A dog called Seven

Our crazy neighbours had a dog called Seven.

And we had our dog Bella.

Bella and Seven would yell at each other and sometimes say something nice like hello how was your day by sniffing each other through the gaps in the fence.

One day my younger brothers opened the back gate and let Seven into our yard to play with Bella.

They wrestled and nibbled and bit and ran around like two dogs in a yard.

Bella usually left Seven with more marks than Seven left her.

The crazy neighbours used to leave Seven outside.

This would’ve been fine had there been shade or an undercover area.

We’d find Seven laying on top of the glass table trying to escape the hot concrete.

Or hiding under it trying to dodge the rain.

I remember looking out the kitchen window one rainy Summer and seeing Seven soaking wet looking as sad as someone sitting in the rain who didn’t want to be there would look.

So we opened the back gate and called her across.

We gave her food and dried her with a towel.

And she shook her tail and rubbed her head against our shins.

She stayed for a few hours.

When the rain stopped, we let Seven go back home.

Another day we noticed her trying to bite her way into a red block wrapped in plastic.

Turns out the red block was a lump of frozen beef still wrapped in the package it came in.

That’s how Seven got fed.

A piece of meat or something similar thrown into the backyard from their kitchen window.

Most dogs would’ve loved this.

Food falling from the sky!

Except often the food was still wrapped in plastic.

Or frozen solid.

So by the time it defrosted or Seven managed to get into it, the sun rendered it rancid.

Naturally, Seven left the off food alone.

But the maggots and flies didn’t.

Half a dozen blocks of defrosted meat wrapped in plastic wrap with teethmarks in it piled up in the yard.

Along with old bones, other piles of rotting food filled with maggots, mounds and mounds of dog poo.

Our mum spoke to the neighbours and asked them if they wanted a hand cleaning them up.

They said they’d get to it.

And eventually they did.

Then the cycle would restart.

One day we fed Bella and Seven watched us through the fence.

We saw her and walked towards the back gate and she followed us along the fence line and we opened the gate and let her in and gave her a bowl of what we were feeding Bella.

The back gate stayed open but Seven didn’t want to walk home.

We left it open.

Even walked back to show her the way home.

She could’ve trotted back anytime.

But she didn’t.

That night Bella and Seven shared a bed on a few old towels in the laundry.

We thought about telling the neighbours.

But we didn’t.

Dad began taking Seven and Bella for a walk in the morning.

Walking home the ex-lawyer mother crazy neighbour was sitting on the front porch.

She called out to Dad walking Seven and Bella.

You must be a dog whisperer!

He laughed and waved.

He told us at dinner later and we thought...

Yeah, right, lady.

Dog whisperer or someone who looked after and walked their dogs?

Anyway.

Day after day Seven started to come back through the open gate on her own.

We’d feed her and let her stay if she wanted.

The neighbours never said anything.

Their kids would come into their backyard and call Seven back over to play with her.

Pretending to ride her like a horse and crowd around her whilst she was taking a shit seeing who could get the closest.

Then they’d go inside and let Seven come back to our house.

No formal agreement.

Yet it kept happening.

Seven to our house, we’d feed her with Bella, she’d stay the night, the crazy neighbour kids would play with her for a bit, Seven to our house, wrestle with Bella, wrestle with us, feed, stay the night, walk in the morning, take a shit three houses down the street, come home run around the side of house for dinner, sleep, repeat.

My brothers and I would take Seven and Bella to the waterfront.

They’d chase the seagulls and jump in puddles.

We’d yell out.

Seven!

Bella!

We’d sprint across the sand, look to the left, look to the right and see two dogs with their tongues out chasing after us.

Memories in motion.

My brother threw a ball and Seven and Bella ran after it.

Bella stopped at the ball and looked up to show us how well she’d done but Seven kept running past the ball so far past the ball almost double triple four times as far the ball went so far past the ball we began to worry she’d run off.

But she stopped.

Then headed towards the guy walking with a kite on the beach to say hello.

A perfect picture.

Bella the princess and Seven the loveable idiot.

One day a removals truck parked out the front of our neighbours' house.

By this stage Seven had been living at our house full-time.

She’d won our hearts but Bella still had concerns.

Our neighbours packed their stuff into the truck.

We wondered if they were going to come and get Seven.

They didn’t.

They just left.

The truck drove away.

And they didn’t say anything.

Not a word.

Strange.

They had their own things going on, much deeper than we knew.

And I’m sure they were trying their best.

But they weren’t fit to look after Seven.

After the neighbours moved out, Seven became our dog.

Our second dog.

A dog called Seven.

Two years later the mother crazy neighbour pulled up out the front of our house and dropped off her six kids to our house.

They ran down the side of the house shouting out Seven's name.

Seven!

Seven!

My brother and I heard them and went outside.

We looked at each other and said they're not taking Seven, she's our dog now.

They didn't.

They played with her and left again.

We never saw them again.

A house of four boys, mum and dad means there’s a birthday every 2 months.

Seven and Bella would jump and snap at the balloons on the table.

It became more of an event watching the dogs run around the table chasing and popping the balloons than opening presents or singing happy birthday.

Seven would lie across the foot of our doors.

Head to tail in the doorway.

Even if the door was closed.

She’d wait for us to come in or out.

If none of the brothers were home, she’d go to Mum and Dad’s door.

And then in the middle of the night you’d sometimes hear a donk and a plonk.

Her head hitting the door to let you know she was there and then her body lying across your doorway.

Perhaps a small amount of our scents wafted out from the door crease.

Enough to keep her content.

Sitting at the dining room table you’d feel Seven make her way through your legs then the person next to you’s legs then the next and the next.

She'd even lie down under the middle of the table so we could all pat her with our feet.

She’d keep us warm in the Winter.

One of her favourite tricks, the drive-by lick.

It’s what it sounds like.

A stroll past a flick of the head a stretch of the tongue a subtle slobber and you knew Seven was there.

One day we took her to the park with Bella and let the two of them run wild.

My brothers and I bought a drone for filming whatever we were up to.

We used it to follow the dogs.

The drone had a tracking feature where you could draw a square around something you were trying to track.

I drew a box around Seven and it identified her as a boat whilst following her walking around the park.

My brothers and our friends laughed the kind of laugh we knew we were going to remember in the future.

Five, six, seven, eight years later, we still laugh.

Seven the boat.

At walk time you’d have to spell it.

Double you aye ell kay.

Otherwise the dogs would get too excited whilst you were trying to get ready.

The sound of the leads coming out of the box where we kept them would trigger heads to raise and ears to perk.

Seven and Bella could be out cold asleep.

Seven across the doorway as usual.

But as soon as you moved those leads and the chains clinked...

...Seven’s neck would crank upwards at a 46 degree angle, head on a swivel, ears facing forward, periscoping around inspecting the environment.

Body laid out flat.

Go for a WALK? we’d say out loud.

Then you’d hear the thunderous rumble of footsteps through the house.

Two dogs racing for a photo finish down the stairs.

We’d get to the gate to leave the house and Seven would stretch out her paw to open it herself.

If you didn’t have a good grip on the girls for the first stage of the walk you were going over.

Seven would walk with such stance and purpose to choke herself out on the lead.

She loved walks enough to cut herself off from air.

Three houses down Seven would stop to take a shit.

Always three houses.

Never in the backyard BEFORE we left.

Always three houses into a walk.

Getting home walking in the driveway taking the leads off and the girls sprint down the side of the house to inspect their bowls for dinner.

Bella would sit back and wait for the food to be placed there.

Seven’s mouth greeted your hands as soon as you served it.

Dad sometimes took the dogs to the park near the creek.

And Seven would run down the hill full speed into the stream.

Jumping through the water.

Bella always a little more reserved.

They balanced each other.

Seven the crazed lover, Bella a proper lady.

Having dinner as a family at the table and Seven would get tired of not getting attention.

By the end of the meal she’d jump up on her hind legs place her front legs on our laps and her head on our stomachs.

She’d take turns on different family members when one of us got sick of her being there.

Me then Sam then Dad then Mum then Josh then Will.

Leaving the house and coming back was like playing bingo with whose bed Seven would be on.

Every few weeks the beds would change.

Bella and Seven on mum and dad’s bed.

Then my bed.

Then Josh and Sam’s bed.

Then Will’s bed.

Then the couch downstairs.

Birds learned to never land in our yard because Seven would be there running full pelt outside barking.

Seven the guardian.

One Tuesday morning mum called my brother Josh and I saying Seven couldn’t get up.

We looked at each other and thought that’s strange.

Usually she’s full of energy bounding through the house with even the slight sound of someone else being up.

Josh and I got there and mum was right.

We tried to help her up but she didn’t want to move.

We got her up but she went back down.

We put her in the back of the car, backed out the driveway and went to the vet.

Sitting in the waiting room Seven didn’t know what was happening, she always went a bit foolish in new places.

Not this time.

More reserved than usual.

Don’t worry Seven, I said, we’ll take care of you.

She stayed there the night.

The vet called the next day.

They did scans and the news wasn’t good.

A growth of some sort.

They could operate but given her age it might not turn out well.

We picked her up and bought her home.

She knew what we didn’t want to know.

I picked up the leads.

Rattled them a little.

And it was the first time I’d seen Seven not stand up excited for a walk.

She laid there wagging her tail slowly.

The next morning, the same sad sight.

Seven couldn’t stand up on her own.

In the afternoon she managed to work up enough strength to go for a walk.

The whole family walking with her, encouraging her.

Good job Seven!

Go Seven!

Deep down I knew it might be her last.

Perhaps we all did.

But no one wanted to say it out loud.

You never know which walk will be the last one.

She wrestled a stick once or twice.

In the past the stick would’ve been her worst enemy and after several rounds would eventually suffer a heavy defeat.

Not today.

Seven put the stick down and walked home with grace.

The first vet gave the scans to her regular vet.

The regular vet called me and said it might be time.

Time for what doc? I asked.

I stood in the backyard looking at Seven on her bed unable to get up.

I knew what he meant.

He said I can come over this afternoon after 5pm.

Can it wait until Monday? I asked. I’ve got my best friend’s Dad’s funeral tomorrow.

He said it can but she’s not in a great state, she’s in pain, she’s just not showing it.

Agghhhhhh...

Dam...

We spent the afternoon taking turns patting Seven, laying beside her, speaking to her, playing with her tail.

One brother after another, Mum, Dad.

I laid there thinking how quick it happened.

From Tuesday morning getting a phone call from mum now Friday afternoon.

Hell, not even the last week.

The years since we got her.

Since she first walked into our yard.

The days are long but the decades are short.

The vet came around when he said he would.

He greeted the family.

Said hello to Seven, the dog he’d seen every year for the past five.

She’s not herself is she, he said.

He wrapped her front leg with a pink bandage with a small needle placed underneath.

We said our final goodbyes and I laid there holding Seven.

The vet did one of the hardest things I can imagine.

Laying to rest a life you’d given so much care to.

Her body gave out a shiver and I burst out crying.

The rest of the family did too.

Maybe Bella did too.

Seven passed in the way she lived.

Surrounded by love.

The vet offered to bring her to his car to take her to the crematorium.

But my brother and I said we’d carry her.

We picked up her body, ready for her to wrestle out of a carry like she always would.

Not this time.

I felt her hind legs go limp and I started to cry again.

She carried a part of us for the past 10 years now it was our turn to carry her.

She let out some pee and it went over my shirt.

I cried.

I cried.

Said it’s okay darling, I’ve got you, it’s okay Seven, we’ve got you.

We placed her in the vet’s car gave her one last cuddle.

Said thank you to the vet.

A weird thing to say after someone just killed your dog.

But he couldn’t have had more empathy.

What a tough job.

A hard but respectful duty.

We walked back inside, saw the empty bed where Seven was, hugged each other and cried and hugged and cried.

I said I love you to the family.

And I picked up my bag and went to help my best friend setup for his Dad’s funeral the next day.

Every time I walk past her bowl it gets a little easier.

I miss the sound of it moving around on the concrete whilst she ate dinner.

I tap it a couple of times to hear that familiar sound.

I miss her jumping on our laps during family dinners.

I’m sad she’s gone but step by step the sadness transforms into warm memories.

I remember her laying on my bed for hours at a time.

I remember her treating cardboard boxes like the devil himself and tearing them to shreds in the backyard.

I remember her running around the yard as fast as she could when she had a little extra energy to release.

I remember her sitting in the kitchen like a tired Mexican watching us make food.

I look at open fields and think how much she would’ve loved running around them.

There’s a common thread here.

Patience, love and fun.

The Seven way.

Growing up, Mum told us stories of her dog Coco.

I’ll tell my kids stories of our dog Seven.

Oh yeah...

Where’d the name come from?

The neighbours had six kids.

And she was the next.

One helluva dog.

A dog called Seven.

Seven Bourke passed away on Friday the 28th of June 2024, surrounded by her family.

Her spirit lives on in the form of patience, love and fun.

The Seven way.