Back on Sunday

Cats or dogs - now there's an interesting question. Not one you think would get asked, say in an interview situation yet I kid you not that is exactly what I got asked as my final question in the interview for the job I have now. It had been a long day and up until this point I had been interviewed by 5 different people. The 6th strolled casually into the room and asked me 2 questions; the first quite reasonable, 'why did I have a gap in my CV for 6 months?' - easy answer - I'd been travelling. The second question however was ridiculous; 'do you prefer cats or dogs?'. Dog, definately dog. Clearly the right answer since I got the job. I've since found out the story behind it. Apparently the people interviewing me wanted to throw me off guard a little - my answers until that point had been text book perfect and more annoyingly in their words 'i was too nice'. For those who are interested, it did throw me off guard enough to throw a little sarcasm out there and that was all it took - a little humour to win them over.

The choice between cats and dogs is not a hard decision for me to make. I am insanely allergic to cats. All I have to do is walk into a room with a cat and my face blows up, my eyes start watering and I have to reach for my asthma inhaler to alleviate my sudden inability to breath properly. Cats and I do not get along. They eye me off and hunt me down. There could be 10 people in the same room yet without fail the pesky cat will sidle up to me, all innocent looking yet knowing exactly what its doing and proceed to rub itself all over whatever I'm wearing leaving those horrible little fur bits with me for days. The most amusing thing about this is that I actually grew up with 5 cats. My parents are evil. They thought they were doing the right thing at the time. They bought a cat to ward off the snakes on the farm, to make sure they stayed well clear of the house and 4 young children. They thought they were doing the right thing until that bloody cat had kittens - 4 of them found in the attic. I had no where to run.

Thankfully we also had dogs - gorgeous pets with personality. Freckles was the first, Collie the second and then finally Thomas the cockerpaniel named after my brothers best friend. Thomas was part of the family, one of us. He wasn't the brightest little thing but he was so much fun and as far as he was concerned he was no different to us kids. He wanted to be with us at all times, to eat with us, to sleep in our rooms, to go on holidays with us. And he did on most occassions. Thomas was a pretty self assured little dog. Dad once commented that he was sure if Thomas had the chance to spell dog he would spell it backwards, he was God, the world revolved around his needs and we loved him for it. He used to go to work with Dad on the back of the ute and on one occassion took things a little too far. Driving through the bush in Chiltern, country Victoria, Thomas spotted a kangaroo, pulled himself free of the lead and took a running leap through the air. Dad searched for hours, well past dark, but couldn't find him. We were devastated. Dad more so than us and so the next day he resumed the search and miraculously found the little nutcase licking some serious wounds on the side of the road - he'd wandered back to where he'd last seen the ute. He may not have been the smartest dog in the world but he'd managed to survive an attack that would have killed most animals attempting such a feat.

Thomas is in so many of our stories, in all our childhood photos and even though he's long gone, still very much a part of the Hemming family.

I can vividly remember the day Thomas died. I was camping and got a call from Dad. Holding back tears he told me that Thomas had finally succumbed to a tumour. It was Good Friday. As tears started to well in my eyes and my voice started to quiver Dad told me not to worry, he was pretty sure Thomas would be back on Sunday.