Paws for thought

It is a privilege to share a house with pets while you are growing up. I remember every animal from my childhood years: my first dog, Woefie, was a brownish wirehaired mutt and we were inseparable. During the day we would tire each other out while playing, and in the evening we would fall asleep snuggling together, happy and content.

Quite a few animals followed in Woefie’s paw-prints. I especially remember George, a cross between a German shepherd (fur and colour) and a St Bernard (size and head shape); and Kallie Kieterkat, a gangsterish stray cat who controlled, and sometimes terrorised, every member of our household, but also crept into all our hearts. He lived to be as old as the hills.

Then, in 1979, I bought my very own pet for the first time. I had saved up for months and eventually, when she was six weeks old, I laid down my R40 – in those days, a lot of money for a Standard 7 kid. She was a Maltese and I christened her Tossels, after her mother

Tossels was by my side through my turbulent teenage years, saw me through matric and eventually, when I left for university, struggled to say goodbye. It was enough to break anyone’s heart. My mother would recount how, for the