by Mij Tanith

A while ago, my housemate Sue and I adopted a couple of elderly dogs.

They were a bonded pair, rescued from who knows what horrible conditions, and nursed back to health by a wonderful couple working with Scruffer Lovers.

He was a deaf Maltese Shitzu cross, with only one tooth. She was a tiny, frail long-haired Chihuahua, completely blind.

We kept his name, Marley, but needed to change hers, as we didn’t think Marley and Marla would work. We considered a multitude of choices. You know how it is when deciding on a dog’s name. And then suddenly, when one of our Afghan friends was visiting, I knew what to call her. Pashmak, the Persian word for fairy floss.

*Pashmak (left) and Marley (right). Pic: Mij Tanith*

The first time I took Pashmak to the Park Lands, she refused to walk. Maybe she didn’t think she could, or didn’t know how. Maybe there was something wrong with her legs. I took her to the vet, who gave her the all-clear, at least in the leg department.

I carried her her back along the footpath the next day, and the day after, for a week or more. Each time, I’d put her down her gently in a different Park Lands spot, wait while she sat immobile, and then pick her up and take her home.

*One of the dirt trails in Golden Wattle Park / Mirnu Wirra (Park 21 West) where I would take Pashmak*

Soon, though, the penny dropped, and she began to walk, short distances, and slowly, but it seemed she was beginning to enjoy the exercise. One day a woman stopped me at the corner and offered me a dog pram. “My Mum’s old terrier has just died, and she’d like to see someone else use it,” she said. Wonderful. I accepted.

And so a new routine developed. Each morning I’d collapse the little red pram (with a click of a button you could lower or raise it for the dog’s convenience) and Pashmak would step in. Blind as she as, she knew what she was doing.

*The sugar gum avenue in Golden Wattle Park /Mirnu Wirra (Park 21 West)*

We’d walk to Golden Wattle Park /Mirnu Wirra (Park 21 West) by far her favourite ramble, and I’d let her out. Most days it took us an hour to do the circuit from the South Terrace/Morphett Street corner, along that beautiful avenue of sugar gums, along the narrow dirt tracks through the native bush and the pine grove.

*Pashmak walking (blindly) on one of the dirt trails in Golden Wattle Park / Mirnu Wirra (Park 21 West)*

Pashmak was intrepid. Mostly, she walked off-lead, guided only by my voice. She’d push through tangles of grass, back off and find alternative routes when the going got too tough. Never impatient or defeated. Only occasionally did I have to rescue her from a tricky patch of undergrowth. Even after she was savagely mauled by a brute of a dog, and with the wounds on her back and flank still bandaged, she loved to walk.

There’s a special place along one of the tracks, a circle of native pines with a number of large logs and a tree stump in the centre. I’d stop here most days to sit on the stump and meditate, while Pashmak waited patiently at my feet.

Remember the time the Government planned to build police barracks in Park 21 West? Many of the trees, including some along the avenue of eucalypts, were marked with paint, destined for destruction, I could only assume.

I couldn’t erase those paint marks, but I could remove the yellow-tipped surveyors’ stakes that appeared at the same time. And in the end, overwhelming public support for the Park saved the day.

Pashmak is gone now, succumbing to old age and grief, three weeks after her beloved Marley died.

But I still walk those paths, still sit on the tree stump and meditate, grateful for the memories, grateful too, to all of those who rallied to save this beautiful place from becoming a police barracks.

*Pashmak, me, and my baritone ukulele. Pic: Mij Tanith*

The author of this article, Mij Tanith is a writer and activist known for her work supporting refugees and asylum seekers in Adelaide, particularly through the Circle of Friends Australia Inc.