I found Fionn after trawling the net, in a prison-like shelter in the middle of the WA bush. Situated between a main highway and a rifle range it was an uncomfortable 37°c. Isolated from the other dogs for fighting, I was taken down a narrow dirt track surrounded by two rushing packs of dogs, snarling and fencing. Fionn was alone, next to a shell pool filled with stagnant water, laced with mosquitoes. Panting on filthy sand, his eyes were cemented together with crusty goo. Every time a gun went off, he flinched. I wiped his face, put a lead on him and took him back through the valley of hounds to meet my family. As we walked through the car park he jumped into the open window of the front seat of our car, sat bolt upright and said ‘Let’s go!’ Surprised, my husband asked ’Are we keeping him?’ I said, ‘Well, I can’t send him back in there.’ He gave us eleven years of pure joy and was laid to rest under the lemon tree. Now before each gin and tonic is consumed, pure hearted Fionn gets a solemn ‘Cheers!’ PS Before we changed it, his name was Lucky.
Fionn and Jane (TAS)
