Sian Prior

Writer, Broadcaster, Singer, MC & Teacher

Did you lose something? [September 12]

(First published as a column in The Age and Sydney Morning Herald newspapers)

Every telephone pole bears a tragic tale. I can’t even enjoy a simple walk to the beach without having my heart-strings tugged. Right alongside the cheery notices for garage sales there are endless stories of grief and loss.

– Missing Dog: Reward $500. Female Labrador, ‘Cindy’, wool coat, creamy white. Much loved pet and friend. Call this number.
– Have you seen Boots? We miss him. Ginger male, bell and name-tag. Reward offered. Call this mobile.
– Lost – male, de-sexed, four years old. No tags – choker chain. Answers to Wiggs. Please phone.

And every poster sticky-taped to the pole features a fuzzy photo of the beloved pet, perched happily on the living room couch or the matrimonial bed, head cocked to the side or paw lifted in a cute pose. Boots is looking very relaxed, sprawled on a couple of pillows. He’s obviously just had a nice saucer of milk. Cindy is so blurry she could be a small horse. Wiggs is my favourite, a terrier with a look of great intelligence. I bet he could collect the newspaper AND untangle it from that infernal plastic wrapping. But where is he now?

All over this city, pets are disappearing from their homes, leaving their owners bereft. Lost, stolen, or taking a holiday? Maybe Boots has a cousin called Socks in the next suburb and has decided to pay an extended visit.

I stroll towards the strand and on the way I see a woman walking a dog which looks just like Wiggs. Should I make a citizen’s arrest? I could call out ‘wiiiigggs!’ and see if he comes running to me but people might think I’m hawking hairpieces. Besides, this woman doesn’t look like a dog-napper. She looks like she could afford to buy her own brand new latest-model terrier without resorting to theft.

I bet most families in Melbourne have lost a beloved pooch or moggy at some time or another. It happened to our family. When I was young we had a corgi called Buffy. He was old and grumpy and inclined to snap at young children. Still, we loved him. Then one day Buffy disappeared. We searched the neighbourhood but there was no sign of him anywhere, not even a sad, stiff body by the side of the road. My parents told me he’d probably been stolen but it never made sense to me. Who would want a pre-loved snappy old corgi with eczema? Twenty-five years later, part of me still mourns for poor Buffy and longs for the mystery to be solved.

You probably think I’m over-reacting to those rain-soaked posters on telephone poles. The problem is, we get the first act of the drama but we rarely find out what happens in the final scene. Maybe these stories have happy endings. Just like garage sale notices, no one ever thinks to come around and remove lost pet posters when they’re out of date. Maybe there’s a tearful reunion going on right now as Cindy comes bounding down the street in slow motion, creamy white coat rippling in the wind, and jumps into the out-stretched arms of her ecstatic owner. Maybe Boots’ folks came home one day and found him sitting in his usual place beside the front gate, catching a few rays and reminiscing about the good times he’d had with Socks.

I think the local council should pass a new by-law. They could call it the ‘Domestic Pet Tragedy Narrative Closure By-law’. If you stick up a notice advising of a disappearance, then you must advise us of the resolution to this drama, whether it’s good news or bad.
And for those of us with unresolved cases, I guess we just have to learn to live with our losses and try to avoid resorting to cat or dog-napping to fill the gap in our sad, empty lives.

(Stop barking, Wiggs, they’ll hear you.)