It was due to get hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock, so I got up early to take our rottweiler Chloe for a walk in the hills as a treat before she languished on the cool tiles of our bathroom floor the rest of the day. Having only the single cab Landcruiser, Chloe got to ride in the passenger seat next to me while I did my best to strong arm her off the gear stick. I’d done the short drive with her before and knew to block her in advance from leaping across my lap in a futile attempt to catch every single vehicle passing in the opposite direction. Certainly not the worst scenario would be for her to do just that as I was shifting gears with her considerable weight and strength forcing the stick to drop into an unfortunate place that would leave my transmission on the road behind us. My experience driving with Chole in shotgun, also ensured that I knew to put down a towel on the seat under her. Mainly for the return journey, in the event she found water or mud, which she enjoys greatly.
Internationally, Australia’s known for plenty of things. Kangaroos, koalas. Snakes and spiders. Crocs, camels. But only those who’ve travelled the country extensively are aware of the treacherous bush flies. Musca vetustissima. Rural spawners, they lay eggs in cow dung and flourish like locust of biblical plague lore. And while they do not bite like mosquitoes - thank god – they enjoy warm bodies and are too fast to swat. Oh, you’ll swat at them, and you’ll fail, making them even more frustrating. Agricultural folk learn to ignore them with what I reckon is the same amount of discipline as Buddhist monks. They get in your face. In your eyes. In your mouth. Dozens of them. Hundreds even. Fuck.
We weren’t two minutes into our walk and I’m feebly swatting at nothing but air when Chole breaks for the biggest dog duce I’ve seen her deliver in ages. It’s clear she’d been holding on since before her breakfast because she couldn’t even wait to find a better spot than just about on top of a ants’ nest. Another animal fact about Australia is that the ants are bastards, and these ones were none to pleased about the monstrous brown deposit next to their complex. I couldn’t waste any time pulling from my pocket the purpose made baggie and with Chole fully relieved, pulling on her leash after some such smell, I carefully scooped up the foul-smelling load, squinting my eyes to keep the flies out of them.
No bins available, I turned us back to the Landcruiser where the severely strained poop bag would have to reside in the back under the canopy until we returned home. The smell would continue to reside however, much longer.
Fanfare was without for near enough the rest of our walk. Tall eucalyptus trees provided comfortable shade and the natural wildlife were already hunkered down for the hot day relieving Chloe from loosing her shit on the rare occasion when she does spot a doddering marsupial. On the days that happens Chole remains on high alert for the entire walk practically dragging me along the gravel path and in one instance laying me down on my back going down a hill. This day however she was cool as a cucumber and I and the flies came close to Zen like. Almost. Not quite.
It could have been the scent of Chloe’s massive deposit site but while I was distracted with swatting the air, another gentlemen had apparently noticed us and was prudently fastening his boisterous mid-sized dog to his leash. We agreed to pass on opposite sides of the trail while his dog seemingly presented a want for a fight, Chloe, who would not be one to turn down a tussle, would surely have dominated given she was double the weight of the other dog, and in the prime of her dog years. The weight issue is always a concern for me since her considerable force can be a strain for me in the best of times but when she wraps the lead around me before lunging, it can be a trick to keep upright.
Back at the Landcruiser the heat was turning up like leftovers in the microwave so I empty a bottle of water into a bowl for Chole in the shade. She was panting heavily, but managed to empty the bowl in a matter of minutes. With the window down part way, and the ineffectual towel rearranged on the seat I coaxed her back up on to her spot as the navigator. There was no running water or mud on the trail today since it had all dried-up weeks earlier and the towel did virtually nothing to subdue the dust Chloe was covered with from spreading through the cab with almost the same voracity as her drool. But, the drool. It must have been a liter of water I poured into her bowl that she guzzled up and I swear the same amount was flowing out with a slightly thicker viscosity and significantly improved adhesiveness.
The sweat from my face was breaching that final barrier before reaching my eyeballs as I rounded the truck to the driver’s side and I realized a less than Zen method for ignoring the flies; distraction by pain. Just around that point did I open the driver side door to Slobbers looking me dead in the eyes. Shoestrings hanging from her jowls. As I was about to climb into the driver’s seat, Chloe did what is known as an oscillatory shake. Performed by all furry mammals from a field mouse to a grizzly bear, beginning at the head and propagating towards the tail, the centripetal force flings droplets of liquid from the fir incredibly efficiently. Lasting for only around one and a half seconds her reciprocal motion moves up to 5 Hertz, giving me and the inside of the cab a final and thorough coat of saliva. It did seem to dissolve the flies temporally.
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