I first saw Roman, chasing after his brother on the carpet of a dimly lit room. We had driven 3 hours to a remote little farm in the Southern Highlands. The driveway was long and rough, but the farm smelt like eucalyptus and flowers. The barking of dogs and the tinkle of chimes filled the air…it was both loud and peaceful. The place almost seemed like it was a metaphor for what the next 6 years were going to be like for us.

He was part of a large litter…most of them were adopted with only three of them left.
His sister was curled on the couch, fully asleep and his mother lay down not far from where her two boys were playing.
She watched them scramble around and besides raising her head to watch us come through the door, she barely moved a muscle.
She had given birth on Christmas Morning, 2013. And two months later, she was going to watch the last of her babies go to loving families.

I remember not feeling excited, nor did I feel a sense of happiness. I just marvelled at how little they were. They looked like overgrown, brown mice. And you couldn’t get a good look at either of them. They were too busy being rowdy amongst themselves.
Occasionally you could make out a face and hear a soft yelp as they bit and chewed each other’s paws and ears. But they were so quick to get back into chasing, that the large humans in the room didn’t seem to bother them at all.

The smaller struggled to keep up. And that was Roman.
His ears flapped about like Dumbo, and his feet were way too big to run around in. He kept falling over and tripping over himself. It didn’t stop him though, because he’d immediately get back up, shake himself off and do it all over again.
He was awkward, lanky and clumsy as hell.

He was perfect.

We chose him without much thought. Kevin had brought a friend of ours, Jeevan, to help with any kind of questions we needed to be answered. I thought it was unnecessary. I mean how hard was it to buy a puppy.
But as usual, Kev was right.
We were way too enamoured to ask the right questions.
Too enamoured with the fact that we had found a part of ourselves in a farm 3 hours away from home. So it helped to have someone to make sure that everything was ok. The right food, the right amount of exercise and what to expect on his first couple of nights in our home.
We weren’t too worried though…he was shy but he showed a lot of character.
That was all we needed to know.

When the other pups would go out and play on the grass… he stopped himself, watched them jet off, and then collapse on the grass and sunbathe.
It was easy to sit next to him and just enjoy his company…even at two months old.

And so we took him home. He slept on my lap the whole car ride back.

It’s like he was happy to be there. And although apprehensive at first, he snuggled in right between my legs and dozed off without another sound.
I couldn’t stop touching his ears and holding his paws.
They were so soft and warm… like they had been in the sun for hours.

He looked so happy.

 

Dad was mowing the lawn when he first saw Roman. He was covered in grass, sweat dripping from his forehead and a worn-out expression on his face.
I thought he’d get mad at us.
He never wanted a dog.
He advised us not to get him.
But when he saw him for the first time, it was like looking back at an old picture.
He was dishevelled and tired…but somehow a smile crept in.
It looked familiar; because it was the same smile he had in photos where he was holding Kev and me as babies.
I have a picture of Dad holding Roman’s head in his hands.
IN our family history it sits right next to the ones with Kevin and me.

Dad loved Roman…he was his son. He disciplined him, fed him, walked him and greeted him first every single day.
In the morning he would open up the blinds and listen to him bark at how cold or warm he was. He made sure he had his coat on and the hot water bottles were filled during the winter. And in the summer, he opened up the blinds, turned on a fan, and refilled his bucket of water with any chance he got.
Dad would sit on a milk crate outside, a cup of tea in his hand, and forget about all the shit that work had piled on him that day.
That’s all he needed.
Roman by his side and a cup of tea… the world didn’t seem so daunting after that.

 

When mum met Roman for the first time, it was like the wicked stepmother and Cinderella.

In retrospect, it seems unfair to use that metaphor. Partly because she grew to love him and partly because she was attached to a dog in her youth…one that tragically passed away.
And since then, the wound that was left behind never really healed. She didn’t want to attach herself to another one. She knew the work, the smell and the ruckus it would cause.
She told us straight away. She yelled and shouted when he peed in the laundry on the very first day he was here. He didn’t seem to know what was wrong. He had to go…and so he did. Right where the washing usually went.
I couldn’t blame him.

Despite her yelling, she made time for him. She took off the next couple of days from work because he needed someone home. Dad and Kev had work. I had uni.
She stayed behind.
And on my first day away….she welcomed me home with a concerned look on her face, as I raced to the backyard to watch him play. She stood by the doorway and would yarn on about how naughty he was. When she realised I wasn’t listening she said loudly that he wasn’t that cute.
I turned to her apprehensively and laughed as I saw her face.

She was bullshitting.
I could see it in her eyes.

As time went on, she showed him more and more love. From not wanting to be around him, to wanting nothing more than to have his company.
Ma had a new son and one that, in her opinion, was better than the two she gave birth too.

He was always excited to see her home…he always wanted to be with her, and he never complained about all those silly Indian drama’s she would put on the TV every single afternoon.
In the summer, they would lay down together on the floor of her bedroom under the fan, to try and escape the heat.
And when winter rolled around, he would always sit on the rug by her feet to help keep her warm.
She would call out to him throughout the day, and he would come. And even during the times he misbehaved, she still showed him Love.

She loved him more and more every day. And as his last days came around, she was always optimistic…teasing him for being sick, goading him to get better. Because even though things looked meek at best, she always held out hope, after all, at her worst, Roman somehow did the same.
He was what she needed.
Not what she wanted…not what she asked for, but what she needed.
What she loved talking to, every morning as the sun rose.
What she loved feeding when the rest of us weren’t looking.
And what she loved saying goodnight to as we put him to bed each night.

 

 

Kevin bought him, Kevin was his owner and it was Kevin’s idea to get a dog in the first place.
I couldn’t remember a time where he was so protective of something he didn’t make or create. Always letting him inside, always buying the best food, and always bringing him a new toy after being away for so long.

My brother had the brother he had always wanted. He didn’t chat back, He didn’t fight back and all he would do was follow him around.
Kev took the initiative to make sure he was ok at all times. Constantly checking in, constantly seeing if he liked his new dry food and constantly scolding us for anything that might have gone wrong.
He was as responsible as ever.

It annoyed me.
But I think that’s why Roman was so happy. I mean how could you not be with all that attention.
In his early days, we would take him to puppy school. I use the word puppy, as a technicality, in reality, he was as big as any of the other pups would grow. And even though he was less than six months old, he towered over all of the other dogs.

We had to use two hands to keep him by our side. And even when it came to play, he was way too rough for anyone else. Id imagine it was very funny to see a skinny Indian guy being dragged by a small brown bear on a leash.
Kevin found it hilarious.
We thought we’d found the most docile companion…but in time we realised he was just a young lion waiting to jump on anyone and anything.
We were lucky though.
People knew he meant well and that he didn’t know his own body.
And in time I think that’s why we loved him.
He was a goof…just like us.

Whenever he would get sick, Kevin would call. He got mad at me a fair few times because I failed to update him in different situations.
He yelled at me over the phone when I didn’t tell him that I had picked him up from his boarding after a holiday.

It was annoying…but looking back, I get it.
It must’ve been hard to not be around.
To be that far away from home.
To then hear that he was sick.
To hear that there was nothing you could’ve done or nothing you could do.
To hear that you have even less time with him than you thought you would.

He flew up when he found out. Worst two days of his life, he said.

But he was here.

Here up until we had to say goodbye.
Not many people would’ve done that.
But just like Roman, Kevin is one of a kind.

 

 

 

We were inseparable. There was no Nickin without Roman.
The tall, chiselled, big, brown, rakishly handsome beast…and his human big brother.
A duo that should make the pages of human history.
Along with the Wright Brothers, Han Solo & Chewbacca, Tom & Jerry, Lennon & McCartney, Shaggy & Scooby, Bert & Ernie and Peanut butter & Jam.
We were like twins. And even, For a time, we were the same age. I turned 21 in 2016…three months later, he also turned 21 (dog years of course).
We were right up there.
Nickin and Roman.
Pemulwuy’s Finest.

The truth is, he was a big part of who I am.
The first thing Id wake up to and the last thing I’d say goodnight to before bed. And as corny as it sounds, he completed me. Filled in and fixed the void I had felt for years.

We got him on a Saturday, February 22nd, 2014.
I was diagnosed with Depression and Social Anxiety a week before.
My doctor had become worried about my lack of sleep, anxiety and the dark places in my mind that I was describing.
She saved me. Because she found out the problem.
Roman saved me. Because he helped fix it.

For the first time in years, I felt like someone was listening.
He didn’t have to say anything and I felt like I was being acknowledged and heard.
A whole life living with a chip on my shoulder and a voice strained from trying to shout my thoughts and feelings, was finally put to rest.

We grew together.
I chose to leave behind an old weak version of myself by committing myself to become better.
And we both changed out of the lanky, awkward sleeves we called ourselves that we were born with.
He was my inspiration, my motivation and aspiration.
I wanted him by my side through everything.
When I would become a success.
When I met the right girl.
When I would have my first child.

It’s funny to think of all the fantasies I had that included him. And it’s cruel to realise how every moment we had together, now feels like it was just a dream.

I loved every moment with him, I wouldn’t change a thing.
From walking him twice a day, to trying to pull him away from any dog he tried to cannonball himself towards.
He was a rocket ship, a bullet and a kamikaze fighter pilot all in one. And although tendinitis seems to be something I might have to deal with … I couldn’t have found a better way to spend that time with.

He was great with the ladies…or rather great for me around the ladies. He caught their attention, reeled them in by pulling me towards them and did his best to make sure they stuck around.

Cute and handsome, warm and affectionate…he loved people.

He loved being around them, he loved licking their face and having his ears rubbed.
It was easy to smile when watching him around anything and anyone.
The vet would always call him the best dog they’d had. Whether or not they were telling the truth remains to be seen…but it’s hard to argue against it.

In my worst times, I would find myself, head in my hands and knees clasped tightly to my chest.
Life was tough, but with a wet nose prodding your head and a strong paw scratching your shoulder, it didn’t seem so bad.
Id look up and see his big brown eyes staring at mine.
He didn’t know what was wrong. All he knew was that his mate wasn’t ok.
He’d lay down next to me and lick my knee.
And then be still.
And that’s all I needed.
The world wasn’t so bad after that.

It’s funny to think of something that couldn’t speak or communicate the way we do, to show so much love and kindness. I keep trying to rack my brain and find out what I meant to him and what he meant to me. And I don’t really know. Maybe, just like for him, there are no words to describe it.

When he was young, he would join me out in the sun as I wrote. He’d prod me with his nose, try and sneak into my arms through my armpit. When he couldn’t find a way in he would jump on my back and rest his head on top of mine.
When he grew bigger and older, he would walk in between my legs to let me know he was there, and rub his head on my arm whenever I sat down.

It’s like he knew everything I was feeling, everything I needed and everything I wanted to say.

He was like that to the very end.

On his last night in our home, he slept inside.
He hadn’t eaten, he could barely move around and he had no energy to stand.
Something was wrong.

That night, rain poured outside.
It was loud. But not cold.
There was no wind and everything was sticky and humid.
I slept downstairs to keep him company.
I use that word sparingly because none of us could really sleep at all.

We tried feeding him, but he wouldn’t take.
My eyes would glaze over and my voice would break as I tried so desperately to get him to eat something.
It’s hard to watch your friend suffer. And it’s hard to even fathom that this might be the last time you ever watch him at all.

We were confused and scared.
He was so young.
At 6 years old…he was supposed to be halfway through his life.

As I watched him from the couch, I remembered all the times he would bark and whine when we left him outside. I never thought id wish for him to do that again. For him to have energy, to be able to stand and jump and bark.
But I never heard him bark again.

We’d look at each other from across the room. I couldn’t say anything…neither could he.
At times he would get up and wander around. I suppose he was making sure we were still at home.

At 3 am and Almost at once, he sprinted up the stairs and into my parent’s bedroom. He didn’t lay down, he just watched them as they woke up from a shallow sleep, startled.

He wasn’t trying to get their attention, nor was he looking for a new place to sleep. He was checking up on them. Just like he had always done. He needed them to be ok.

When the morning came, the visit to the vet was tough.
It was the longest car ride of my life.
And it was also the scariest.
Rightfully so.
The vet confirmed our worst fears.
He told me he was sick. Really sick.
And I told my family.

He said he was sorry.
And I said the same to my family.

Sorry I couldn’t look after him better.

Sorry that I couldn’t help sooner.

Sorry that they had to go through this.

They said it wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t matter…he was my responsibility.

I walked him, I sat with him…and I knew him the best. I knew when he was hungry, when he was angry, when he was frustrated and when he was sad.
I could tell what he was thinking. And I knew what he was feeling.

He gave me a reason to come Home when it didn’t feel like Home.
He gave me a reason to go outside when outside seemed too much.
And He made me realise what it was like to love something that didn’t share flesh and blood…that didn’t speak or know things. That was living for the sake of living,  because its life was worth it.

A soaring kite in the hurricane of the world.

It was like the universe saw me in strife and gave me a little brown goofball to help ease the pain.
A blessing by every definition.
I hated the world.
The one thing I thought it couldn’t corrupt and rip away…it had.
The hurricane had twisted and broken that free kite.

I yelled and I cried and I cursed myself.

But my dad scolded me with tears in his eyes.
He said we gave him the best life and we should never, ever, feel like we let him down.
He said that he blessed us and we did whatever it was in our power to honour that.

At the time it didn’t matter. It didn’t save him.

But looking back, that thought gives me some comfort. Its what I think of when I feel angry and afraid.

We drove back to the vet. We didn’t know what to say.
Mum tried her best to make us all feel better.
It worked. Till we saw him again.

He wasn’t the same dog.
He had lost his majesty and his strength. He wasn’t clumsy or awkward…but sad.
His dignity was stripped from him and in his eyes, that familiar warmth was replaced with shame. It took him and tortured him.
How can we be surprised? After all, Cancer has its way.

 

We sat there with him.
We joked about everything he had done.
Recalled fond memories and made sure he was comfortable.

It was the least we could do.
No one ever tells you how hard it’s going to be.
To say goodbye to family.

In his last breath, I could see him watch Mum, Dad and Kevin.
I forced myself to look at him and knew that all he had wanted, was to come home…but he couldn’t.

And we knew that home would never feel the same.
I held his huge head as he went to sleep.
I could feel his heartbeat fading away.

My other hand on his back, right next to his collar… just so he knew I was there.
He needed me now…and it was the least I could do.

After that, nothing has been the same.

This might sound horrid.
This might sound dramatic.
But it’s hard to get up in the morning when the one thing that seemed to care about who you really are is gone.

Roman was more than a pet…he was a mate. He was my best mate.
I didn’t have to talk, I didn’t have to prove myself and I didn’t have to fight for my voice to be heard. The world around me made me do that enough.

He knew that.

He knew it the moment I would walk into the front door as he tried to wrench it open with his snout.
He knew it when we’d walk to the top of the lookout or sit lakeside near our home.
He knew it when I’d slip out the back door and gaze aimlessly at the wooden fence across our backyard.
He knew it on sleepless nights and tired mornings.
He knew it when he first came home in my arms on that sunny summer afternoon.
And he knew it up until he breathed his last breath.

And all he did was hang around, just to make sure I was ok.
He had my back.
Till the day the Cancer got him.
And the only solace I feel is that I had his… till his very last breath.

 

 

I write this because the world needs to know.
My world needs to know.

It needs to know, that pets aren’t just pets.
Dogs aren’t just animals.
They’re friends and they’re family. They are the unofficial guardians and the most loyal companion’s anyone can ask for.
They eat, sleep, walk and run, all for us.
They are a part of our world, but we are their whole world…and there is no amount of gratitude that will ever be enough.
I wish I had time.
I wish we could take one more walk. Sit down on the soft grass of our park or lakeside late in the afternoon…and watch the sunset one last time.

But I can’t.

So I’m telling you that I am screaming inside. Hating the emptiness that tortures our house.

I’m telling you to hug them while you can.

Cherish every moment.

Because I know the story that I’ll tell my kids one day, and it’s one I hold near to my heart.
The story of my youth.
A verbal album of every moment in those six years.

How I got out of a deep dark place that seemed impossible to climb out from.

How our family became even more loving and that much happier…that it was all due to one dog.
And His name was Roman, the Rhodesian Ridgeback.