Knight of Wands
Lottie, 15 September 2010 - 11 May 2025
The day after I picked up the eight-week-old pointer puppy from Brisbane airport, the Mackay-based breeder laughed at me over the phone. "You're going to have fun with this one." She meant it as a warning.
Lottie was the runt of her litter. Her response to being the smallest was to push herself to the front and make sure she got hers. She was fearless. This became her way, and it set her up for life.
I used to think I was good at training dogs based on my experience with Zebedee, the first dog I had from a pup. Zebedee listened carefully and took instruction. What Lottie taught me was that this had in fact been entirely Zebedee's choice—she wanted to follow my lead. Lottie was going to make an entirely different choice.
Our ungovernable friend. I took Lottie to obedience school. One week she would do something incredible, like sit perfectly still as I walked around a huge circle of 20-odd dogs with their humans and returned to her side. Another week, the moment the leash was unhitched she would fuck right off to the opposite end of the park, disrupt the puppy class and refuse to come back.
I learnt pretty quick that she was here to have fun and that what I needed, above all else, was a robust sense of humour. She was the type of dog that would lap up all of the praise when she did something right, but if she did something bad no good could come of telling her off.
She was utterly hopeless on the leash, spending more time airborne than on the ground. But all that mattered was that she got a walk and we both had fun.
My partner at that time was firmly of the view that dogs should do as they are told. They were incompatible. I remember him saying once, "I don't like your dog." At that moment I knew that faced with a choice between the two of them, I would choose Lottie. Ultimately this is more or less what transpired. Good life choices.
Not long after, it became clear that I needed to move to Melbourne in order to stay employed and financially afloat. I couldn't take pets with me immediately so I had to figure out what to do with Lottie.
The only possible answer was to send her to Perth to live with my brother Spike, with his unflinching sense of humour and preference for dogs to be as ridiculous as possible. Lottie lived with him for almost a year until I was renting somewhere I could get away with having a dog.
(Shortly afterwards Spike got his own pointer puppy Mushi, possibly the most ridiculous dog of all time.)
During the time Lottie was in Perth I met Adrian. When Lottie and Adrian met it was like she had met her perfect human. I have the most joyous photo that I took one night when we arrived home late. Adrian is in the hallway, on his knees greeting Lottie with a hug, his back to me. Lottie is looking towards the camera expressing pure happiness.
From this point we were a trio and half of Lottie's story would belong to Adrian. Adrian and I celebrated our wedding at the Dancing Dog Café partly (mostly) because it meant that Lottie could come too.
When we bought our (backyard-less) flat my dad asked, "what about Lottie?" but in truth it suited her perfectly. She was comfortable indoors, always near us, and it meant going for more neighbourhood walks than ever.
We know so many of our neighbours and I'm certain this is mostly due to Lottie. She always assumed that her presence was wanted and was much better at making friends than we ever could be.
We would tie her up outside the Footscray Market or the Coles at the Plaza and more often than not come back to a random person hanging out with her. Once it was girls making V signs and taking selfies with her. Another time we met people who knew her but not us; they had named her Eileen because every week outside the market she would lean on them, assuming the position for some pats.
She was led by her incorrigible will. If she was a Tarot card she would be the Knight of Wands. Lottie Always Wins became the truest truism in our flat.
This phase of Lottie's life lasted more than a decade. At some point during that time she even decided to start walking nicely on the leash. At the beginning of last summer she slowed down and entered her old dog phase, but she kept going.
Every Sunday morning we listen to The Gospel Show on PBS, mostly because we like background music and that's the station our radio is tuned to. If you listen past the music and focus on the lyrics, gospel music becomes indistinguishable from a death cult. So many of the songs are about welcoming death. Packin' up, gettin' ready to go and meet Jesus.
Lottie never packed her shit up. Even as it became clear she was on the home stretch, she didn't coast. She was out there sniffing up the neighbourhood and insisting we go down Lynch Street yet again. When I think about old age, I want this for me too.
Lottie ruled and we miss her.
