Liquorice and Keaton sought entertainment elsewhere than in my presence the other morning as I was otherwise engaged with odd jobs inside the shed. I had assumed their amusements had taken them to our small orchard where they spend some of their abundant idle time in non-productive hunting. Or perhaps they were merely trailing the scents left by rabbits, foxes, ducks, lizards or even each other. Should their rabbit hunts ever bring them face to face with a real live bunny then I suspect that rabbit would have its face thoroughly washed, and that is all. On occasion my pair of young Newfies have given chase to rabbits. The word “chase” is used in its broadest sense as actually they barely achieve a slow jogging speed in the bunny’s direction. Friend Rabbit watches the forms of Black Liquorice and Landseer Keaton approach and, as if sharing their lack of enthusiasm for the chase, he merely hops lazily a few yards beyond the electric fence for the cows, turns and stares back at his “pursuers”. Liquorice and Keaton soon return to their respective vantage points, and friend Rabbit returns to munch away unmolested once more. That was the type of pastime I imagined my two little darlings were enjoying.
Having completed my chores I left the shed by the little back door in search of Liquorice and Keaton. That door leads to the small nursery we had, and where my father still propagates plants for my sister. I walked between the two concrete water tanks. One is for storing fresh rainwater collected from the roof of the shed, the other is re-filled regularly with dam water, these days for irrigating the gardens. Directly beyond the water tanks is an open-sided glasshouse, with raised benching and concrete pathways between. On the benching is an assortment of overgrown plants, seedlings and various pots of propagations for my sister. The nursery is badly neglected by me these days. There are weeds and slush in pools under the benching with moss growing on the pathways. As my gaze was drawn along the central pathway through this glasshouse I could see that the weeds and black sludge on either side had been disturbed and looked far neater than it had in some time. Dad, the happy thought came, had started to clean up in there. No more weeds visible but that thick black sludge remained with its uneven dark surface. The moss on the path had been disturbed too, some pushed into that black sludge. A half-hearted and dismal effort at tidying the glasshouse, but a start nonetheless. Further along that path lay my little darling Liquorice, raising her head as our eyes met. She has been known to lie on the cold moss where it is the thickest to cool her chest and belly on a warm day. She knows the despair I feel if she goes into the slush, and happily it was obvious she had been her usual obedient self. Still my tired brain had not made all the connections and I asked Liquorice, “Where’s Keaton?”
There was no smile on her beautiful face as movement began to Liquorice’s right! From the thick sticky slush emerged a black object with two happy shining eyes. A broad pink tongue appeared dribbling thick black slime. It was a black dog! Its form obscured, submerged in four inches of slush. A black paw at the end of a long arm emerged from that slush, stretched in my direction and slapped the surface sending heavy blobs in short arcs. Again it slapped the surface as if enticing me to play! It was not Keaton! My little boy is almost all white, only two small black “saddlebags”, black ears and a bit more black draped across the top of his rump. This was a black dog! Liquorice looked on with displeasure. Her look of “I told him not to do that!” confirming my increasing fears that under all that thick slimy sticky sludge was indeed the young master Keaton! Those fears were confirmed as two white spots that I had taken to be light reflecting from the surface of miniature pools pock-marking the sludge, moved in unison with this frightful sight!
Finally all the connections had been made. Keaton must have had the time of his short life as he frolicked in all that “wonderful” sludge. I can imagine him running through the muck, trying to splash, rolling in its stickiness, sliding off the path dislodging moss as he went, flattening weeds leaving them soaked and too heavy with slush to be able to stand upright, and generally having a high old time! Liquorice had only a spot or two of thick stuff on her coat, easy to brush off when dry. I can visualize Liquorice too, telling Keaton, “I would not do that if I were you!” as he went joyously about his pleasures! And I realized too that it was Keaton, not Dad, who had tried to clean up that portion of the glasshouse!
Keaton looked so pleased with himself when I summoned him to me. He arose from the muck with it flowing like lava on his coat. Keaton even seemed puzzled as he tried to shake and the ooze clung tenaciously to his once magnificently white hair! Except of course for that which slowly made its way earthwards down four thickly coated legs.
Liquorice arose and advanced in her best “I told you so!” manner.
It was difficult not to share in Keaton’s delight, but to have done so would only encourage further attempts to “tidy” the glasshouse in this manner. I tried to be stern as the flow of water from a ¾ inch hose flooded much of this black sludge from his coat. My manner confused him, although he thoroughly enjoyed the refreshing flow of cold water rinsing his black plastered coat! Delighted he was! Almost ecstatic!
Liquorice viewed the scene with a dour look on her face.
She could not reconcile the injustice of it all.
Here she was, she had remained clean and faithful to my wishes, denying herself obvious pleasures. And there was Keaton, smothered in the evidence of his unquestionable guilt! And HE was the one treated to a hosing!
Arthur Witten
Liquorice – I’m a good girl, I am!
Keaton – I wanted to be the same color as Liquorice!