Roy likes to push his luck, but then he was born lucky. By Geoff Ellis
HE COULDN’T quite reach the red bellied black. As it tried to disappear around the culvert into the rocks, he dug at it frantically, clawing the rocks from behind it. He didn’t notice the little snakes slithering off into the long grass, but his nose told him there was something in there somewhere. His canine brain told him to keep digging.
Roy was born lucky. Saved from death row in Albury by a hard-working animal welfare group, he was free ranged and Facebooked till his picture stole our hearts. After a long drive he became a happy little Gippslander, here on the Bunurong Coast, but the first few days were awkward.
HE COULDN’T quite reach the red bellied black. As it tried to disappear around the culvert into the rocks, he dug at it frantically, clawing the rocks from behind it. He didn’t notice the little snakes slithering off into the long grass, but his nose told him there was something in there somewhere. His canine brain told him to keep digging.
Roy was born lucky. Saved from death row in Albury by a hard-working animal welfare group, he was free ranged and Facebooked till his picture stole our hearts. After a long drive he became a happy little Gippslander, here on the Bunurong Coast, but the first few days were awkward.
Our cats scattered into the bedroom the first time they saw him. He spent the next few days trying to climb into our laps. Soon enough he realised this was his forever home.
And that's when he started pushing his luck. Roy doesn't spend his days trying to escape - he's actually a homebody. But these last 18 months have provided plenty of opportunity to test those boundaries. At first he was small enough to shimmy through the fence into those adventure laden farm paddocks. Or wander on to the road. People a few houses up fetched him back too often.
As Roy grew we created a dog yard out of pool fencing. Once it was finished he casually walked straight through the uprights. We added mesh; he climbed over it. We built higher; he dug under it. One day he got under that fence, and another one, to burst through a third to harass a couple of bulls on the neighbour's farm. It was a great fun until the other 70 bulls ran to join the 'fun'. Somehow we managed to get him back on to our side of the fence.
That escapade ended happily but Roy never realises the danger he is in. For a long time, he was oblivious to the swooping magpies protecting their territory. Now they ignore him unless surplus breakfast toast ends up in their disputed territory.
Roy has no interest in chasing balls or playing fetch. His favourite toys are twigs and branches stolen from our wood piles. He loves nothing better than cavorting with a large chunk of branch dragging on the ground, trying not to trip over it.
His luck nearly ran out the day he ate something, god knows what, but it must have been rank. It caused his guts to swell with gas. His intestine expanded so much that one length strangled the other. A surgeon’s knife was his only salvation, and he spent the next few weeks with a plastic cone around his neck so he couldn't chew his stitches. We nicknamed him ‘Lampie’ as he awkwardly tried to navigate through the house. The plastic cone meant he couldn't sleep in laundry anymore, so we let him sleep on the lounge. Temporarily.
A year later he still sleeps on the couch - lucky boy.
Once those stitches were removed it was back to the life of adventure. He has calmed down a tad though he still manages to shock us, like that day he chased the red bellied black across the yard and cornered it against the culvert. Somehow it managed to escape, and he didn’t get bitten. Last week I spotted him sitting on a garden chair, watching rabbits run amok as he waited for the sunrise. These days his head is too big for him to push through those fences. Born lucky, indeed.
And that's when he started pushing his luck. Roy doesn't spend his days trying to escape - he's actually a homebody. But these last 18 months have provided plenty of opportunity to test those boundaries. At first he was small enough to shimmy through the fence into those adventure laden farm paddocks. Or wander on to the road. People a few houses up fetched him back too often.
As Roy grew we created a dog yard out of pool fencing. Once it was finished he casually walked straight through the uprights. We added mesh; he climbed over it. We built higher; he dug under it. One day he got under that fence, and another one, to burst through a third to harass a couple of bulls on the neighbour's farm. It was a great fun until the other 70 bulls ran to join the 'fun'. Somehow we managed to get him back on to our side of the fence.
That escapade ended happily but Roy never realises the danger he is in. For a long time, he was oblivious to the swooping magpies protecting their territory. Now they ignore him unless surplus breakfast toast ends up in their disputed territory.
Roy has no interest in chasing balls or playing fetch. His favourite toys are twigs and branches stolen from our wood piles. He loves nothing better than cavorting with a large chunk of branch dragging on the ground, trying not to trip over it.
His luck nearly ran out the day he ate something, god knows what, but it must have been rank. It caused his guts to swell with gas. His intestine expanded so much that one length strangled the other. A surgeon’s knife was his only salvation, and he spent the next few weeks with a plastic cone around his neck so he couldn't chew his stitches. We nicknamed him ‘Lampie’ as he awkwardly tried to navigate through the house. The plastic cone meant he couldn't sleep in laundry anymore, so we let him sleep on the lounge. Temporarily.
A year later he still sleeps on the couch - lucky boy.
Once those stitches were removed it was back to the life of adventure. He has calmed down a tad though he still manages to shock us, like that day he chased the red bellied black across the yard and cornered it against the culvert. Somehow it managed to escape, and he didn’t get bitten. Last week I spotted him sitting on a garden chair, watching rabbits run amok as he waited for the sunrise. These days his head is too big for him to push through those fences. Born lucky, indeed.