WALKIES IN THE FALL

I wrote this soon after we got back to Australia at about this time of the year - one of my favourites. Like Goldilock's porridge, not too hot, not too cold!

 

The dogs leap out of the car. They usually all but disappear into the morning pre-dawn gloom. Just their pale scuts and three patches of grey show where they are sniffing the scents du joure. But  today there is a full moon still shining, casting shadows as they scurry along. It’s a blue moon – the second full moon this month and I’m humming Blue Moon of Kentucky as I follow them. That takes me back about 50 plus years – what was her name? Norma Jacobs, that’s it! She didn’t leave me blue – I never had a clue.

We set off around the oval. A minimum of three laps every day, rain or shine. Well…. shine in summer but not at this tail end of daylight saving. We’re still about ten minutes from sunrise and there’s no sign of the dawn yet. Drizzle forecast: drizzle unlikely. It’s been a strange summer. Coldest night; hottest day; 100 year storm; snow on the mountains; hail in the city. Hail as big as macadamia nuts, as big as golf balls, as tennis balls, as grapefruit. We’re in autumn now and cool weather should be on its way soon. How good will winter be?

Where are the boys? Bilbo is under the bushes behind the  cricket nets. He’s hunting out the cricket balls the cricketers can’t be bothered to find in this throwaway age. His collection at home – more than two dozen. The tennis balls don’t last as long. He thought his Christmases had all come together the day he found an abandoned football on the oval. The other two are exploring their own patches. The grass yesterday was tall enough to hide a small schnauzer. The mowers came in and cut straw is everywhere, apparently releasing delightful aromas.

Other shadows are circulating around the oval. Some have been making this daily trek for 12 years and more. They’re old pals and we’re the newcomers. Some stride out clockwise; some anti-clockwise. Some we meet regularly; some we rarely meet. Our first encounter today is with the Oriental lady Ken calls ‘little lady’ having forgotten her name. She’ll join up with Janine who emigrated from Malaysia at the age of 70 and eighteen years later still battles with English. Their chirping Mandarin always sounds birdlike.

Under the enormous overhanging branch of the eucalyptus now. I don’t walk this way in high winds. That branch will come down one day. The parakeets are still asleep. Soon the sun will wake them and they will screech their way through a breakfast of gum nuts. Julie is scurrying towards me. She has the haste of the White Rabbit and always has a shopping bag. What can she buy at this hour of the morning? Husband Tom is a bushie and seems to wistfully yearn for the country life.

No sign of the Happy Hippos  today. School holidays maybe. Normally, as they lumber around the oval under the watchful eye of their personal trainer my boys eye them, wondering if there is game on for them. There were seven, but only three turned up last week.

We’re walking past the road now. Not much traffic pre-Easter, but the peloton of cycles we see every workday whirs past, heads down pushing up the slight rise. The umbrella ladies, yellow rain suits on all winter, greet the boys. Catherine catches up with them. ‘You’re gorgeous’, is her standard greeting to Gandalf who welcomes her with a yap. Ken limps up as we chat to Catherine and gets his greeting from the boys. His hip op didn’t help much and, widowed last year after 50 years plus he’s a lonely man. Two sons, one interstate, one a wastrel. “Maybe I’ve lived long enough”, he said one morning. Antonia is waiting for him as we complete the first lap. She’s there most mornings.

A cluster of Mediterranean women approach, all in black, all chattering happily. Rudolf, who regards himself as something of a park guard, sniffs them and passes them as friends. On we go. There’s Dexter, the smooth haired husky shining in the moonlight, romping on the oval; here is young Liz, badly injured when she was run down by a drunk driver one evening as she left uni. She’s with Gerda who  gives the dogs a wide berth. Very wary of dogs. Not so Rena who is off to Britain tomorrow and farewells the dogs, telling them she’ll see them on her return. Old Viv with her constant companion, a rescue dog Dolly is waiting for us. Rudolf dashes off with Dolly and I stroll with Viv, matching her slow pace. The doctors still don’t know what is wrong with her, but she is fading by the day.

We leave Viv and Dolly as we get going on the last lap. The sky is quite bright now and details of our surrounds are seen more clearly. The parakeets are in full squawk. Kevin steps out on the first of his eleven laps, waving a greeting, too busy to stop. The Grumpy Man and the Ghastly Dog loom into sight, but luckily go on their way to the shops. We avoid the unpleasantness of  the snarling dog.

All is well with the world as we get back to the car. The boys seem to enjoy their daily walks despite the repetition. Do they ever think fondly of their hikes over the mountains? Surely the scents would be more exciting there? Or is it only humans who find it difficult to live for today?