Without warning they creep deep into your heart...

After Piccolo and Skippie passed away earlier this year I didn’t think any furry creature would ever stir my heart again. Our doggies of 16 years were my life. Skippie’s death was a decision I took because she was suffering from cancer and she held on until it was cruel to let her carry on. Piccolo was a different story. I knew she was old and frail but the heart attack on that Sunday morning was so unexpected that I struggled to make peace with it.

And so life has continued this half-a-year without furry friends. I often felt empty without these little creatures that so depend on us. Garry and I have however decided ‘no more animals’ because of our difficult circumstances of living between two provinces that are so far apart. Yet, I now and again peeped at the animal shelter website, but I closed them before anyone could speak into my heart.   

Then it happened. When I came to Garry earlier this month, a black stray cat cried underneath our window non-stop for almost 6 days and nights. It drove me mad and I eventually made my viewpoint clear to him – "Either we feed this cat or it must go."  I was straight forward and brutal.

I searched the internet and according to the many sites there are millions of stray cats around. Obviously the rescue agencies cannot deal with them all. They however recommend for people to act responsibly and before feeding them, to have them sterilized and inoculated. I posted a message on our development's whatsapp group whether this cat belonged to anyone. A lady who is hardly ever here as it is mostly holiday homes for those from Johannesburg, responded: She had the cat sterilized etc and it is being fed by her gardener. But she welcomed it if I would care for it while she was away. She has named him Mr Bojangles. 

I started feeding him and so it began… It is not about the food, although he loves his pellets and fresh milk; it is about the company. He wasn't going home. He decided to stay. He came closer. He started following me everywhere. He talks. 'The talking cat.' We started talking. I call him and he answers. We understand each other. He started coming into the house. He has made his home in our house and in our hearts.  He looks like a black panther. Garry calls him Blackjack. I call him Sweetheart. I brush him daily and he lies and rolls around from pure pleasure. His coat is beginning to look beautiful! 

We have one thing in common…both of us hate the thunder and lightning. We have formed a pact about that aspect and today was one of those days. It rained softly earlier on, but then it was thunder and lightning as it has been for the past two weeks. In the middle of summer, it was a cool day, so the two of us ended up lying curled up on the bed…

We have a problem though. He ‘belongs’ to someone else. We therefore can’t just take decisions concerning him. We also will not be here all the time. I am soon to return to the Cape and what then? Garry works long hours. I argue that I didn’t ask for him. He asked for me. I say it all to exonerate my responsibility, but still we have a problem. Cats are not like dogs, which you load into a basket and onto a plane into a different province and home and voila problem solved!

But, yes for the moment we don’t think about that. That is a problem for another day… For the moment we enjoy each other's company. I have come to realise, we depend more on them than they on us. For them it is care, for us it is love. 

Without warning they creep deep into your heart...

After Piccolo and Skippie passed away earlier this year I didn’t think any furry creature would ever stir my heart again. Our doggies of 16 years were my life. Skippie’s death was a decision I took because she was suffering from cancer and she held on until it was cruel to let her carry on. Piccolo was a different story. I knew she was old and frail but the heart attack on that Sunday morning was so unexpected that I struggled to make peace with it.

And so life has continued this half-a-year without furry friends. I often felt empty without these little creatures that so depend on us. Garry and I have however decided ‘no more animals’ because of our difficult circumstances of living between two provinces that are so far apart. Yet, I now and again peeped at the animal shelter website, but I closed them before anyone could speak into my heart.   

Then it happened. When I came to Garry earlier this month, a black stray cat cried underneath our window non-stop for almost 6 days and nights. It drove me mad and I eventually made my viewpoint clear to him – "Either we feed this cat or it must go."  I was straight forward and brutal.

I searched the internet and according to the many sites there are millions of stray cats around. Obviously the rescue agencies cannot deal with them all. They however recommend for people to act responsibly and before feeding them, to have them sterilized and inoculated. I posted a message on our development's whatsapp group whether this cat belonged to anyone. A lady who is hardly ever here as it is mostly holiday homes for those from Johannesburg, responded: She had the cat sterilized etc and it is being fed by her gardener. But she welcomed it if I would care for it while she was away. She has named him Mr Bojangles. 

I started feeding him and so it began… It is not about the food, although he loves his pellets and fresh milk; it is about the company. He wasn't going home. He decided to stay. He came closer. He started following me everywhere. He talks. 'The talking cat.' We started talking. I call him and he answers. We understand each other. He started coming into the house. He has made his home in our house and in our hearts.  He looks like a black panther. Garry calls him Blackjack. I call him Sweetheart. I brush him daily and he lies and rolls around from pure pleasure. His coat is beginning to look beautiful! 

We have one thing in common…both of us hate the thunder and lightning. We have formed a pact about that aspect and today was one of those days. It rained softly earlier on, but then it was thunder and lightning as it has been for the past two weeks. In the middle of summer, it was a cool day, so the two of us ended up lying curled up on the bed…

We have a problem though. He ‘belongs’ to someone else. We therefore can’t just take decisions concerning him. We also will not be here all the time. I am soon to return to the Cape and what then? Garry works long hours. I argue that I didn’t ask for him. He asked for me. I say it all to exonerate my responsibility, but still we have a problem. Cats are not like dogs, which you load into a basket and onto a plane into a different province and home and voila problem solved!

But, yes for the moment we don’t think about that. That is a problem for another day… For the moment we enjoy each other's company. I have come to realise, we depend more on them than they on us. For them it is care, for us it is love. 

Our precious, but tear-stained land

This past weekend we drove up the N7, about 34 km past Clan William and the Pakhuis Pass to do the Sevilla Rock Art Trail. Driving along we experienced the Western Cape blossoming as is traditional during this time of the year - green, with colourful flowers, canola fields in full bloom set against its intriguing, magnificent mountain ranges. 

Natural flower garden in the Cape

Wupperthal and its mountains. All these plots are divided as vegetable gardens and the community is hard at work

At the Sevilla Trail a new world opened to us – a 5 km scramble, allowing us into the world of the San or Bushmen (sometimes incorrectly referred to as the Hottentot). There are nine sites on the trail where we could view the rock art – which really are stories told by the San. 

San rock art thousands of years old show a hunter with his bow and arrows

Storytelling was part of their culture and there are some sites left in our country (Western Cape and Drakensberg) where this can be explored, although many have been destroyed over time. These people had no written language other than their drawings, which makes it precious beyond words. 

Rupert Isaacson confirmed in The Healing Land that the San were the first people in the Cape and he explains their way of life:

What was certain was that for thirty thousand years, perhaps longer, they had populated the whole sub-continent, pursuing a lifestyle that include hunting, gathering, painting, dancing, but not, it seemed, war.

Beautiful rocks above the caves where we viewed the art

The story becomes sad, for as the white farmers expanded into the Cape, they took what they wanted and in the process became directly responsible for the extinction of the San.  Cruel means were used to starve, torture, beat and kill these little people. They were free and roamed the countryside; they attached no value to property or material things and regarded the land as belonging to all. But different cultures have different values, and the whites settling into the Cape Colony started putting fences down on land they claimed as their property and that included animals that once belonged to ‘all’. The San didn’t understand or agree with this. Survival to them and their families meant access to food and water.  

Alan Mountain wrote in The First People of the Cape:

As colonists fanned out beyond the settlement’s boundaries and into the territories of the San, contact and conflict with the indigenous people of the Cape became inevitable. Those San who lived in the caves of the surrounding mountains must have watched in horror as the new arrivals began to invade their ancestral hunting grounds.

This piece of art shows two Sans carrying a kill, which is food for the family

But it has been argued that the dispossession of land started well before 1652 as rock paintings in the Drakensberg show conflict between the San, the Khoikhoi and the Nguni. 

Beautiful little flowers all over the Cape

What I found most disturbing on this trip is the destructive nature of people who have no respect for history or regard for anyone else. A number of these rock painting sites are in danger of being closed to the public as they have been defaced, graffiti written over paintings or among the art; we were told that a group of people had a braai in a cave which has rock art, which had in fact led to the closure of that specific trail. 

The question that comes to mind is, what are we as so-called 'developed' people doing to our world? 

A Tribute to Piccolo, the lion heart

We always said Piccolo had a ' lion's heart'. She was incredibly brave and adventurous in her younger years with the typical Jack Russel' s hunters instinct. She has killed the odd chicken and guinea fowl (that was before we taught her, ‘no birds’), chased a massive leguane again and again (he regularly came to the slipway by the river at the cottage where he slept in the sun) and he attacked her one day; her eye was swollen and her face slightly out of joint, but she went  back for him day after day, albeit a bit more carefully. We walked for hours along the river before houses were built there. When Garry worked on the dam project she loved going on the boat with him, going with him to work...anywhere as long as she could go somewhere. 

Piccolo in her younger days

In Cape Town, in her and Skippie's younger years, we walked for miles on the beach and even along the road. They loved the beach and especially Piccolo loved playing games where we had to throw stones which she dug out, only to be thrown again and again, but it had to be the same stone...and she knew the difference.

As Piccolo got older it was the beach and her 'Ons Huisie route' where she could sniff and take her time. We had to walk twice a day; she timed me and made me aware when 'walking time' had arrived.There was no way I could get out of it.

Piccolo searching for 'her' stone on the beach

But, with time Piccolo became mellower and it was only after Skippie passed away two months ago that she indulged in my hugs and kisses. It was as if she had that need and wanted to give me that, which I always got from Skippie...hugs and kisses.

The last while however her 17 years showed, she became frailer by the day, yet she could still run on the beach on days that she felt up to it and she often played a halfhearted little game. Yes, a hunter, a clever professor (as we always referred to her), a major manipulator and yet the gentlest soul you have ever seen in an animal. She motivated me when I learnt to play the piano, as she loved lying with me when I played; she even often went to lie by the piano...waiting...and I had to play. Although her hearing had gone, she somehow found solace in the music that I played. 

Piccolo loved to lie in our bed early evening

It was mapped out that her final days would be by the river. We came here a few weeks ago to spend time with Garry. She was frustrated as she wanted and needed to walk, but we started playing a game by chasing the monkeys (see my previous blog). I knew she was getting frail very rapidly and so wished she could see the sea once more, but that was not to be. The thing she hated and feared most - thunder - caused her to have a heart attack early Sunday morning, and although we tried to resuscitate her, it was her time to go to doggie heaven. As my friend Brenda said in her message to me, Skippie must have been waiting for her and I can picture that as Skippie was the exuberant one and yes, I believe they are together once more and their reunion must have been a happy occasion!

Piccolo and Skippie were the best of friends for over 15 years

We however had a special evening with Piccolo on Friday, one we will always treasure. She was very fortunate to be allowed to accompany us to dinner at a restaurant which is situated in a predator park where there are more than 20 lions and tigers - a rehabilitation and breeding centre. 

Outside area of restaurant

The outdoor area of the restaurant is under-cover and built in a u-shape. At every table there is a huge window with heavily constructed steel bars where patrons can watch some of the animals roaming around or sleeping in the grass. From our table two lions and a tiger were visible.

two of the lions which we could see sitting at our table

I was surprised that Piccolo could see them with her bad eyesight, as the light was fading fast, but we noticed her smelling senses working overtime, obviously getting the scent of these wild animals.  Any barking or noise from her side would have unsettled the predators and we were warned beforehand that we would then be asked to take her away; there was no need for that as she was as good as gold and sat for most of the time on my lap, totally mesmerized.

Piccolo's selfie: she is mesmerized by the lions 

She was a terribly fussy eater and seldom asked for food in a restaurant, but perhaps the wild smells got her appetite going. She was hungry and joined us in eating a chorizo sausage and peri-peri chicken. Thereafter she fell asleep on her mattress until home time. What a special treat for a special Piccolo!

Chorizo sizzling in flames

In the end, Piccolo with the lion's heart had the opportunity to see a real lion, something few dogs have the the privilege to do.

We were truly blessed to have one of God' s special creatures to give us love and friendship over all these years and we trust that she will rest in peace. May God bless her little soul and we trust that she is running around with Skippie and other friends such as Milo, in the paradise of doggie heaven - a place where there is no illness, no fear, no growing old and where love and happiness reigns. I hope she will sometimes still listen for the melodies, as I will dedicate them to her when I play my piano. 

See how Piccolo reacted to the lions, especially as the big one got up:

Chasing the Monkeys

Arriving at the cottage at the Magalies River in North West Province in the latter half of last month was quite a shock to me, and I think to Piccolo as well. We both had so many memories of little old Skippie. Her ‘smells’ and presence were still with us and I felt it very strongly. Piccolo seemed at a total loss and I thought, almost in a depression. She slept the whole day and didn’t seem interested in anything.  I didn’t know what to do with my doggie or how to entertain her, as suddenly there were no long beaches on which we could walk, or run.

But, then something magic happened: the vervet monkeys came to visit in the trees around the house and Piccolo started chasing them; from there onwards she had a ball! It took a few days and then this was the game of choice…chasing the monkeys.

Piccolo on the deck, looking for the monkeys in the trees

Poor old Piccolo is half blind and deaf and half the time she misses spotting the monkeys when they are right above her, but she loves the game and somehow I think the monkeys understand that she is harmless. They started playing with her in the sense of hanging low from the branches and troops would tease her for hours on end. But they are free and live the life of nomads. They go where there is food and fortunately at this time of the year the white stinkwood trees around the cottage have many juicy berries that they love, but they have a routine of moving through the area in the day.  

Monkey in the tree, watching us

 This poses a problem as Piccolo waits impatiently for them to return…sometimes the whole day. She would come to call me with a pleading look in her eyes, as if to say, “Find the monkeys for me” and that was how the game started…

Monkey sitting at the bird feeding tray, eating pieces of apple

I would run out of the house, look up at the trees and clap my hands, calling “Monkeys, monkeys where are you. Piccolo wants to play!” Whether she ever hears me I don’t know, but she soon got into the habit of looking up and when the leaves on the trees move, she believes there are monkeys. Many times there are and she can of course smell them as well. It has become such a game that I think they come to look for her in the day and they tease her. We even found lately that some days they sleep in the trees above the roof, because early morning they would wake us by dropping down onto the roof, making quite a racket. Of course, that means that Piccolo starts ‘chasing’ monkeys from 6 o’clock in the morning. She no longer sleeps in the day.

Sleeping by the fireplace at the lapa after a heavy day of chasing monkeys

But on the odd day they haven’t come and I eventually did the unspeakable and started to put out little bits of fruit for them (I know Garry is going to have a problem when we leave) but I believe it is unavoidable as, ‘anything for my Piccolo.’

We have watched her with delight, but some days we are concerned about her as she doesn’t stop running the whole day and in between finding the monkeys she sometimes chases one of the Emus that belong to the neighbor, but for some reason they like to come to our field of grass. The Emu has a mate, but it was born with deformed legs and can’t really run. I am proud of my Piccolo as she never chases the weak one, but in return I also believe that the monkeys are kind to her as they must surely sense that she is an old girl (17 years). In her younger days chasing birds were a no-no, but she is no match for the Emu and it keeps her busy. What makes me happy is that she is content. The only problem is that I have taken the place of Skippie and have become her companion as some days it is all I do the whole day, namely calling the monkeys; I have lately even started to play my own game with them.  About that you can make up your own mind.

Piccolo, in her younger years, at the river

Soon however, our time will be up here, and once again we will walk the beaches of Cape Town, but before then she surely needs a bath as at the moment she is what we call, ‘a mucky pup,’ albeit a happy one.

A Tribute to Skippie: Exuberant till the end

Can one love a pet so much that your heart wants to break when they die? Oh yes, you can and I am going through that now. Darling little Skippie was diagnosed in December with Aggressive Haemangiosarcoma, a form of skin cancer; within three months she had become a shadow of her former self, but her inner core never changed. On Monday, 7 March 2016 we said goodbye!

When she was still healthy.

She was exuberant - a 'noisy' little being. When she drank water she did so with relish; she gulped her food down noisily; she snored so loudly that it often left us giggling as no one could sleep through it, and most precious of all, when I fetched Garry from the airport she would howl at the top of her voice when she spotted him, still some distance away. Life was one big joy to her. Her tail never stopped wagging, her eyes stayed relatively clear. She never lost her lust for life, although she became quieter the last while. She was a fine example of someone who embraced life and with her noisy character I branded her a 'screamer'.

What a treat!

Never will I forget how excited she became when her leopard skin basket was put in the car and she ran to get in too, although the last years it was more of a hobble on her arthritic foot. Both she and Piccolo loved to visit friends, the beach, shops or anywhere we wanted to go.  All the more was her exuberance when I would tell her who we were going to see. For instance when we visited the Olssons , I would explain to her and stretch out the words Jordi, Damita, Jimmy and Missy and her 'screams' pierced through the car and probably the neighbourhood, especially when we took the last corner to their house. So great was her excitement when we arrived that she would scramble out of the car and bark for the front door to be opened; a doorbell therefore totally unnecessary.  I remember the times while driving, that she would scratch me on the shoulder. I could never work out whether she wanted a hug (which she would get) or if it was instigation on Piccolo’s part of insisting to know where we were going (which I would then explain in great detail). Regardless of which of the two it was, it  always seemed to satisfy her, but we all understood that she was the officially, designated 'communicator'.

Skippie loved to canoe. She is wearing her Doggy Life Saver Jacket. 

I will miss my doggy of fifteen years, who was such a big part of my life; Garry will miss her, as whom would he scratch now? She loved her daddy for those chest, tummy and head scratches and both of them could never seem to get enough.

Daddy is taking a break from scratching Skippie, but she is waiting...

I shudder to think how Piccolo will cope in future. Skippie became Piccolo's ears when the latter’s hearing went, only for Skippie to lose hers lately. Yet, I communicated with them, and they with each other, and everyone understood.  She could bully old, gentle and frail Piccolo, as being 'first’ was always so important to the little plump one, but they were friends and had been together for all of those fifteen years.

Skippie in her leopard skin basket.

Skippie waiting for her mommy. To Garry's frustration she wouldn't go anywhere without me.

I will miss you, my little lump. You have taken a bigger chunk out of my heart than you could ever know. You were my little darling friend, whom I could hug and kiss until you lifted your lip to show me 'enough is enough'. We had been through miles of walking, rowing on the river in the canoe, just sitting on the beach, eating lovely treats together and playing with your squeaky chicken when you were still young enough to enjoy silly games. You were well travelled and should have qualified as a 'frequent flyer', you always received compliments about good behaviour in restaurants, and you went on holidays and stayed in B + Bs. You had the best and you deserved the best.

Skippie playing with Piccolo tug of war over the squeaky duck.

She loved her 'walks'. Skippie in her backpack when the arthritis in her legs prevented her from walking.

One of our favourite pastimes. Walking on the beach and then enjoying the view.

It has been a lifetime and I wish you a well deserved rest; I will never forget your warm little body as you cuddled up to me when your time came, yet you were so calm and I have absolute peace about that.

I believe you are with Jesus in Doggy Heaven. A place where there is no illness, disease, anxiety or fear. I imagine you in a beautiful, lush garden with ample shade, green grass, a mountain even more beautiful than Table Mountain and soft white sand; a soft (leopard skin) bed, abundant food (chicken and rice) and biltong snacks. I imagine you running around and playing without arthritis, no cancer spots erupting in a bloody mess and I imagine St Francis of Assisi as your loving minder.

Rest in Peace my precious one!

Skippie 7.3.16 R.I.P

‘Free kisses’

The rainbow is there for the picking

Traveling up-country from the Western Cape we noticed how dry and parched the land really is, with no water in most of the rivers. Just before we left Cape Town there was a call to the local community to donate water for Aliwal North in the Eastern Cape. We have since heard that similar calls have been made elsewhere in the country where people are also without drinking water. It is almost impossible to imagine a resource, although known to be scarce, to be totally unavailable!

Upon arrival at the cottage situated on the Magalies River we noticed how low the water level was, but that very same evening a well-known Highveld thunderstorm greeted us with heavy rains and massive hail stones. Later that evening a huge body of water came from upstream and washed the thickly packed hyacinth towards Hartbeespoort Dam. What a relief and no doubt early the next morning, those who were there, made the most of a clean river and descended onto the water – some canoeing and others just paddling about, but all having fun.

The river after the first rain

Since then, we have had heavy storms with rain almost every day and we are thankful for the rain. However, our electricity was knocked out one afternoon and although Eskom was still working on the lines late that night, the fault was only restored the next afternoon. At the time however, I decided to stay positive and make the best of the situation. The doggies and I went out on the canoe, a treat they thoroughly enjoy.

While peacefully rowing about I noticed how green everything was and that was in huge contrast to the brown muddy water that has been flowing in, obviously washing loads of topsoil from the farmlands in the vicinity. It was as though nature has come into its own again and the restoration had begun, as to me everything looked greener, the water level was slightly higher than the day before and the song of birds could be heard all around.

Suddenly so many birds that usually frequent this area are around. Here is the woodlands kingfisher. They obviously stayed away because of the drought.  

Stopping in the middle of the river and just floating about, feeling much at peace, I was trying to distinguish between the various greens…so many different shades in the trees, shrubs, grass, reeds and plants. I noticed a red bishop hopping from branch to branch in a tree on the water’s edge. The bright yellow of the southern masked weavers were remarkable as they were hard at work building their nests. A brown hooded kingfisher was sitting on a branch waiting for his prey, while a squacco heron was sitting on a rock basking in the sun and the white egrets took off in front of me. Looking up I noticed that although the sky was blue there were some loose clouds drifting about, which indicated more rain.  

I was sitting there marveling at the beauty of it all and wondered, while watching the rainbow of colours around me, what has happened to our rainbow nation. Lately, we have seen racism coming to the fore. It has probably always been there, buried just below the surface. We need healing in this country, but a weak and corrupt government only intent on enriching themselves and their respective families are contributing to the downfall of our nation. Instead of keeping to their election promises of uplifting  the poor, creating an enabling environment for job creation, they have allowed the economy to weaken to such an extent that the divide between rich and poor are even bigger than ever before. I believe that is the source of most of the frustration.

The ship is not only rudderless, but has holes in it and is sinking fast. However, does it help if we all complain and thereby contributing to the climate of discontent, hatred, and mudslinging? I believe not and that we should rather try to remain positive and see the good around us. We have a great country. We often hear of Europeans making it a life dream to come to Africa. In fact I am reading such a book once again. Yet, we are right here, but we don’t appreciate what Africa has to offer. I believe that self righteousness does not contribute to nation building. Everyone has something in his or her attitude, world view or outlook to change or fix. The Bible tells me to take the plank out of my own eye before I point out the speck in my brother’s eye; to me that means that I cannot always claim to be right or know better.  

If we start by having more compassion, accept the differences in each other and celebrate that which we have in common we may start noticing the colors of our rainbow nation once more and contribute to healing this beautiful land of ours. It may be something small, yet rather contribute to a beginning and not an end.  

Sunset at the cottage