LUKE, our Rottweiller, was so exuberant he kept leaping with excitement. His 40kg frame was a bit much for Aura, who at less than half his size was nearly always bowled over.
Reluctantly, we decided Luke had to go. The classified ad ran for three days, after which Kate interviewed more than a dozen families. Eventually Luke moved into a new home with the Pienaars of southern Johannesburg where he now lives quite happily.
Leia, our other Rottie, was devastated. She searched our house and garden for Luke and when he was nowhere to be found, she began to mope.
So we meandered down to the SPCA. In cage E10, a scrawny but feisty brown Staffie caught our eye.
She was a two-year-old who had been found wandering the semi-industrialised Kew area. And after she rolled over and licked our fingers, we decided what to call her.
"Her name's Yoda," Kate said.
Fair enough. Sci-fi fans know Yoda's gender was never really established.
Leia was brought out of the car to meet Yoda. And they licked and sniffed and got along just fine.
So two evenings later, Yoda came home with me. Once home, she reintroduced herself to Leia, licked Aura several times, and made herself comfortable in Aura's room.
We sent both dogs outside, closing the doors. And we returned to Aura's room, and there was Yoda.
"How did she do that?" Kate wanted to know. We let her out again, and hey presto, there she was.
The runt was leaping up onto the window sill -- at least twice her height -- and squeezing through the burglar guards. We began to close windows. And then Yoda saw Phish.
Our tortoise-shell cat had joined us as a kitten in 1987 while we lived in the United States. She moved with us to Italy, and then followed us down to Durban. Well travelled. Snooty...
Yoda didn't care for any of this. A streak of brown lightning shot through the house. There was an almighty scuffle. Kate yelled, Aura screamed, and I found myself hanging on to an extremely strong Staffie with her jaws firmly clamped around Phish's abdomen.
I wrapped one hand around Yoda's throat to try to make her let go. Phish, fighting for her life, sunk her teeth into what she thought was Yoda -- my hand -- and locked on.
I staggered towards the shower, slamming Yoda's head against the door. Yoda let go of Phish, Phish let go of me, and I let go of Yoda. Phish shot off in the general direction of the front door.
Grabbing Yoda by the collar, I stumbled to the bathroom to run water over my bloody hand. Yoda began to howl pitifully from the pain of an ear that had been substantially clawed by Phish. And Phish was nowhere to be found.
We locked Yoda in the bathroom. I poured Pepsi over my hand and guzzled a half-litre of Savlon. (Or was it the other way around?) We went outside to find Phish up the mulberry bush, grumbling.
So I pushed the car over to the bush, and Kate hopped onto the bonnet to reach up and get Phish down. We bundled her up, stuffed ourselves into the car, and headed for the vet.
We looked a sorry bunch. My hand was steadily oozing blood. Kate had long bloodied claw marks along hers. And Aura had a tear-streaked dirty face.
The vet shot Phish full of Valium and antibiotics and admitted her for the night. She had a broken rib.
We in turn headed over to the emergency room where we submitted to the indignity of tetanus jabs and antibiotics.
Yoda returned to the SPCA the following morning. "She's a lovely dog," I said. "She's great with kids, but should not go to a home with cats."
Phish came home this morning, cussed as usual, responding to Leia's greeting with her usual disdain.
So we showed her... This evening, we brought home a new family member -- a six week old Golden Labrador pup.
"What's her name going to be?" we asked Aura.
"Her name's Antler."she said.
A cat named Phish and a dog named Antler? My hand still hurts, but not as much as my brain...