Gonzo,
my staffie and office manager, was put to sleep a few days
ago. He was as good an office manager as anyone could hope
for, even with his legendary love of my bucktails and capes.
He only ever went for the expensive ones too. I buried a
bucktail with him – a premium chartreuse one. Chartreuse
was his favourite colour.
He was
fond of many other things too. He loved water. He was a
handful flats fishing though. He never was a big fan of
silent wading. He preferred the “run around often
enough and something will swim into your mouth” school
of thinking.
He was
a boat dog really. Until something came over the side. Then
he was a hungry dog. Or so he would have you believe. Catch
and release was a concept he tolerated more than embraced.
He wholeheartedly
embraced the affections of the ladies, and he knew how to
work the room. He’d pick the soft touch every time.
Usually there were at least two. They would pat him for
hours. I guess he was old school when it came to ladies
– treat them with respect, give them your undivided
attention, show them affection and they would return everything
with interest. It worked for him.
He never
wavered from his duties of being my constant companion.
He sat quietly while witnessing computer meltdowns (and
therefore publisher meltdowns), new software installations,
looming deadlines and many other situations that had everybody
else fleeing for the hills. He walked beside me while I
carried a fly rod in places as far south as the bottom of
Tasmania to as far north as Port Douglas. He was pretty
annoyed when he didn’t get to go to Weipa I can tell
you. His only demands were my company, food, walks and time
with the ladies. And a stick, preferably thrown into water
for hours on end.
He taught
me many things that us humans sometimes forget. He listened
to me without interruption, loved me without condition,
greeted me with enthusiasm and affection and was wholly
and completely loyal. Somewhere between picking him up from
the kennels for the first time and having him lying on my
lap for the last time, he became my best mate. I miss him
already.
Reflecting
on his life got me wondering about fishing buddies in general.
Perhaps if there is a message here it would be to choose
them carefully. Who you fish with is far more important
than where you fish, or what you fish for. A combination
of the three is just about perfect, but without the first,
the other two won’t matter much.
Spare
a moment or two if you would when you finish reading this
issue. He never got to see the final product, so if you
enjoyed it, raise a glass and say, “Thanks Gonzo,
good job.” He’d like that.
Mark Bantich
February 2008 |