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