Parisian Tails. Stephen Hayes

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СКАЧАТЬ my way around the TAFE the previous year.) We went over the ground rules, what I could expect, what I shouldn't expect, and what I would need to be able to do.

      We then went for one of the strangest walks I have ever experienced in my life. Trajan walked in front of me and slightly to the side, and he was holding one end of a bar while I held the other end. In this manner, he guided me around the neighbourhood, all the while measuring my typical walking pace and analysing my gate and walking style. He then put me back on the waiting list where I would remain for another seven months.

      In February 2007, by which time I had resigned myself to what could be a seemingly interminable wait, I received a call from another SEDA trainer (let's call her Hadrian), saying that they had found a potential dog for me — a ‘lovely yellow Labrador', as she described it on my voicemail (she called me while I was in a university lecture). Two days later, I met Paris for the first time.

      Meeting Day

      It was a Friday, the 2nd of March in 2007, exactly nine years to the day before Paris's final work walk. It was a beautiful sunny day and I had gotten home from university in the early afternoon in preparation. After some email correspondence with Hadrian, we agreed that I would take a little test-walk with the dog, whose name I hadn't yet been told, before making a decision on whether or not she felt right for me (such as her height, her pace, and even her personality, to a lesser extent).

      Hadrian rocked up in a station wagon around three or four in the afternoon, I forget exactly when, and took me out to the car where Paris was sitting in the back. My first thought upon hearing that her name was Paris was one of hilarity, because although I was told that she was named after the city, I couldn't help comparing her, in my mind, to Paris Hilton—and the fact that she was a blonde dog didn't help that. We even joked within the family from then on that Paris's middle name ought to be Hilton.

      I was strangely shy when I first met Paris. Even though she was a dog, somehow it felt like I needed to make a good first impression on her. I think I succeeded, because when she was finally standing on my driveway, panting away, I reached out to pat her—and she promptly jumped up and head-butted me in the face. Hadrian told me to tell her to sit, and she immediately obeyed me, still panting and trying to lick my hand as I patted her. She was very excitable on that first day, and she had found a very typically Paris way to break the ice.

      I was shown how to put the harness on her, a process I wouldn't master until the training officially began, and then we went for our first walk together. It was immediately clear that her height was perfect for me, so that wasn't going to be an issue. She did walk a little quickly, perhaps because of her excitement, but by slowly raising and lowering the handle of the harness (a technique drilled into me during training), I was able to encourage her to temper her pace.

      I wouldn't go as far as saying I fell in love with Paris on that first day, but I knew very quickly that she was the dog for me. I don't think I was necessarily anxious not to go back on the waiting list again, although I certainly didn't want to; but even if that hadn't been a factor, I still would have chosen to proceed with Paris. Not only had she demonstrated that she would be obedient (not always, but I would learn that later), but it was clear that she liked me quite as much, if not more, than I liked her.

      When we returned from that first walk, Hadrian loaded Paris back into the car. (She never set foot inside my house on that first day, nor did she meet anyone else in my family.) We then talked and it was agreed that I would start my training in five weeks.

      Furry Friend

      Even though I patted Paris's head on that first day, I didn't notice, not then at least, just how soft she was. I was more concerned with getting my own nerves under control, and making sure she wasn't going to jump up and knock my teeth out, to think about such things. I certainly would notice, though, and not before too long either. In fact, I would say that Paris's coat in general was a source of pride for me, because part of how nice it was, was down to my discipline in grooming her every day, and bathing her fairly regularly. I would attempt to memorise the feel of her in the time since, and especially in the weeks leading up to her death, so that I would never forget what I wouldn't be able to touch anymore.

      While Paris had hair on her body, in most parts, it was easy to refer to it as fur—and in fact, we did that much of the time. It was especially soft on her head, which was as smooth and soft as velvet; and even more so on her ears, which were so perfectly smooth and soft if stroked downwards. My older sister Alysha would compare them to ear flaps on hats—which seemed appropriate, given that they were ear flaps. Occasionally, something small would get stuck in the hair (fur) on her head or ears, and it would always be easy to feel because of how soft and smooth they were.

      Patting Paris would always be a great source of enjoyment for all of us, but Paris wouldn't always make it easy. She never bit, but she loved to lick, and she would almost always try to lick your hand when you went to pat her. Her tongue was very big, wet and slobbery. Her nose too was almost always wet; it would be dry and leathery if she had been asleep for a while, but it would usually be cold and wet, and would give you a considerable start if she came up to you and touched you with it.

      It wasn't just her head and ears that were soft either; it extended to cover most of her coat. The only part of her that really wasn't ‘furry’ was her belly, which was pink and mostly hairless, and not a part that most people wanted to pat—although I didn't have a problem with it when I rubbed her belly. My younger sister Molly would describe the hair on her back as being like straw, and that may be on the right track; but if so, then said straw was very soft. The hair on her chest and muzzle was equally soft, and even on her snout and down her legs—although in those latter cases, the hair was shorter.

      Then there was her tail—her paint-brush tail, as Alysha described it on one occasion, or an otter-like tail on another occasion. Her tail was moderately long, ending in a bit of a point. It was thick and solid, though, and quite strong when she really got wagging it. If she got excited while she was lying down, you would hear it thumping on the floor; and similarly, if I were in my bedroom and Paris in the lounge room, I would occasionally hear her tail thumping against the wall as something got her excited. It was quite normal to ask Paris to stop making such a breeze against our legs, especially over dinner time. Her tail could create such a breeze that she could sweep loose papers off a coffee table when she really got going.

      2015: Paris at play; free-running at the park.

      Arrival

      Paris moved into our house on the morning of the 6th of April. We had arranged it so that I could undergo as much of my training while missing as little of my university studies as possible. Friday was Good Friday, a public holiday, and the following week was my mid-semester break, making it the ideal time to cram in as much training as possible. The usual system at SEDA (at the time) was for new trainees to move into a house they owned, and stay there with their dog for three weeks for training, but they were flexible in my case; I was able to stay in the house for only one week, and then complete the rest of my training part-time while still attending classes.

      The arrival of Paris couldn't come soon enough for me. I was in a difficult situation at university; I had struggled through the first five weeks of it without nearly enough O&M training. Vision Australia, the most well-known vision impairment-related charity in the country, didn't have anyone available to assist me because I had left it too late to book someone. In this manner, I had missed a few classes here and there because I had been unable to find them; turned around and gone home one day because people had erected what could have passed for an obstacle course on the main thoroughfare; and actually dropped a couple of subjects because the pressure was СКАЧАТЬ