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running. Much to the irritation of my long-suffering playing partner, I abruptly abandoned
the game and hailed the lady owner.
She looked slightly alarmed as we trundled up in a buggy bristling with golf clubs, but
quickly rallied once she realised that we were not going to mow her down. She answered
my questions with great enthusiasm, apparently oblivious to the golf balls flying past and
the curses from outraged golfers who were now on the same fairway. Irritatingly, this golf-
ing angst was soon shared by my playing partner, who threatened to desert me and buggy
off into the sunset. So, unfortunately, our fascinating discussion was brought to a premature
end.
But it didn't matter; my mind was made up, I was smitten.
I eventually located a suitable breeder. With our ten-year-old son, Tom, in tow, I made
the four-hour drive to pick up our pup. We arrived and were met by a very perky little Lan-
castrian. Stan, the breeder, wasted no time informing us that he couldn't give 'a stuff' how
far we'd travelled - if he didn't think we'd make suitable owners, he wouldn't sell us a pup.
Tom thought Stan's clarity of advice was brilliant, but I wasn't so sure. I was a bit
ruffled at first, but had to concede that he was right, even if he did adopt a rather blunt ap-
proach to making the point.
Stan led us into his sitting room which was festooned with scented candles. This
seemed strange because it was a sunny morning, but I assumed that they were intended to
combat the stink of canine wee and poo. Honestly, though, there wasn't an earthly chance
of that happening. We followed the sound of yaps and squeaks through the wafting haze of
candle smoke and found a pen full of pups.
Stan let them out and we sat on the pee-wet carpet and were instantly covered in ador-
able bouncing balls of multicoloured fur. This was going to be agony! Luckily the decision
was made for us. Sam, then known as 'T-bone', was the runt of the litter. Not the obvious
choice, but when he waddled onto Tom's lap, wrapped a forepaw around each cheek and
started showering him with licks, it was easy. That was our boy.
Learning how to handle our new 'treasure' came from a variety of sources. 'Aussies'
are extremely intelligent animals that need lots of stimulation and exercise. In return they
make devoted companions and excellent guardians of the family. Aussies also want to be
with you all the time. With Tom away at school, that's how it became with Sam and me.
Jack rather aptly described him as being a strip of 'bloody Velcro', but it was simply a char-
acteristic trait that mostly worked very well.
I started out with all sorts of good intentions about getting Sam properly trained.
Puppy classes were the obvious solution but, as it turned out, we weren't a brilliant asset
to the club. Sam wanted to play with everyone, human and canine, whilst I struggled with
the squeaky-voiced 'good boy' tone I was supposed to adopt. Furthermore, my timing of
commands left something to be desired. This ineptitude travelled down the lead to Sam,
who instantly took advantage and behaved like a hooligan.
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