A question of breeding

My brother in law's Cavalier King Charles spaniel "Monty" died yesterday of probable heart failure. He was six years old.

Monty was a pedigree dog. We purchased him from a show dog breeder as a companion to Michael's other Cavalier, a tricolour female named Meiji. B and I were sitting down at the breeder's house with the litter of puppies wandering around the floor when Monty kept coming up and nuzzling us. He had his father's affectionate nature and he chose us.

The contrast between Monty and Meiji was extraordinary. Meiji, the dominant partner bought from a non-registered breeder, was scruffy but highly intelligent and independent. Monty, on the other hand, had a fine coat and beautiful tail, loving nature but was rather dim. He adored both human and canine company and pined for Meiji when they were separated, though he would always cover up any of her business with a quick piddle of his own.

At nine years old Meiji of unknown descent is still the queen of the rear garden. It was the lineaged Monty that passed away first. Apparently, the vet had previously diagnosed a heart murmur, not an uncommon condition in the breed.

We thought that we were doing the right thing by going to a registered breeder, but it seems obvious now. One dog was bred for looks over brains and health, the other, who knows? It was all too uncomfortably close to the recent BBC documentary Pedigree Dogs Exposed. At least neither of them showed signs of syringomyelia.

Maybe there should be two types of registered breeders. One that breeds the canine equivalent of Paris Hilton for dog shows. The other can breed healthy and intelligent dogs for the rest of us.

Rest in peace Monty.

Monty (floor), Meiji and our dog Kita

Mock Nobody - Television Star

You can catch my (probable) Logie award winning performance as Mock Nobody on ABC television's Catalyst science program or watch the video online. It may not be a speaking part, but my lugging around of an ancient Toshiba laptop computer was crucial to the portrayal of the whole wifi patent case. I'm sure that a movie deal is just around the corner!

Creeping crawling

When I arrived home from work this evening there were Alex and Kita at the door bouncing up and down happily. It was such a lovely greeting.

Alex began his first tentative crawl on Sunday evening. I caught him out of the corner of my eye while making dinner. He had been shuffling around on his bottom for a while, threatening to crawl, but now he finally worked out the process. It's terribly cute, but scary to think about all the childproofing required.

I woke up on Mars

I went to bed last night wondering how easily humans could reach Mars. After a night dreaming of giant storms and packs of wild dogs I awoke to a red glow from the windows and realised that I had arrived on Mars a sometime during the night.

The dust storm had passed over Canberra and inland NSW and struck Sydney. It was not as dramatic as the great Melbourne dust storm of 1983. I remember standing on the playing grounds of my primary school, looking north as a great wall of red approached. The wind suddenly picked up and black ash fell. I didn't know what it was. A huge fire? It looked like the apocalypse had arrived.

A few hours later, when we left for home, the dust and grit still made it difficult to breathe.

Today there was just a fine powder in the air, visible rather than tactile, and the faint smell of dust. The train windows, cars and ground were coated red.

The scattering of light by the dust lent halogens a brilliant blue cast, contrasting the red air. Then Sun was a faded disk in the sky, brightening and dimming as the clouds of dust flew past.

I took photographs all the way to work, which, appropriately enough, is located in Marsfield.

But it could also have been in Beijing...

Photos

Taken out of context

I'm going to upgrade varnish to the latest version. If that doesn't
work I will switch to using squid.

Arncliffe

Yesterday I travelled to work via England and the Middle East. Or that's what it felt like. I caught the train from Arncliffe. As I walked up towards the station along the eastern side of the railway line I came across a small park. At the end of the park, at the beginning of the footbridge to the station, there was a disused kiosk. The kiosk, footbridge and station buildings themselves looked like they were transplanted from somewhere in England.


When I arrive at the station entrance the scene changes. Schoolgirls in headscarfes and olive skinned schoolboys mill noisily near the steps. The shops lining the road to the west of the tracks are adorned with Arabic script. A clothing store sells Arab fashions for women.

As I wait on the platform for the train, surrounded by people of Middle Eastern, Asian and European descent I watch the Emirates giant A380 aircraft lift slowly into the air. It was flying to New Zealand now, but when it returns the passengers inside will be destined for Dubai or London. Maybe they should just visit Arncliffe instead.

End of the line

Where is that, the old track going?
Where is there, I want to know
Running away, I want to follow
Far away, I want to go

Into the distance, the old track leading
Into the unknown, I will follow
Hidden away, I will seek
Beyond horizons, I will go

Comes the time, the old track ceases
Comes the place, I find the end
Where it goes, I cannot follow
The passing of a dear friend