On the afternoon of my seventh birthday, I would, as usual, be waiting for my father to come home from work. On this occasion when he turned into High Street where we lived, I noticed that he was carrying a paraffin tin. I ran to meet him and as he wished me for my birthday, he handed me the tin he was carrying. Inside, to my delight, I found a little Fox Terrier puppy. The breed was known a Smooth Fox Terrier (I found out later).
That was possibly the greatest birthday gift I had ever received. My whole life changed from that moment, and I became pre-occupied with him as he took over my life. I only had eyes for him and we became in separable. From the time that I woke up, before and after school I had to have him near me.
Deciding on a name was not too difficult because my father was known by the workers and locals as the āBaasā (Boss or Master) and I was called āKlein Baasā (Small Boss) so my puppy became āBasieā (Little Boss).
Basie occupied my every waking moment, and I couldnāt wait to get home from school. He ābelongedā to me, but in those days, people seem to only recognise horses, cows and sheep as property. Vets looked after the health of farm animals or livestock. As far as I knew there were no pet shops in town selling dogs and cat food on a full-time basis, like you might find today. My mother prepared his food. It was war-time and the adults had other things on their minds.
Soon I was told that his tail had to be ādockedā or chopped off as I understood it. I was not happy about it, but we had to go out to a farm where the vet put his tail on a chopping block and with an axe easily cut it off. Basie did not cry much and there was very little blood loss. I cried a little but my sister, Linda who also came along cried most of all.
One evening after I put his food down and he hungrily started eating I went down on all fours and watched him closely. Then I tried to head-butt him, drawing his attention away from his meal. However, that was not to be! A growl and a bite to my nose provided me with my very first dog training lesson. A dog becomes defensive over his food and will use a growl as a warning and then bite to keep others away.
Basie did not have a collar, and I did not have a leash for him. I also did not have a name tag or Petās Record card for an annual check with a vet as far as I can remember. He was my constant companion and playmate and was free to follow me and come and go around our property as he liked. Everybody liked my friendly dog.
After the war was over and life had returned to normal, people had more freedom to move about. Basie developed many admirers as he was the only dog in our street block. One evening he did not turn up for his for his supper and I walked all over the area calling for him, searching our regular haunts and play areas. The whole family helped in the search but no luck. I was worried but we had no choice but to wait for him to come home. Perhaps he met a nice girl and was a little delayed.
When he did not come back for a few days and it appeared he had not been run over by a car (or we would have known) we thought that someone could have stolen him. He was a very friendly dog and that possibility did exist. Days went into weeks and months. The passing time did not help me get over the loss of my dog and I continued my search.
One evening as I sat alone on a grass patch in front of our house watching the light fade as it became darker, I became aware of a couple strolling up the road with a little girl beside them. I noticed that they had a little dog walking with them. I stood up to have a closer look, because the dog looked very much like Basie. I called his name and the dog turned and started running towards me, but the people he was with, called him back and turned around the corner into the next street.
I ran to call my dad and told him what I had seen. He quickly got the car out of the garage, and I directed him to where I had seen them heading. Slowly we drove along the street and inspected every house for movement. Suddenly I glimpsed a door being closed as if people had just entered. My dad told me to stay in the car and went to the house where he was invited in.
I sat alone in the dark of the car for what seemed ages. When eventually my dad emerged from the house, he was carrying Basie! Our re-union was tremendous. I hugged him and got licked all over. All my dad told me was that the people thought that the dog was a stray and they wanted a doggie for their daughter. He did not feel that further action was needed.
Soon Basie and I re-established our routine, and we all tried to be more certain of where he was during the day. The problem was that I was now playing rugby and cricket and often spent many hours away from home to play matches at neighbouring towns and often came home very late in the evening, especially on weekends.
Perhaps a year or two later, my father announced that he and my mother were going to Riversdale where my grandparents lived, to attend the wedding of a relation. That meant that Linda and I (and Basie) would travel with them in the car. In those days the roads were not tarred, and we often travelled in clouds of dust which slowed down the journey tremendously.
As we reached the beautiful Gourits River bridge, Basie, who was lying at my feet, became car sick and vomited in the car. My dad was irritated because we were already running late and now had to stop and clean out the car. He opened the back door and pulled Basie out, giving him some slaps. To my horror, Basie broke free and ran away.
Once we had cleaned the car and were ready to continue our journey, Basie was nowhere to be seen.
I kept calling him, but he just did not come back, presumably not wanting to be near my dad, nor back in the car. I searched desperately for him although I was sure that the passing cars producing clouds of dust and more noise kept him hiding away.
After about half an hour my dad said that we had to go and would stop on our way back to look for him. I objected strongly but could not stay on my own. I noticed a farmhouse not far from the road and hoped that he would possibly make his way there to find food. I did not enjoy a moment of the weekend and could only think about my dog and what was happening to him.
On our return journey we stopped at the bridge again and I whistled for him. We all called and walked about for a while and then I decided to go up to the farmhouse I had noticed before. I found that it was occupied by a farmer and his family and as they opened the door, Basie rushed out into my arms. They told me that they assumed that he got lost when visitors stopped to take pictures of the bridge.
In the meantime, the net result of my fatherās studies was that he was promoted to run the number one prison in the country in the capital city of Pretoria.Ā We had to take all our furniture, and the only way was to travel that distance at that time was by train. This meant that we unfortunately had to leave Basie with friends in Mossel Bay.
It was during that time he was run over by a car, but amazingly, he made an almost complete recovery. After four years at the maximum-security prisons where he had to be present at the executions, my father once again transferred to become head of the prison in Riversdale and Basie was returned to us.
I went to study after school and was only able to see my dog when on holiday breaks. He had learnt to enjoy car rides, and my dad told me that he took Basie quite regularly for a drive in the car. My old dog was slowing down as he was close to 18 years.
One morning as my dad went to fetch the car, he called Basie to join him for the ride, but he didnāt move from his spot in the sun. As my father reversed the car out of the garage,Ā Basie must have decided to join him, because he ended up under the wheels and was tragically killed.
