The Story of a dog named Olly.

Olly was a part of a fantasy I created in my own mind.  He is, however, the real world manifestation of that fantasy.  And as we all know, reality rarely beats the fantasy.

Olly in the fantasy was the family pet.  A companion for us all.  A luxury we weren't able to fit into our busy schedule and small flat whilst living in London.  A part of this new Australian life we'd come back to immerse ourselves within.  Part of the Aussie dream.  Large backyards.  Trips to the beach.  Picnics in the park.  It was going to be great.

So I became obsessed.  A dog website stalker.  Looking longingly at photos of puppies.  Imagining how this little creature would improve our lives.  Fill a space that was empty.

I should mention that my husband, the errant one, was away for a total of 7 months last year.  Our first year back in what was to be our new life in Australia.  The one we'd been pining over for years.  Boring all our friends with the incessant argument of the pros and cons of life in London vs life in Australia.

Not wanting to sever ties completely with London, B spent 4 months working back there over the European summer.  For a freelancer, your regular contracts are the bread and butter that keep you going.  The other 3 months have been contracts in other locations upon the globe, usually 6 weeks at a time.  This wasn't how our life was in London.  And certainly not how I'd imagined our life to be back home.  So perhaps the dog fantasy also took root in the loneliness the separations highlighted.

I have been living in the semi rural south coast of NSW.   A far cry from the life we knew in London.  But it was for the kids.  And they have benefited from all this fresh air and freedom.  A summer spent without shoes and with salt encrusted in their golden locks.  Aren't they the Aussie childhood memories we sought for our children?

In many ways the dog represents so much about the struggles and triumphs of this last 18 months.

I set to work researching the right dog for us.  Finally I took one of those online questionnaires.  They ask you all sorts of questions about your lifestyle and this results in a list of about 4 or 5 dog breeds to suit.  There was our dog.  A whippet.  Of course.  Why hadn't I though of that myself?

I have always loved the look of these hound type breeds.  I lived for a number of years in Ibiza, an island off the coast of Spain, and the local dog they call the Ibizan Hound.

It harks back to the ancient Egyptian hunting dogs and is considered one of the oldest breeds of dogs with hieroglyphic representations seen on tomb walls.  It is thought the dogs were brought to the island by the Phoenicians around the 8th century BC.  I always thought they were beautiful and majestic with quirky characters and elegant physiques.

So finally Olly became a reality.  Life would never be quite the same again.

On his first night with us he fractured his back leg.  On advice from the breeder she suggested we let him sleep in the laundry.  What none of us had considered was that quirky and slightly flighty nature of the hound dog.  Of course he freaked out.  Alone for the first time.  Pack instinct taking hold.  He desperately sought company and in the process attempted to leap on the dryer.  Six hundred bucks later we had our brand new puppy back from the vet in plaster cast from hip to toe.

Six weeks rehabilitation.  Strict cage rest.  No running, leaping, excitement.  Basically all the stuff puppies and indeed kids do with puppies.  The poor little bastard was sent back to the laundry and this time in a cage.  If he were a human it would probably cost a fortune in therapy later in life to recover from his fear of laundry.  As a result he now sleeps inside the main house and usually on the sofa.

There began the journey with Olly.  We named him Olly like the skateboard trick.  Maybe the name precipitated the accident prone nature.  Later whilst staying at my Fathers farm he tore about six holes in his skin leaping through a barbed wire fence.  Another six hundred bucks later he now sports what perhaps in the dog world could be seen as characteristic or charismatic scars.

Whippets can be highly strung and sensitive.  Olly is no exception.  They are also escapologists.  On one occasion having been left indoors alone he managed to find the only open window.  In order to access the window it required some serious shimmying along sideboards where priceless antique ornaments were smashed to the floor.  Further still some skillful creeping along window sills was required before the fly screen could be pushed out to freedom.  He was waiting calmly for us on the front porch when we returned.

His year with us is peppered with stories like these.  He once broke into my Father's house on a stormy night.  Escaping from the garage looking for comfort and human reassurance, he found a way in through a small window.  He nearly gave my poor Dad a heart attack when he felt the wet touch of a dog nose upon his cheek in the pitch black of night.

I took a break from dogs and children and went to Italy to visit my husband.  I had time to reflect on the year and found the courage to admit defeat.  Trying to raise three kids alone, as well as trying to engage in meaningful work is hard enough.  The dog was like the final drop in the cup that is too full.  At times I felt I teetered on the edge of a nervous break down.  Something had to give.

Those moments when we'd all be frolicking on the beach with the sun setting and gentle waves lapping at our feet or throwing the tennis ball down the empty golfing greens in the late afternoons, they were bliss.  That was the fantasy.  Happy family fun.

Perhaps the dog questionnaire got it all wrong.  We needed a more docile, less intelligent and agile animal.  Or perhaps the questionnaire ought to ask you a few more probing questions about your mental health and the other responsibilities you already have in your life before it allows you go on to the further stages of pet selection.

It's taken some time to find the right place for Olly to go.  I have finally found him, what I believe will be, a loving and spoilt rotten home.  A single stay at home Mum and her 12 year old daughter.  Previous whippet owners and lovers living in the hills north of Sydney.

Strangely I have grown really attached to him this last month.  He's matured and settled.  He's a great companion.  In fact he's pretty close to the fantasy I had imagined.  But we are going back to London now.  The grass wasn't that much greener.  There are always pros and cons in all of life's decisions.

Olly was a symbol of the life I had hoped to find back here.  A life I now accept isn't our pathway.  For now at least.