I wrote a column a few weeks ago about the passing of one of our family dogs, Sumo, our beloved Staffie.

Left behind was Lilly, a dingo bull-terrier cross, who was at a loss at to what had happened to her old mate.

As the weeks went by we got on with our lives but Lilly really struggled, so it was decided that we needed to find her a mate.

Now my dear wife has the best intentions but could be accused of having quite a few compulsive, excessive traits – and once it was agreed that we were in the market for a dog, she went mad.

It was agreed – not really, it was what she said – that maybe we needed a full-grown dog because Lilly might not warm to a pup.

So with the internet buzzing, I was instructed to have her at the Sippy Downs Animal Refuge at opening time.

She kept mumbling Toto this and Toto that, and when we got there Toto was a hairy little girl dog.

Thank God we needed a boy I thought, but said: “That’s a shame, let’s head over to the Staffie department.”

About half an hour later, I vaguely remember “old mate” saying that Toto was actually a girl, to which I said: “That’s nice, what about Dozer, this nice Staffie?”

Anyway, we couldn’t find a suitable dog so off we went out the gate at the same time as a little girl, with Toto.

The rest of the day was quite unusual as old mate was bordering on rude and every time I asked what the matter was I got my head bitten off.

We went out to dinner and to a play and it was when we were heading home at midnight that I finally was enlightened.

“I wanted Toto, you idiot, Lilly would have loved to have a little dog,” she said.

I offered to take her back on the Monday to get him and was then reminded about the little girl.

So we then had a pretty good argument, which I thought I lost, but the next morning she was on the internet trying to find a dog I would like.

French bulldog, Boston terrier and miniature-bull-terrier breeders were all contacted, and at this stage I was walking with a spring in my step –
( a) because it could be argued that they were no better looking than me and
(b) because I was going to get a dog I wanted, not a four-legged chamois.

But right at the critical time when we were about to order “my” dog, from Western Australia I might add, a wise little voice reminded me of Toto, and reality struck, so I suggested she have another look at Sippy.

As fate would have it, no Toto, but a Cairn terrier called Louie, whose elderly owner had to surrender him because of ailing health.

So the happy ending is the dogs get on like a house on fire, old mate got what she wanted and she has also contacted his former owner – who sadly had to move out of the area – so she can keep him posted on Louie.

As usual Sheila was 100% right, and it warms my heart to see how they are all getting on.

Which brings me to a related subject.

I read last week a politician in NSW moved in parliament that pet shops shouldn’t be allowed to sell dog or cats because it has been proven at this time of year that people wandering through a shopping centre look in the front window of a pet shop, see a nice fluffy puppy or kitten and become a victim of impulse buying. They said, unlike handbags or a pair of shoes, it is hard to take a pet back.

Now that makes a whole lot of sense to me – and I would think the people at Sippy Downs Animal Refuge, 4 Paws and the RSPCA would agree as their kennels overflow with dumped pets.

So I pray a local politician has the courage to follow the lead from the south.
If you really want a pet, and have given full thought to the responsibilities that are involved, ring Sippy Downs 54945275, 4 Paws 0411144689 or RSPCA 54491371.

I am sure you won’t be disappointed.

I know I wasn’t.