RIP Emmalemma

Dear Emma, the Jones dog of 17 years, went to sleep today. Her final tail wag. To awake in the big basket in the sky.

I feel very sad about this, and at the same time my day to day life here isn't effected - she was back home in Port Macquarie. Dear little Emma, she has been such a loyal part of our family for two thirds of my life.

I remember her turning into a kangaroo whenever we went to our farm. Disappearing in Perth in the middle of a great storm, and being out hunting for her only to have her happily come running up to me when I least expected it. Rolling in anything that had been dead long enough to stink. Sleeping on my beds (Sydney, Perth, Port Macquarie, the farm)! Being woken up by a 'thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump', opening my eyes and having the happiest little face in mine and a wagging tail getting faster as I gained consciousness! I remember a quick exit whenever I'd produce my violin from its case. A speedy entry whenever anybody knocked, intentionally or accidentally, her chain. Or at the word 'walk' and eventually even 'w.a.l.k.'. Not getting on very well with small children - at least those more familiar with Barbie dolls than dogs. Not the pruning type were you. I remember your desperate expression whenever a bath was mentioned and forced upon you. You'd always give in and look very unimpressed with the whole ordeal. I remember your utter protection of all of us from imminent danger, but in particular your persistent barking whenever mum would dive into water. It would seem you saw her as mum too. I remember you staring out our guinea pigs. Usually staring to death our guinea pigs. But you had a good heart. Your phantom pregnancy was a bit weird. I remember your useless response to anyone's attempt at a game of fetch. Wasn't really a concept you grasped. I remember talking to you as if you could understand what I was saying. I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn't all going in, but you sure had a pretty good idea. I remember playing with you in the park out the back in Parramatta and you chasing a women with a plastic shopping bag. I told my friend with me that she must have had drugs. 'Emma can smell out drugs'. I'm guessing it was a bag full of meat. I remember telling another friend you were born on the 43rd of July. That is also how the family began with its belief that you were born in August. I remember you negotiating those gaping holes in the board walk out the back of Mum and Dad's with such grace. I remember you sitting with us on the trampoline. Getting a bit confused by us playing 'elastics'. Cleaning anything fury with such vigour. It was cute with the cats, but a little disturbing with those brown sofas. Your skill at opening sliding doors. And even some handled doors. I remember you spewing up that tape measure way back when we were driving you home just after we'd picked you up from my friend's place for the first time. It kind of gave us an idea of what we were getting ourselves into. I remember you being such a happy little dog. I'm sad that you're gone. You're a part of our family Emma. I can still hear your bark, your stretching groans, your wolf howls whenever a siren would go by and your paws across a wooden floor. You were always up for a bit of fun. More enthusiastic about a good time than anyone I know. You'd clamber around excitedly and clumsily in response to the slightest suggestion of a game. Even if it wasn't intended for you. I remember thinking I could train you. Heel. Sit. Fetch. etc. I was wrong. We got sit. But you were quite the contrary type and would only do it after many a command. And sometimes a firm push on your rump. You'll never again welcome us home with something in your mouth. Anything in your vicinity would you would grab in your snout upon the arrival of anyone you loved. Regardless of size or mobility, you'd drag anything to us as a welcome gift. I remember you slinking out of a carpeted room and 5 minutes later Dad arriving home. How did you do that?! I remember when Dad discovered making a very loud noise with rolled up newspaper on the floor tended to make you do what he wanted. I was your master but he was your boss! You were very fast, I could never out-run you. Maybe just as well you didn't have to race me in these last few months. You were Emma Ebony Jones. A beautiful black splodge in the Jones family. In my mind, you're in the family portrait. A permenant fixture, even though there may always have been a fear that you were just temporary. Joneses don't have dogs! Turns out you were just temporary, but in a much better way. I love you.

Basket Emma!