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The Fellatrice and Milo.
In Bowral there is a nice cul-de-sac which is closed to traffic and open to pedestrians. It features a number of cafes, decorator’s shops and a travel agent. One of those shops even sells the very fashionable Marimekko dresses together with a kind of what years ago could be called ‘haute couture’ items, keenly sought after by those on the cusp of advancing years and with comfortable wallets…
Its main feature because of the banning of cars is that it is one of those rare flukes of a successful bit of public space that works extremely well. The council had the foresight of having planted some deciduous plane trees ensuring shady retreats in summer and lovely sun in winter. It also has comfortable seating and even has a sculpture donated by our own artist Bert Flugelman, who lives in Bowral. He is the one who gave us the sculpture in Martin Place Sydney. Apropos, This sculpture, ’The Silver Shish Kebab,’ was heavily criticized by Frank Sartor and has since been moved to Spring Street.
The cafes have been given approval to have seating arrangements at the open space as well as in the actual cafes. Waiters are routinely seen to walk across to serve the many locals and tourists with their chosen fare. There are those fold up umbrellas to supplement shade and in winter gas heaters ensure outside al fresco dining all year round.
The place just works perfectly and with a bit of imagination one could be in a square at Bolzano or even Paris. Musicians and a flower stall on most Saturdays give it quite a buzz and finish the picture perfect.
We had just arrived with Milo on a lead when I needed to go to the CBA’s ATM also located there, handily enabling tourists to withdraw cash and hand it over to the shops or cafes. I am always surprised at the magic when the money comes out, unbelievable really, so modern and electronic with receipts and balances print out. I handed Milo to Helvi while pinning in details. She decided to just walk on, possibly to see if Marimekko dresses were visible in the shop. You just never know!
Suddenly, a large and brown dog shot out from somewhere and got stuck into Milo. A terrible killing was just about to happen. I rushed over but remembering my brother’s micro surgery on his hand when stopping a fight between his bull terrier and a German Sheppard, decided not to get my hands anywhere near those ferocious looking jaws of this large brown dog. The fight might not have lasted much more than a few seconds but it seemed much longer. The two dogs were rolling against a pram with a baby. The mother screamed and onlookers were aghast. By this time the large brown dog owner had got up from her table. A young man from one of the shops came out and without further ado picked up Milo, just like that, still on lead and put it in my arms. Almost a gift at the foot of the temple of Zeus, I thought. He had curly hair.
The mother of the baby and the woman with the brown Rottweiler-Labrador were by now facing each other like something out of Quo Vadis. “How dare you have this dog not on a lead the mother shouted? “”With my baby nearly being tipped over” she added furiously. The owner of the dog with deeply rouged lips shouted back with a somewhat fish and chips voice, “My dog never does anything”, “he just wanted to play”. “Play?” “You’re as rough as guts” the mother retorted. I could see some logic to that as the dog-owner had not only those thickly shaped and deeply rouged lips as if in the past she might have practised as an experienced Fellatrice, she also spoke as one. It could well be that the ferocious dog was a remnant of those days, offering protection in case of an unsatisfied and cranky limp customer. Who knows? Perhaps she was a directrice instead, perchance in a very respectable retirement village, maybe called ‘Braeside,’ for retired pilots, of which Bowral seems to house so many. I might just be unnecessarily cruel and prejudiced. Even so…Poor Milo.
We then walked on to post a Christmas card to Finland but glancing back, the fight was still going on between the baby’s mother and the owner with the large brown dog and deeply rouged lips. I knew the mother had the backing of the bystanders. It is amazing that dog owners always seem to take the side of ‘their’ dog and that ‘their’ dog could never ever do anything like biting other dogs, let alone capable of killing, even babies. Shit does happen.
Milo walked on as if nothing had happened. Nose to the ground and the lead taut as always.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
Why are there so many dog owners that WILL not train their dogs? As a group they are worse than mothers of young children. Of course most people of both groups are OK, although dog owners seem to have a blind spot about people walking past their house. I don’t appreciate being barked at when I walk.
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I am not sure why some dogs do bark, even to the nicest of people. They certainly don’t exclude me. They must sense I have filched smoked salmon and pumpkins and might even sense a predilection for deeply rouged lips. In other words, a ‘dirty old man’.
Sometimes when I walk Milo they bark to warn me and Milo that this is their master’s territory, so stay clear.
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But, gerard, I don’t walk on their master’s territory. I walk on the public footpath.
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Urban dogs these days are often just another consumer commodity like fashionable shoes or the right haircut. Like so much else about the modern world it’s all about appearance.
“Look I have a Dalmatian. Its all white with striking black spots. Look! See! Now don’t you think I’m beautiful.” OR “That dog tied up outside, the one monstering all the passersby. That’s an American Pitt Bull. Balls of steel just like mine. Ya wanna see’em?”
Training the dog; which is to say giving the animal the only meaningful focus its life can have, just doesn’t rate anymore. Besides, they’ll dump the dog when another, ultimately more popular breed bursts from the pages of Hello or Who or wherever it is that people get the crazy notion that dogs are some kind of fashion accessory/public declaration not unlike a bill board. It beggars belief.
When I was young it was a mark of your own character, how smart you were, if you had trained your dog to do interesting things. Dog safety, like gun safety was something you didn’t mess with; and we would no more have taken an uncontrollable dog off its leash in a public area than pop off shots from a .22 in a blindfold. An improperly trained and socialised cattle dog for instance, is just as dangerous just as likely to injure someone.
Nearly all the behaviours in dogs that people complain about are entirely tractable with training, even in older dogs. But dog owners must care about their dog enough to realise that anything less than a full and responsible relationship with their dog that includes socialisation training, both with other dogs and with people, amounts to oppressive, cruel and unusual treatment for the dog and the dog will act out the only ways it knows how. Barking, pissing and pooping, digging and destroying, fighting and freaking people out.
They’re dogs after all. We made them what they are.
Sadly all the good working dogs, security dogs, companion dogs bomb dogs, cancer dogs, truffle dogs for christ’s sake, get a bad name because some idiot sees owning a dog as being about them and not the dog.
Terminate with extreme prejudice I say.
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Did you say you come from the Country, Warrigal? It’s just, the concept of character doesn’t get much of a work-out in Sydney.
I too have been known to suggest they should be put down. The owners, of course, not the dogs.
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You can take the boy outta the bush…..
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That face, what a noble little dog and all pride and pick handles inside I’d wager.
Milo was just waiting on the right moment to teach the big brown dog a lesson. I’m sure of it. Draw the big bugger in and then just as he’s about to drop his gob over Milo’s head, Milo shoots between his legs, exiting beneath his danglers and leaving him with a nip on the nuts for good measure.
Little Jack Russells are like that, feisty, fast and fearless.
I feel I should write a Molong cameo for Milo and probably Fergus too. M, You’ll have to send a picture of Fergus to MJ so he can send it on to me.
Great yarn too G. Your description of the fellatrice’s rouged lips gives a whole new meaning to “ring of confidence”.
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Milo – super dog. Indestructible resister of ticks and large brown monster dogs.
May long he pad the footpaths of Bowral, taught of lead and spared the hound of she of the rouged lips. She of the clown makeup.
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I didn’t notice.
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What a handsome dog that Milo is.
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I told him what you thought of him but he just yawned. Typical Milo.
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He was trying to hide his smile.
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Yep, he is cool like that. Typical male.
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Milo was fine. He must have rolled and squirmed hinself away from the snarling jaws of the big bad brown dog.
I love getting compliments, especially when about my words that I try and put in a certain order. Thanks Vivienne.
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Gerard, we are glad that Milo survived, and your words ended up in a certain, elegant, even eloquent order.
We occasionally see ‘fighten’ dogs down at the beach, usually accompanied by ‘fighten’ men, who seem to think it’s quite amusing to see their dogs pick up smaller dogs in their powerful jaws and shake them around like little rats. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of those silly toy dogs, but, after all, they are someone’s pride and joy. Plus, the next step may well be a baby in those powerful jaws.
I love the word ‘fellatrice’. It rolls off the tongue, a bit like ‘cunni lingus’!
Am I allowed to spell it ‘fellatrix’, it sounds a bit sexier.
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Sure Big M, feel free.
Ah, cunni lingus. I remember it well. My beard alight, hints of sea salt.
“Those were the days my love.”
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This is very intellectual, boys, who will be boys…
The main event here is that this lovely young man grabbed the Milo’s leash off me, and most bravely picked him up , and saved him from this aggressive dog…
I now walk pass his restaurant, and if I see him I wave to him and I’m ever thankful for this young man who was not only thinking of luscious lips of dubious ladies, but was kind and caring and bravely rushed in to save my Milo…
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H, as long as the lovely young man stays away from the Fellatrice!
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H, I said to Mrs M that Helvi used the word ‘fuck’ at the Pigs Arms. She said she was more worried about Milo, after the fight.
I thought she never visited the PA?
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Yes, I did, but HE made me do it, I was going to put some noughts and crosses there ,but He said, don’t be silly, woman…
Anyhow, both HE and I are now ROFLing at your comment…Mrs M sounds like a lovely lady, hang onto her, and never tell her to f**k off….
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Mrs M’s much nicer than me.
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BM, mais, c’est non possible!
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Gerard, was Milo hurt in any way. I need to be reassured.
Must congratulate you on your lovely writing. Very readable. I felt as though I was there.
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