Buster was born on a Sunday in December 1999.
He died today.
He is survived by his best friend Lyn, Steven and approximately 4 dozen cricket balls discretely “borrowed” from the West Footscray Cricket Club and buried in his backyard over the past nine summers.
We didn’t meet until 2005 when he was adopted into our home. An x-ray taken in recent years revealed that earlier in life he had been the victim of multiple shootings, with the shot remnants clearly visible on film. Shy at first, he soon proved to be amongst the most loyal, faithful and affectionate of his breed.
He was a hunter of rabbits and a chaser of dreams, forever in pursuit of adventure. In fact, it was his love of both rabbits and adventure that resulted in his near loss two year ago. Whilst holidaying at Somers over the Xmas break he took off into the scrub. After spending three days and two nights in the tea tree and swamp surrounding HMAS Cerberus, he was found on a lonely stretch of beach by a passer-by. Whilst dehydrated and exhausted his spirit of adventure was never diminished.
He once killed a cat, but maintained that this was an accident right until the last:
“The cat was walking erratically, failed to indicate, didn’t check its blind spot and was generally operating in an unsafe manner. That is what led to its unfortunate demise, not the alleged actions of a hypothetical ‘lone dog’.” (Buster Brown, extract from witness statement)
A classic case of being in the
right wrong place at the right wrong time.
In the end it was throat cancer that shortened his life. (Perhaps cricket balls are carcinogenic? Quick, somebody apply for a research grant.)
In recent days, even when struggling himself, he was a comfort to his humans. If they didn’t have so many happy memories it would be easy to miss him…
…he was one of the greats.