As always Liquorice headed for the tap behind the front gate as we were leaving on our morning stroll. Each time since her first trip near the gate, many months ago now, I have offered her a drink holding the end of the hose in my right hand and allowing it to trickle into a “cupped” left hand. It has become a ritual for us. It is almost like that hose has become her “local”. Sometimes she stops for a few “laps” to be sociable or has a sizable drink to quench her thirst and at those times it is as well her “brand” is not alcoholic! I feel very pleased that she has a drink with me before checking the trees inside the gate for any messages left during the night from gentleman callers. When she sated her thirst I slipped the collar and lead over her head, working and massaging her ears through her collar, then we walked through the open gate where I stopped Liquorice halfway to the road. Several minutes earlier I saw the garbage truck go over the hill and down our street to the cul-de-sac, now I could hear it laboring back over the hill. Liquorice has been taught to sit on the grass on the footpath at the sound of a vehicle approaching. The garbage truck slowly came over the hill and with its brakes squealing in the early morning mist it stopped alongside our garbage bin. We have two, both wheelie-bins, one for garbage and another for the re-cycling. The driver and I exchanged a friendly wave. As Liquorice looked on a mechanical arm emerged from the side of the truck, grabbed our garbage bin and hoisted it high up and over the truck’s body, shaking it vigorously, then returning it to earth again. My little darling was astonished to say the least. The truck rolled down the road coming to a squealing halt and repeated its amazing feat with our neighbor’s garbage bin. That was it, Liquorice was delighted to trot off down the road to follow this noisy beast she had previously only seen or heard from afar. No scenting for rabbits foxes or dogs as we ambled along this morning. Just following after that truck was all that was on her mind. Naturally we never caught up to it so Liquorice attended to her customary scenting duties on the return journey. However, about twenty minutes after we left home the re-cycling truck rumbled past us from where we came. As we passed two lots of bins it caught up to us having completed its duties down our “dead-end” street. One family put their bins next to their neighbors on the opposite side of the road to their home so as to save the truck drivers an extra stop. Liquorice once more sat and viewed with astonishment as again the arm extended out, picked up a re-cycle bin and raising it, shook the bin high above the body of the truck. Then it moved forward and repeated the exercise. Again it moved forward but this time Liquorice jumped up and stood before me, quite tense. The recycling truck moved past and continued on its way. Liquorice was not going to let that truck pick up HER dad and shake him! We continued an otherwise uneventful stroll until at last we arrived back home.
As we approached our gateway I dropped the lead across Liquorice’s back and she proceeded ahead of me sitting by the hose waiting for her drink. I undid her collar and draped it, with the lead attached, over the gate with the buckle and lead-clip balancing the collar and leash. Our winters here are nowhere near as severe as the winters in North America. However the freezing cold water that trickles through a hundred feet of coiled hose is still decidedly unpleasant in the palm of my hand, though the joy Liquorice derives from her icy drink makes up for any passing discomfort. When she had finished I stood up to take her collar and lead. Usually I double over the collar and fold the lead into four so Liquorice can carry it back to the house for me, about two hundred yards away. This morning she quickly grabbed the loop that forms a handle end of her lead and I took hold of the other end. Liquorice had started on her way back to the house before I realized the situation my little darling had created. After a few yards, there we were, I with the collar and Liquorice prancing proudly along, head held high with the handle in her mouth leading me along. She would deviate from our usual course. She would stop then move on again with a little tug on the leash. Liquorice would turn around and have me retrace our steps. All the time I tried to be as dutiful and obedient as my little darling is when our roles are reversed. Liquorice knew what was expected from those on their respective ends of the leash. And she delighted in putting me through the same paces that I had made her practice so often.
I don’t know just what the neighbors would have made of it other than to say that they knew Liquorice was, as always, in charge.
Arthur Witten
Liquorice