance serene –­
we left him there with Mum and Rusty, in this tender scene.

Soon after, it was time to transfer Dad back in to town;
since no-one touched nor spoke to Rusty, he just hunkered down
beside the bed, to watch us as we moved Dad to the chair­ –
then followed us towards the car, forlorn and in despair.

Although the others offered then to keep us company,
Dad shook his head and thanked them - said, "The dog will come with me."
So Mum and I got in; Dad beckoned Rusty to the back,
then turned to kiss the grand-kids, tried to make a funny crack.

Those four miles to the hospital we didn't speak a word –
­it really wasn't necessary, chatter seemed absurd.
I glanced across a few times, sensed the tension next to me,
yet marveled at my father's evident tranquility.

The dog now stood upon the seat behind my father's head,
nose resting on his shoulder, tongue out, looking straight ahead.
Yet when we got there Dad's gaze didn't move towards his friend –
­I got him seated in the wheelchair, helped Mum to descend.

No sound, nor merest glance he gave to Rusty when I turned­ –
I felt deep sorrow witnessing how much the kelpie yearned.
He sat with nose against a window now fogged up and wet,
and I could see that Dad was trembling, visibly upset.

I couldn't speak, I turned away from that familiar snout,
but when I went to move the chair, a wrinkled hand shot out.
Dad twisted; pressed his bony fingers hard against the glass –
their eyes met one last time; I saw that same communion pass.

In moments not for me or Mum, Dad cried again, unbound­ –
he whispered then "Goodbye old boy," and turned himself around.
And when we came back out there Rusty hadn't moved an inch­ –
inert he sat, and when I got inside he didn't flinch ...

Both Dad and Rusty slumber now in their eternal rests;
we're left with just a treasured snap to which their bond attests –
It shows an old man's hands stretched out, his face awash with tears,
to canine friend and workmate, who'd been loyal many years.

A hairy dog whose love was strong, who couldn't stay away,
who in his silence brought Dad words we humans couldn't say;
With memories of mustering and fencing in the sun –
the long rides home at twilight when the farming work was done.

A friend who'd stood beside him through the good times and the bad,
and with his reassuring presence, bringing peace to Dad.
We none of us forgot that private, wordless dialogue,
which proved the special bond between a sheepman and his dog.