a gentle place

Posted By Harry on September 19, 2010

(A bit more on Prince Plato, my pal who’s been with me for over 14 years. For those of you who would like to read about Plato’s earlier life you will find the posts here and here.)

Plato on Avondale's riverbank

If you look closely at the above photo you’ll notice Plato’s tongue hanging out of the right side of his mouth. This is where the vet cut out the tumour and a third of his jaw in March this year – regal Plato prefers I photograph his better profile. Who am I to argue with a wise old man of the world, someone who I’ve learnt so much from throughout our life together, and continue to learn from now? Like his impressive ability to read and respond to people’s emotions …

Plato’s ability to so accurately pick up on humans’ feelings and head their way to support them came to the fore in Cape Town and sharpened when we moved to Tasmania. In Cape Town he’d seek out Sue whenever she was feeling homesick, and Chelsea and I would find him licking the tears from her cheeks. In Tasmania it was Caroline (not her real name) who was blessed with Plato’s unwavering care and presence as she journeyed the bumpy road of divorce. Caroline needed what we all need when life throws such a curve-ball: someone to listen to you without retorting with liberal advice; someone to hold you without smothering you; someone to know when just to be still with you. And someone to lick away your tears at just the right time. Plato became Caroline’s special mate, her travelling companion.

Where Sue and I tried and failed miserably, Plato starred (and not just because we weren’t brave enough to lick away Caroline’s tears!). Plato just knew what was required. When required. And he gave at just the right time. We were fairly new to Hobart and, having only just gotten to know Caroline, were surprised and somewhat flattered that she chose our company in which to find some love and friendship. But we were just the hangers-on, and as matters progressed from break-up through formal separation to lawyers, court hearings and divorce, we realised it was Plato that Caroline came to Avondale to be with. Plato who would squeeze his nose under her hands when its presence was required on her lap. Plato who would reach out with his paw when Caroline needed one to hold onto. Plato who would soak up the tears as they cascaded down onto his nose. Plato who knew the love that was needed. And Plato who helped her through.

Plato with ex-battery hens having just arrived at Avondale

Plato’s love extends to far more than just humans in need. It goes out to others in need. Ginger, Babs, Bunty and Mac were the first hens we introduced to Avondale’s 40 acres. Rescued from their wire-mesh cages they were a foursome pictorial of imminent death when they arrived at Avondale. And food, shelter and freedom would only go halfway to healing what they had been through. While Sue and I and the rest of Avondale provided some of the love they needed Plato, with his leonine heart, provided the rest. For the first 2 or 3 days they must have wondered why this big black-and-white dog would follow them everywhere they went but they soon caught on and would seek him out if he wasn’t around. They learnt to dustbath in the flowerbeds he’d created a nest in and a regular sight was dog and chooks covered in soil from each other’s diggings and shimmerings. They learnt the serenity of afternoons spent lying in the grass under the cherry trees, warmed by the dappled afternoon sun. If Plato went off alone Ginger, Babs, Bunty and Mac would always find him, forage around him then lie with him, wing stretched out over paw or ear, basking in his care.

Babs passed on that first summer and we buried her close to the cottage under the pepper tree, one of the few spots in which Plato and Chelsea had not dug their private nests. Barely had our cheeks dried when we noticed Plato asleep on top of her grave. That night he didn’t come when called for dinner and we had to go out and fetch him. The following morning he headed straight to her grave and slept upon it until again we fetched him at nightfall. Plato repeated this pattern for 3 days, as if continuing to care for and protect Babs as he’d done from her first hours at Avondale. As if embracing her with enough love to make up for what she had missed in her earlier life. As if holding her, nudging her, and drying any tears that may still have fallen.

Avondale’s recent tears have been for Plato. He’s given more than enough, dried up perhaps too many tears and now, as his time with us shows signs of ending, it needs to be all about him. Let him be showered with the love that he’s always poured (and occasionally pawed) over all those around him. Let him be showered with love as we watch our strong, always regal, oldest son take three times as long to lie down as he used to. As we listen to those joints creak. As we stop the chemo early when it suddenly builds up and hits him like an out-of-control freight train. As we anxiously feel his neck and under his front legs wondering how long the cancer will stay away.

Plato enjoying the river

But as I listen to Plato’s heavy breathing as he sleeps peacefully beside us I know how much he’s recovered in the past few weeks. I know that right now he’s good. He’s wolfing down his meals again, running out to us again when we return from work, and forever determined that feed rounds don’t occur without him by our sides. And he’s smiling and living and loving life. That’s a good thing.

Categories: Animals & us
Tags: Ageing, Animal healthcare, Chickens, Dogs, Family, Interspecies, Love