If Animals Could Speak: Laugh, Cry, Enjoy

By Chris Gray and Owen Evans

If Animals Could Speak, the first in a series of books for animal lovers, covers stories about my menagerie
during a nine year period starting in January 1974. During this time my animal companions included five
dogs, five cats, three horses and assorted fowls. One dog was rescued from rising floodwaters. A young cat
and an even younger pup were saved from starvation. One dog was adopted from an animal shelter and
a 'disposable' kitten was given a loving home.

The stories are based on fact but of course the 'conversations' are my interpretation of what I've
witnessed. Many tales are humorous since animals of all species and ages can be truly amusing. However
life doesn't always go according to plan and as a result some of the reminiscences are quite sad. Most
however, just tell the story of my animal friends being themselves and displaying their own sort of
intelligence and wisdom, patience and compassion, curiosity and sense of adventure.

If Animals Could Speak seeks to answer many questions. Have you ever wondered what animals think
about? What are dogs saying when they bark at each other? And what do birds twitter about as they cheep
and chirp to one another? Over the years I've chosen to stop, to watch and to think about the actions and
reactions I've witnessed. Along the way I've made many interesting discoveries and have come to the
conclusion that animals react to the world around them as best they can with their limited understanding.
They can definitely communicate with us and so I've had fun learning their 'language' and translating it
into human-speak. I've also learnt a lot about dog-think and cat-think.

Also included in the book are stories about the mistakes I made as well as the lessons I learned. In
addition I mention attitudes that have changed over the decades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9780980718713

Book preview

unnoticed.

PART ONE

SUBURBIA

The Rescue of Blackie

January 1974

Little did we know early in 1974 that Cyclone Wanda would deliver us a wonderful surprise. You’ve no doubt heard the saying, Every cloud has a silver lining. Well, in our case, this proved true. Wanda crossed the coastline just north of Brisbane in late January, dumping her payload on an already flooded region. The central business district was partially submerged and half the suburbs suffered the same fate, or worse, when the creeks and river burst their banks.

The dam wall of the city’s main water supply threatened to collapse under the strain. After much soul-searching, the authorities gave the order for the sluice gates to be opened. Many more suburbs downstream were severely affected, but if the dam had collapsed the loss of life and damage to property would have been unimaginable.

Thousands of families were forced from their homes with little warning as the floodwaters rose. Communications were in disarray, leaving many people not knowing for days if their loved ones were safe. In the chaos, pets were often left behind as they couldn’t be found in time.

Closer to home, the flood deepened its hold on the hundreds of hectares that lay between what should have been the river and our suburb of Moorooka. One night during the catastrophe, Mum and I were out checking on the rising water. Not far from our place, the land dipped sharply and all we could see above the water in this low-lying area were the rooftops of two-storey houses.

Suddenly, a movement caught Mum’s eye. In the gloom, we made out a black dog struggling to drag himself to safety. He must have seen the lights of the State Emergency Service operations centre and had focused on reaching that beacon of hope. We rushed over and hauled the exhausted animal onto dry land, stroking him to soothe and reassure him. When we felt he’d regained a little of his strength, we encouraged him to follow us home as we had no intention of leaving him alone and frightened in the downpour. Back home, we towelled him dry and fed him leftovers from the fridge.

Mum, my cousin Andy and I were renting a ground floor unit that had a No Pets Allowed policy, so we couldn’t take on the full responsibility for the dog. Local radio stations were advertising lost and found animals through the floods, but I didn’t think to add this dog to the list as there were so many displaced animals. I have always regretted this oversight on my part.

As the days passed this dog, who was about 18 months old, proved to be a typical Labrador: boisterous, friendly and eager to please with a mountain of affection to give. We quickly discovered this handsome dog was happy to take life as it came. When it came to giving him a name, we made the obvious choice of Blackie. His winning ways soon had our neighbours falling under his spell. Everyone was happy to contribute to his daily meals and he quickly worked out who had time to give him breakfast and who preferred to give him dinner.

Blackie also befriended our local milkman, who did home deliveries. I never did find out this fellow’s name but he was a kindly, gentle and simple soul, who greeted everyone with a smile. Each day after making the milk delivery to our block, the milkman picked up a companion who joined him for the remainder of his run.

About a month after they first met, it became apparent Blackie decided this fellow needed him more than we did. One evening as the milk deliveries were made to the units Blackie came and sat in front of me. He had a Very Serious Look on his face. As the milkman passed us on the way back to his van, Blackie looked from me to his friend. He did this several times and he was clearly becoming agitated. Then it dawned on me what he was asking. I squatted down so I could look him in the eye and said: It’s all right Blackie. Yes, I understand you want to go and live with your friend. He’ll be much better company for you and I know you’ll keep an eye on him. With that I gave the lovely dog a big hug. Just remember where we live so you can still visit us every day. Off you go. In response Blackie wagged his tail as hard as he could and gave me a great big doggy kiss up the side of the face. So Blackie left us and went to live with his friend.

Even though he was no longer part of our immediate family, Blackie fulfilled his part of our agreement and came to visit while the milkman made his daily deliveries to the units. I noticed Blackie’s personality had gone through a subtle change because he lost a lot of his boisterousness and became much gentler. We assumed this was because the dog understood his new friend needed quiet and gentleness in his life, not a dog who was likely to knock him off his feet. As the months went by the neighbourhood got used to seeing the milko driving slowly around the area with his black Labrador companion with the waggly tail following close behind.

In late March, we rented a two-storey house a few streets away and hoped we would meet again with the lovely black dog. One day, Mum was home from work and saw him trotting down the street behind his friend. She called out to Blackie and received an enthusiastic greeting in return. After that, the Labrador would regularly check in at our place on his rounds, always happy when he found someone home. More about those visits shortly.

In the Land of Ned

August 1974

One day in late winter, I happened to be visiting a friend while his daughter was feeding their cats. Suddenly, a black and white cat appeared from the bush and came running in to try to get some food. The girl tried to kick the poor animal and yelled at it to go away. I ran over and pushed her away from the cat and asked what she was doing. Her response alarmed me: He’s the grown kitten of one of the house cats and I hate him. I’ll kill him if I ever get hold of him. I suggested she had no right to deliberately injure the animal, let alone kill it. We had to ‘agree to disagree’ on that point.

The cat was still hanging around, hoping to get at least a morsel of food. Naturally, I didn’t know whether he was feral and bent down to pat him, speaking in a gentle and kind voice to try to settle him. Even so, I was half expecting to be shredded or at least scratched. Understandably, the poor creature was a little nervous but his true nature shone through and I found him very friendly as he began to purr and nuzzle my hand. When I asked my friend if I could take the little cat home, he said he was only too happy to have found someone who wanted him.

That night, after an early dinner, Mum and I drove back to fetch the cat. We brought a standard cardboard box with airholes and lots of string to tie it up. Catching the cat was easy as we brought some cat biscuits to tempt him and that did the trick. Getting him in the cardboard box was not so easy, however, as Neddy (we’d named the cat even before we picked him up) had definite ideas about what was acceptable and what was definitely Not Going to Happen! Trying to calm him, I repeated quietly: It’s okay, little one, we’re not going to hurt you. We want to take you home with us and to do that we have to put you in this box. It really won’t hurt you.

Although he didn’t try very hard to scratch or bite me, he wriggled and twisted in his attempt to escape. That box was clearly a Very Frightening Thing to Neddy. In the end, I’m not sure whether he gave up through sheer exhaustion or realised I was a friend and he wasn’t going to be hurt. Whatever the reason, he relaxed just enough for me to get all 14 legs, three heads and five tails into the box and close the lid. Suddenly he exploded again, hissing and muttering all sorts of catly curses. Mum and I worked together to tie the box up so it was secure enough for the drive home. I can’t say that Neddy settled down much during the drive home but at least he didn’t shred the box from the inside. Now, that would have been interesting to have him loose in the car.

We arrived back home with all three of us still intact. Because I’d put Neddy in the box, I decided it was my responsibility to lift him out rather than let him explode out of his confinement under his own steam. I hoped this would help him trust me and it’s a policy I’ve followed throughout the years. That was the plan, at least. After closing the kitchen door I removed the string and started to open the box. All of a sudden, it was as if there were several black and white cats in the kitchen. How one cat could go in three directions at once is still unknown.

As suddenly as he’d started, the whirlwind stopped, sat down, looked us in the eye and said: Hello! He waited to see what was going to happen next. So I fed him some mince, which went down very well, so to speak. That settled it; he was here to stay. My first feline companion had arrived and was to prove a loyal and loving friend.

Neddy’s First Night

Neddy’s first night with us was cold and windy. As you know I had let him out in the kitchen. From there, a door led to the back landing to two other doors: one to the toilet and one to the back steps. As we didn’t want our new arrival to wander off, Mum and I decided to shut him on the back landing when we went to bed. With the toilet door open, he could lie on the mat for a bit of extra warmth. Compared to his previous lodgings in the bush we guessed he was going to be pretty warm and comfy regardless. Before I headed off to bed, I carried him downstairs so he could go to the toilet. He was glad to do a wee. Never having had a cat before, we didn’t even think of giving him a sand tray let alone kitty litter.

I was woken in the night by a thumping noise coming from the landing and went to investigate. Poor Ned was desperately trying to cover up a bad case of diarrhoea deposited on the toilet mat. He’d managed to unravel the whole roll of toilet tissue hanging on the wall. When that failed to cover his mess, he’d dragged the spare roll from the behind the bowl. Then he added the toilet brush and holder to the pile. None of them covered his indiscretion. The ‘thumps’ I heard were his unsuccessful attempts to add the corner of the mat to the pile.

As I appeared in the doorway Neddy wasn’t sure if he was going to get into trouble for making a mess. He sat next to his collection of objects looking miserable, poo all over his front paws, just waiting to see what was going to happen. I could see him thinking: I’ve really blown it now. As if I could be mad with him. Yes, he’d made one hell of a mess, but it was my fault it’d happened.

I realised we’d fed him more food in a night than he’d probably had all the previous week, so of course it was going to go straight through him. Add to that a possible case of nerves and in hindsight I could see there was only one way things could have turned out. But I hadn’t thought this would happen and neither had Mum. All I said to Neddy was: It’s okay little one, it’s not your fault. How about we get you cleaned up?

He looked up at me as if to say: You’re really not cross with me? I did my best to tidy things up but it just didn’t work out the way I planned.

For obvious reasons I carried Neddy at arm’s length downstairs to the laundry. I ran some warm water in one of the tubs, grabbed some rags and gently washed his feet. He was so relieved I wasn’t cross with him. Instead I continued to speak quietly, reassuring him everything was going to be all right.

When he was clean, I dried him off and we had a big cuddle. He finally relaxed and seemed glad to snuggle into me. He rewarded me for my concern and understanding with a Very Loud Purrr. I concluded there was nothing for it but to leave the back door open in case he had to go to the toilet again.

Before I went back to bed, I had to clean up the mess waiting for me upstairs. Luckily, that didn’t take too long as I just picked up the mat with all its bits and pieces and put them in a large plastic bag in the rubbish bin. I splashed disinfectant around on the floor and wiped things over with clean cloths. Once everything was clean, I wrapped Neddy in an old towel from the laundry and carried him upstairs to the toilet where I settled him down on his new bed. Fortunately, no one else was woken by the noise.

I got up early the next morning to see how Neddy had gone during the rest of the night. There wasn’t any more mess but there wasn’t any sign of a black and white cat either. I wasn’t all that worried as I hoped he was just exploring. I figured the best way to attract his attention, other than calling his name that he hadn’t yet learned, was to rattle the box of cat biscuits. A few seconds later, a black and white head appeared around the doorway.

Remember me? he asked nervously. I’m the one who made that mess last night. But I really didn’t mean to. You weren’t mad with me then. Are you angry at me now?

I walked slowly over to him and picked him up. I’m not mad at you Neddy. You are a Very Clever Cat to try so hard to cover up your mess. Everything’s fine my little friend. How about some breakfast?

He looked at me with a puzzled expression: What’s breakfast? he enquired.

Breakfast is Food, I explained. So is dinner, and often you’ll even get supper.

Wow!! he said. You mean I get food every day. Hey, I like this place. And you, he added.

With that, I put some cat biscuits in his dish. He hastily gobbled them up, just in case I changed my mind. When Mum and Andy arrived in the kitchen for their breakfast, I certainly had a tale to tell about the night’s events.

Before I left for work, I showed Neddy around under the house and pointed out several comfortable spots he could try during the day. The house was an old Queenslander and, in traditional style, its ground-level section was enclosed with timber palings. I knew these would help Neddy feel secure but