Nova's Tale

In the movies they always make a big deal of asking what the prisoner on death row wants for their last supper. They can have anything thing they want (I’ve always thought a shotgun and a helicopter would taste GREAT!). It would be an impossible decision for me. Even when Danielle asks me what I want to eat on my birthday I have trouble answering. She’ll stare at me, her eyes aglow, and I’ll mumble something about lasagna. But it’s not even deciding on the meal that gets me, it’s the idea that you would somehow be able to enjoy it knowing you’re the next thing to be cooked. Let’s assume you have one meal that you would choose above all others – one meal that is your absolute favorite. You’ve ordered it and the guards have delivered it to you and it is the embodiment of perfection (just like Dani’s lasagna). You had an idea of what it would smell like, look like, and taste like in your mind’s eye and it has surpassed all of those expectations. So you tuck in.

With each mouthful of delicious food you become more aware of the guards behind you. Maybe one of them coughs (like an asshole). You know that every bite you take gets you closer to your last. You know that this is your last meal, there is no turning back. How can it taste like anything more than ash?

Soldiers Point was our ‘last meal’ and it was spectacular. The caravan park was empty and so we were able to pick the most incredible spot overlooking the water below. Nova could run free and there was no one around to complain. 20 feet away from our spot was the beach which looked to run endlessly into the distance. You could tell we were close to Sydney now – there was no mistaking this for one of the huge, wild beaches of the north. There were cottages all along the shore, boats moored at predetermined intervals, docks jutting out onto the water, and people walking along the sands. It sort of encapsulated this trip: moving from rural North Queensland to metro Vancouver.

We spent our days exploring the beach, drinking wine at our caravan, fishing off the many piers, and generally just enjoying life. It was the absolute perfect place for our trip to end. The only hitch was the guard standing ever behind us. The constant awareness that this was the end of it and that in the next few days we would have to pack Nova into a wooden box, cross our fingers, and hope he made it to the other side of the world in one piece. Soldiers Point was one of the best parts of our entire trip, a meal to be remembered for sure, but was overshadowed by the implications of what lay directly ahead.

In Sydney we stayed with our good friends Ron and Debbie. We enjoyed some great hikes along the Northern Beaches and Nova got to know Cassie, Ron’s female boxer.

JetPets would be taking care of transporting Nova from Sydney to Toronto and they came with a pretty convincing referral. Back in Townsville it had been none other than our storied breeder Lynda who had recommended them to us. JetPets had a great website, friendly staff, and posted photos on their Facebook page every day featuring animals they had transported all over the world. They were all we could hope for in a pet transportation company but even so, it was hard to not be worried about the coming trip. We were scheduled to fly out on the Thursday but we had to drop Nova off on the Wednesday prior. This gave JetPets time to monitor his diet and get him prepared for his journey. It also gave us time to de-Nova the van before we took it back en route to the airport.

We piled into the van on Wednesday and headed in to the JetPets office. We arrived at a warehouse and were not quite sure what to think. The parking lot was tiny and there was no office, just some big loading doors. In the lot there was a van with a few caged dogs in the back. The dogs were going a bit ballistic – barking and banging around in their cages trying to get out. This certainly wasn’t the JetPets we had envisioned.

Inside we met with a young man who said he had been expecting us. He didn’t greet Nova but directed us to a kennel where we could put him. He asked me to take off Nova’s collar and so I did. I was trying to do everything he asked and just not think about what was happening so that I could hold myself together. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel any great sadness or worry when I locked the kennel door behind Nova. He turned around in the kennel and then came back to the door. He looked up at me, didn’t bark or whine like the other dogs, he didn’t jump up on the gate, he didn’t lick me, and he didn’t sniff me. He just pressed his nose to my hand through the kennel fence and looked at me.

I have long held to the idea that, when communicating with animals, it is up to us to listen to them, not the other way around. We’re the ones with the capacity for rational thought, we’re the ones capable of learning a new language, yet we spend so much of our time trying to get them to understand us instead of working to understand them. To me, his message was plain as day. He knew I had to go, he knew he had to stay, but he wanted his last meal to last as long as it possibly could. He pressed his nose into my hand and connected us. It was a tenuous connection and a brief one, but it was all he had so it was enough.

There was no easy way to break away so I simply reached through the fencing and scratched him under his chin before pulling my hand back and walking away. From the corridor we could still see him in his kennel. Next to him was another dog – a teacup Yorkie which would have easily fit in the palm of my hand. Nova’s giant head was pressed against the fencing and this tiny dog was right up Nova’s nose, sniffing and licking the big German Shepherd without any sign of fear or reproach. Nova seemed content to be sniffed and licked for a few minutes but then decided he would have a lick himself. His tongue collided with this miniature pup and sent it rolling end over end to the back of its kennel. It came right back up, tail wagging, and started assaulting Nova’s nose anew. From our concealed vantage point we witnessed the whole encounter and laughed.

Laughing helped release some of our nervous energy. We relaxed and let the JepPets rep give us all the details of Nova’s upcoming trip. He would rest there over night and then fly out near the same time as us the following day. He would go directly to Vancouver where he would be let out of his kennel and given time to exercise and eat. The following day he would be packed up again and flown from Vancouver to Toronto where he would arrive only 45 minutes after us.

We left JetPets without shedding a single tear. Neither of us could believe how unattached we had managed to be the entire time. The rest of the day went by fairly quickly too and before we knew it we were up in our room packing our final two bags. Everything was tucked away in its own place and we were just distributing the last few pieces in various pockets and pouches. A squash racquet tied to a ruck sack, a power cord jammed in an outside pouch. It was during this process that I spied it. Poking out from beneath the dresser off of which it must have fallen was Nova’s red woven collar. I picked it up, raised it to my face, and inhaled.

Like smelling a bunch of fresh cut roses in winter, walking past a bakery on a diet, or smelling the sea when you’ve been trapped in the prairies, my head exploded with sensations. The scent was him leaping through the tall grass in the field next to our house, it was him burying his huge furry head in my lap as we laid on the sofa, it was him trotting after Danielle with a sock in his mouth as she tidied the house, it was him looking at us with a tilted head as we made silly squeaky noises, it was him pressing his cold wet nose gently into my hand from the other side of a chain link fence. I held out my hand to Danielle and she lifted the collar to her face as well. The tears were immediate as the memories all came crashing down on us both.

We like to have reasons in our lives. We like to be able to say we did the things we did for a purpose. To this day I still can’t put a finger on why we had such a strong reaction to the smell of that collar. Maybe we were releasing pent up energy that we had been building over the previous days. Maybe it was our way of celebrating the time we had with Nova over the past year. Maybe we were more worried about this trip then either of us would let on. Or maybe it was something much simpler than that. Maybe we were just like millions of other people around the world.

Maybe we just loved our dog.

The south shore of Nova Scotia is a special place. There are the countless coves, inlets, and bays that make up the shoreline. There are the pristine lakes, beautiful hiking trails, and lots of hidden shops, cafes, and artists to visit. And while all of these things sound lovely, they do a poor job of explaining what makes it so special. I described it as Canada’s best kept secret to an Australian friend and when he pressed me for details on why it was so great, the best I could do was to tell him he just had to visit for himself. It’s not all the specific things you will find there, it’s more of an intangible feeling. It’s how welcoming and honest the people are. It’s the fact that you can wander in to an unassuming shack, have a fresh lobster dinner, and listen to live music simply because someone brought their guitar. Describing it to people is like explaining what the color blue looks like. It’s blue; you just have to see it for yourself.

We were on our way back to the caravan park when we spotted a boathouse and an empty parking lot. It was the parking lot that caught our eyes. The building was rather unassuming: maybe a place to buy a mooring or a fishing permit before launching your boat. The parking lot just didn’t fit though. It was too big for a simple boathouse and so we went in to investigate.

Leaving Nova in the van we wandered up to the door and discovered it open. There was a patio that wound around the length of the building and jutted out over the water. Inside there were tables scattered about – some with two seats some with four. There were various decorations on the walls and a display case by the door with newspaper clippings in it. The clippings were all referring to a local restaurant which kept winning awards. There in the middle of the display was a menu populated by all sorts of delicious dishes.

A man approached us and I commented that this place looked awfully like a restaurant which was confusing as we had been told at the caravan park that the Leagues Club was the only one in town.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He said, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. “What a wanker that guy is.”

“Well actually it was a lady who told us.” I told him.

“I’m surprised you could tell the difference…” He responded.

We both grinned and I knew I was going to like this guy.

As it turned out we had stumbled in to what was a bit of a local legend. They were famous for their fresh seafood dishes and relaxed atmosphere – precisely what we were looking for. Dani and I grabbed a table and, after an invitation from the proprietor, brought Nova on to the patio so he could relax with us on the other side of the glass. The place was empty except for us bit it didn’t feel empty. Somehow it just felt cozy.

I have no idea what I ate other than it was spicy. I know the wine was red and there was lots of it. I remember only parts of various stories the owner shared with us and how the giant pelicans teased Nova by gliding by on the water below his perch. It wasn’t the food or the wine, wasn’t the character of our host nor the décor of the restaurant; it was the experience that was truly gratifying. It was the way a complete stranger made us feel like we were visiting our oldest friend in the world. It was as close to the south shore as I had been in years.

We hit the road once again the next morning recharged by our discovery the night before. As the days passed and we travelled farther south the weather changed as well. By the time we reached Nambucca Heads it was downright cold. It didn’t help that there was this perpetual drizzle hanging around either. It was as if mother nature was there with her shoulders slumped after a long and crazy night out with father winter and some mischievous wood nymphs and she just couldn’t be bothered to figure out any proper weather. So she just tossed out some drizzle and went back to bed. Lazy sow.

We quickly noticed another irregularity about Nambucca Heads, and our caravan park in particular. Everywhere we went within the exceptionally well groomed site we came across signs that seemed to have been designed by grumpy grandparents: No Running! No Loud Music! Common Area Closed at 9:30pm! As we explored the site more we discovered that this was because, if you didn’t count Danielle, Nova and I, the average age of the people in the park was dead (when you factored us in it dropped to 78). Everywhere we looked there was pasty, wrinkly skin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that mind you, we just felt – different. And I was a little concerned that we had stumbled upon a bizarre community of old people who had figured out how to live forever by luring in young travellers and then sucking their life force out of them while they slept. Nova didn’t seem concerned though so I chalked that idea up to excessive fatigue and an active imagination.

We left the elderly vampire colony to explore the surrounding beaches of Nambucca Heads. First we headed down a concrete pier which was surrounded by all sorts of giant painted boulders. We never did get the low-down on where they had come from but did enjoy all the different styles and messages decorating our walk. I’ve always found those sorts of community projects really uplifting. The pier ended with some undecorated rocks and Nova was quick to discover giant colonies of crabs lurking beneath the boulders. He would poke his nose in and they would all surround his big black muzzle and lift their claws in the air. It may have been my imagination kicking in again, but I could have sworn I heard a collective “F*** OFF!” from the little buggers. We explored more beaches until the unrelenting drizzle finally drove us back to our caravan for the rest of the day.

The next day we packed up and took our rolling accommodation up the highway to an off leash dog beach that had been recommended to us. The skies were gray again but there were patches of blue poking through at random intervals – the lazy sow was sobering up it seemed. We navigated down a steep road that looked like it would just drop off at any point and finally made our way into a parking lot adjacent to yet another spectacular beach. Hopeful that we would be graced with some good weather, we ventured on to the sands.

The weather was spotty but it didn’t matter. Nova bounded up and down the dunes like a demon and Dani and I watched a flock of birds dive into the water and come flapping back out with fish. It may have been dreary but it was peaceful and natural and relaxing. On our way back to the van we spotted a few dogs coming our way on the beach. It’s always great to run into other dogs – there’s something about running with another dog that you just can’t replicate – but at the same time I’m always wary that not all dogs are friendly.

Nova had no such misgivings and sprinted straight for them. One dog didn’t respond but the other immediately took off. I have seen a lot of dogs running for fun and a lot of dogs running for fear and I knew right away this was the latter. The new dog was not enjoying being chased and Nova seemed oblivious to this. I called him off and something happened that has never happened before.

He completely ignored me.

I called again and again, increasing my intensity but he was fixated on the rear end of this new dog. She was getting more and more anxious and I knew that if he caught up to her she was not going to welcome his advances. Soon I was shouting like a complete lunatic which of course did nothing to help the situation. It was luck that the dogs ran by my legs and I managed to grab Nova as he went by. I threw him down on the beach and grabbed the scruff of his neck. Pinning him there while the other dogs took off. I let him know exactly how pleased I was with him. He looked confused.

I snapped his leash on and all but dragged him back to the van, furious. I tied him to a post and Dani and I got in the van. I knew this was his worst punishment – being separated from us so that he couldn’t see what we were doing or be a part of it. I huffed around the camper and made us some lunch. We heated up some soup and had a beer to wash it all down and finally I relaxed a little bit. I knew I shouldn’t have let him charge up to the other dogs, that it was my fault for not controlling the situation from the start, but being ignored like that really set me off. Still, Nova was just doing what his instincts told him to do. Was it really fair to punish him for a situation we created? We decided to go rescue him from his punishment and move on.

I opened the van door and took in Nova and his punishment. It was a scene from a postcard. The beach calmly lapping at the gorgeous shoreline in the background. Blue skies had parted and were now spreading above Nova’s head. A ray of sunshine was literally landing on his head and warming up the pavement. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he smiled at me. It was as if he was saying: “Oh, hey dad! It’s great out here, why don’t you guys come and join me?”

So we did.

Tags: australia, dog training, German Shepherd, pet stories

It’s hard to garner sympathy for run-of-the-mill problems when you’re living in the tropics. When the majority of your friends and family are suffering through blizzards, icy roads, foggy mornings, or never-ending gray skies, they are quick to point out that they would gladly shoulder your burdens in exchange for a morning beneath the palm trees. Life in the tropics does have its perks but as with any shiny new possession, eventually it loses its luster. It’s human nature to take even the greatest gifts for granted after a while. So you would forgive Dani and I if we walked over the last sand dune and arrived on the spectacular beaches of 1770 and weren’t completely blown away. You would understand if we saw just another tropical beach, just another magnificent shore line, just more palm trees swaying in the breeze.

Fortunately we have a secret weapon.

Precisely 2 seconds after we made it to the beach he came bounding over that same dune. In a spectacular display of limbs, sand, and fur Nova stood triumphant at the top of the sand pile. He surveyed the rest of the beach and a maniacal grin spread across his face.

I don’t know if it’s the way sand feels beneath his paws, the smell of the salt water, or something else we can’t detect, but something about the beach sends Nova into an absolute frenzy. He sprints from the dune to the water, from the water to Dani, from Dani to me, back to the water, up to a piece of drift wood, picks it up and shakes it violently, throws it down and sprints back to the water, shakes his head in the surf, sprints back to Dani, through her legs, sprints over to me – all the while sending up a giant rooster tail of sand behind him. He’s a non-stop tornado of excitement.

We travelled like this up and down the beach, laughing and chasing each other. We discovered beached blue-bottle jelly fish, shells from countless sea creatures, crabs alive and dead, and a wondrous amount of treasures we couldn’t identify.  The three of us shared a childlike sense of wonder and amazement for our findings, driven by the pure exuberance of our dog. Our morning on the beach of 1770 was postcard perfect.

Brisbane followed 1770.

We planned to visit friends, see the city, and enjoy her sites. When we arrived I was instead transported back in time to my one and only gymnastics lesson as a young boy. I had asked to go, had wanted to go. I wanted to do flips and cartwheels and be a ninja. So my mother had enrolled me at the local Y and I was thrilled. When I arrived I immediately recognized that something was wrong. I stood head and shoulders (and then some) above everyone else there. Out of the 30 or so kids there I was the one and only boy and had at least 3 or 4 years on the rest of the class. Not to be deterred, I spent an hour jumping over balance beams at calf height, doing summer saults on a blue mat, and generally standing out like a sore thumb. A big, awkward sore thumb.

It was the same story in Brisbane. Our family and our camper van fit in about as well as a 9 year old boy in a gymnastics class for 4 year old girls.

We left early on Sunday and made a break for the New South Wales boarder. Now that we had been on the road for a handful of days we were all used to the routine. Nova was finally content to sit in the back and watch the world go by. Dani and I took turns driving and generally accepted that we would hit the road first and figure out where we were going second. We took a page out of Nova’s book and lived the day that was in front of us, not the one following, nor the one just passed. We would pick out places on the map either triggered by friend’s recommendations or our own curiosity, and drive. We visited surfing hot spots, rugged fishing towns, and beach hamlets.

After a night of free-camping we pulled into a nameless beach town in northern NSW and parked the van. We all piled out and went for a saunter around. It was a truly spectacular day – blue skies with the sun warming everything just enough. We found a grassy hill and sat down for a snack of bread and cheese. We spent an hour snacking and watching the surfers try and tame the rolling waves below. As the sun climbed higher in the sky we decided to get back on the road. We grabbed some flat whites at a local café and wandered back to the van.

I didn’t see it until we were almost at the van but when I did, my heart sank.

Within this van was packed every single thing we owned in this world. Our laptops, clothes, precious belongings, even Dani’s wedding dress. As we got closer there was no mistaking what I had spotted. The window above the side door had been pried aside and the screen torn away. While we were picnicking on the hill and ordering coffees, someone had been breaking in to our van.

It’s an awful feeling. That moment when you realize that you have been done, that it’s over and you can’t go back and stop it. You feel helpless and violated all at once. There was nothing for it but to unlock the van and see what we had lost.

“Wait a minute,” Dani stopped me before I opened the door, “what did you just do?”

“I unlocked the van, what do you mean?”

And then it dawned on me. Why would someone pry open the window and rip off the screen to break in to our van only to close the door and lock it again behind them? Hope stirred in me.

Sure enough the inside of the van was exactly how we had left it. Our bags were still snuggly packed away. The wedding dress was untouched. The laptops were right where we left them. Nothing had been moved or tampered with in any way. So what was going on here? Did we perhaps come back in time to interrupt the would be thieves? It was a mystery that would not remain unsolved for long. I walked around to the drivers side and Dani put Nova in the back as we prepared to hit the road. And then Dani started to laugh. Through her giggles she called me back over to the side of the van. I did and couldn’t help but laugh with her.

No one had tried to get in to our van after all – instead someone had been trying to get out.

Sticking out of the now screen-less window was a giant head framed by a furry black and gold mane. His expression was blank, perhaps his best attempt at nonchalant innocence: “What? Are we not going? Let’s go.”

With the case of the missing screen solved we hit the road once again. Nova was more than thrilled with his exploits and was now thoroughly enjoying his new found freedom. In the front of the van I picked a random caravan park off the map. It was on a peninsula of land sticking out like a finger pointing north. There were beaches on all sides of the finger and a caravan park at the end. It had great potential.

We arrived in darkness but even without light to go by we could tell this place would be a dud. Beaches were more mud than sand, the houses were run down, the roads were poor, and there was virtually no sign of life. We checked in to our caravan park and discovered it to be just as lacking as the small town. Apparently this was a popular place for fisherman to stay because they could easily launch their boats and get to some great surrounding waters. From the shore though, there was not much to do.

We asked after a store but were told the closest was 30 minutes away and most definitely closed at this hour. Our only option was a Leagues Club which had a $6.99 steak and chips dinner on offer. I like a bargain as much as the next guy but I also wasn’t about to risk a day of driving with angry bum – an unavoidable side dish with $6.99 steak and chips.

We drove through the town (which took less than a minute) and were just about to resign ourselves to a dinner of crackers and cheese when we stumbled upon something rather unexpected.

There, in this flyspeck, rundown town, we found a little bit of home.

Tags: beaches, dogs, German Shepherd, GSD, travelling with a dog

There are some mornings when you wake up and feel as if your bed has enveloped you in a massive, pillowy embrace throughout the night. You don’t dare move for fear of spoiling the sumptuous moment of extreme comfort. No alarm has gone off and you have woken up simply because you are done sleeping. Sun pours through the window and bathes the entire room in a warm glow. You take a deep breath, hold your eyes closed a moment longer, and relish in this moment of supreme bliss.

And some mornings you wake up naked in the back of a van at a truck stop.

Our rental van shook each time a truck barrelled past us on the highway. Despite this, all three of us managed to sleep well in to the morning. The physical exhaustion from hours of driving mixed with the mental exhaustion of the previous day’s events apparently outweighed the chaos of a road-side truck stop. We slowly came back to life and emerged to another day of typical Queensland weather – blue skies and sunshine. After getting ourselves sorted with some cold breakfast we climbed into the cab of the van to make a plan for the day. Our main objective: get as far away from Bowen as possible.

As we rolled out of the truck stop and back on to the Bruce Highway a familiar sound emerged from the back of our van. It was a cross between anxious huffing and a confused whine. We hadn’t gone a kilometre before Nova jumped up on the divider. His ears were flat against his head and his eyes were wide, almost frantic. He tried desperately to dig his nails into the counter top with no luck. After a few moments of scrambling he slid back down to the floor. It goes without saying that we are doting dog owners, but we also try to maintain boundaries and limitations with our furry bear. On any other day, in any other van, we would have kept going and let him work out being in the back on his own. He would inevitably come around and accept that he was riding back there, away from us, and relax. But this wasn’t any other day, this was the day after a horrific start to an epic journey.

We pulled over to the side of the road so I could hop out and open the back door. As soon as the door was halfway down the roller track I was slammed back by a giant bundle of excited Nova. Every part of his body was working to help achieve one, unifying goal – connect his tongue with my face as many times as possible. It was one of those moments you experience with your dog where it is impossible not to feel loved. We joined Dani back up in the cab and took to the road once again.

Having an 80lb German Shepherd in the very small cab of a Toyota HiAce caravan immediately posed some challenges. And some safety hazards. Nova wanted to sniff every surface, explore every crevice, and discover the purpose of every single button. His giant bum would be pressed against the dash and windshield while he shoved his big head behind the seats.

“Hey, there’s a peanut back here!”

Then Dani would get cut off and hit the breaks and all of the sudden Nova’s bum was in her lap and his face was on the floor.

“Hey, what do these pedals do?” And we were off again.

Finally I got him into a somewhat acceptable position with his head on my lap and his body laying (mostly) on the seat between us. This gave me enough time to dig out our Caravan Parks Guide and try and find a place to stop that night. Going on a vaguely recalled recommendation from a friend and a few positive reviews in the book, we set our sights on a town called 1770. It was originally called Round Hill but was renamed to 1770 as a tribute to James Cook who apparently landed there in, you guessed it, 1770. Most things in Australia are named after a handful of explorers who were first to the land and so these sorts of commemorations are not exactly rare. More important than any of that, 1770 had a dog-friendly caravan park.

With Nova settled the rest of the  drive went smoothly. He would occasionally sit straight up in the middle with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and join us in watching Queensland’s landscape change. The cane farms gave way to epic rolling tundra spotted with cattle and kangaroos. Cars heading in the opposite direction would inevitably spot Nova as they passed and we made a great game of identifying the exact moment he was noticed. A kid’s face would light up and he would point. A wife would poke her husband’s shoulder and laugh. A stone-faced truckie would give us a big smile and a wave. We lapped it up and the miles drifted by.

We pulled off the highway at dusk and onto a side road following a sign for the village of 1770. The gas tank was nearly empty and we had next to no light left but we figured we were close. After another 30 minutes it was completely dark and the brightest light on our dash was the fuel gauge telling us that were absolutely, undeniably, out of gas. With no other options we ploughed ahead and hoped for the best. For the first time on our trip, luck was with us. We coughed into 1770 on fumes. We rolled in to a petrol station and refilled our now barren gas tank. We then took the opportunity to get some supplies: food from a local store, some beer and wine from the bottle-o next door, and directions to the caravan park.

The place seemed nice enough when we got there. It was dark so there wasn’t much to see. The owners greeted me and gave me the rundown of the facilities and before we knew it we were parked on our site. There was a water connection for refilling the tanks in the van, a power outlet to connect the camper and charge the accessories battery, and lots of green space for Nova to run around. While Nova and I walked the grounds, Dani set up our site and put together a meal. We washed down a prawn stir-fry with some cold beer and then worked out what we were going to do over the next few days. We decided to spend another night in 1770 to allow us to get our bearings and make a longer-term plan for the rest of the trip. We also both agreed that we could use a day to just relax.

That night we all slept like logs.

Some mornings you wake up naked in the back of a van at a truck stop. Some mornings you wake up refreshed, not daring to move for fear of spoiling the feeling of pure bliss that is coursing through your body. Our first morning in 1770 was definitely one of the latter. My eyes opened and everything else stayed completely still. I looked to my side and Dani was there, eyes open, and smiling in the early morning sunlight. I asked how she slept as a courtesty because I could see it plain as day that she had slept just like me. Even Nova, who was usually the first one up and busy encouraging everyone else to join him, simply laid still at the end of the bed. His eyes drifted half open, looking from Danielle to me and back again. When he heard us talk he stood up on the bed, arched his back in a long, glorious stretch and then lay down the other way with a yawn.

The previous day’s events might as well have not occured. We were well rested, in our own caravan, with two weeks to spend exploring one of the most glorious coasts on the planet. We were already two nights into our trip but that was just a technicality. Today would be the first, true day of our epic journey – and this was just the start. Over the next few months we were going to travel down the east coast of Australia, fly over the Pacific Ocean via Fiji to Vancouver, Toronto, and Ottawa. Then it would be another epic roadie through the Rockie Mountains to open a new, unwritten chapter in our lives on the west coast.

But first, breakfast.

Nova added a lot to my life. When I was feeling down, he would make me smile. When I struggled with one of life’s curveballs, he taught me simple lessons to help me keep going. If I wanted to go climb Castle Hill he would be with me the entire way. He was always there, always wanted to be part of whatever was going on, and always wanted to please. But there was one thing he did that was more important than any of that.

He made Danielle smile.

Dani is a happy person by nature – always quick to see the glass as half full instead of half empty. In fact, if left alone with the glass for any extended period of time, she would most likely convince herself (and then you) that the glass was at least 3/5 full. You know what, it’s pretty much up to two thirds if you squint. Her smiles aren’t hard to come by but the ones Nova got out of her were different. They were the ones that you have no control over, where you couldn’t stop them if you wanted. If I was kidnapped and a man told her that if she smiled when she went home to Nova that day that he would splatter my brains all over the walls, well get our your squeegees because I’d be a goner. So you can imagine my shock when I realized that she had a third love.

Her love of making lists.

I’ll admit that I have never seen her smile while making a list, but surely no one would do something so regularly unless they loved it. If there was no list on my whiteboard, the fridge, or the dining room table it’s because Dani was away and had been for some time. You would think this would make me an expert at completing lists but alas, it isn’t so. Instead, I have determined the precise number of things that need to be done on a list to avoid being assigned a new list and yet not anger the list-maker. It is a science to be sure, and one that I have spent years perfecting.

Our pending move from Australia to Canada gave Dani goosebumps at the sheer number of lists she would get to make. There was so much to do and, with her working every waking hour of the day to finish her thesis on time, the jobs fell to me and Nova. Each morning we would review our tasks for the day and get to work. With so much to do, I had no choice but to abandon my slacker-science and try to tick off everything I could. Luckily, I had a partner to help lighten the load. Together, Nova and I prepared the house for inspection, visited our local utilities suppliers to cancel accounts, dropped off items to charities, and started organizing our two-week campervan trip to Sydney.

Then, suddenly, it was moving day. One day we were happily selling kitchen items and enjoying going-away parties, the next we were frantically cleaning the house, ditching the few items we couldn’t sell or give away, picking up the van, dropping off the car, and generally making a hash of everything. Dani’s lists had been abandoned early in the day and even my usual cool demeanour was fading. Even Nova seemed out of sorts at the end of the day. Instead of following us back and forth to the van he just laid in his bed looking rather dejected.

At 8pm we loaded the last of our gear into the back of our camper van and made a break for the highway. We were 8 hours behind schedule but were determined to make a dent in our journey on this first day. We spent the first hour of the drive getting acquainted with the van and trying to get comfortable. Then we began to talk about the massive elephant in the room.

It was all over, we would never come back to Townsville and our final day had been nothing like we planned.

We hadn’t gotten to say a proper goodbye to many of our friends. We hadn’t taken one last walk along the strand. We didn’t get to head up Castle Hill for one last hike. We didn’t drop in to Bowen Road Vets to say goodbye to Judy, Paul and Yvette like we had promised. We never got that one last photo of the three of us outside of our house with the van – a photo which was supposed live in infamy above the fireplace in our next home.

As we talked I glanced over at Danielle and saw tears gathering in her eyes. I felt a lump growing in my own throat and tried to concentrate on the road. It was just such a shock that it was all over so suddenly. It was so rushed and now it was gone. From behind us we heard a quiet whimper. The van had no way to access the cab from the rear and so Nova was trapped back there until we stopped. The only way he could see us was to jump up on his back legs and peer over the counter. Dani called out to Nova and I heard him jump up to lean on the counter. In my mirror I saw his ears pressed flat on his head, his eyes were wide, and he was scrambling at the counter trying to get closer to us. He let out another whimper and disappeared below the counter. I realized that Nova would never see Harry again. That we never went out to see Lynda one last time either. Nova would probably never see her again.

“We can turn around?” I suggested.

The van was silent for a few minutes. We didn’t say anything, just listened to the sound of tires on the road and the occaisional whimper from Nova. We went a kilometer farther down the highway, then another, and then another. Both of us wanted to turn around, to go home, to see our friends, to feel safe, but we stayed silent. Maybe it was because we didn’t think we could form the words without breaking down or maybe we just didn’t want to give up. Whatever the reason, we didn’t say anything and we just kept going.

It was late when we arrived in Bowen. I took us to the waterfront where we could park for the night and get up early to keep going in the morning. Nova had eventually relaxed in the back of the van but was no less excited to get out when we stopped. As I stepped on to the sidewalk I came face to face with a sign explaining that there was absolutely no overnight camping on public land in Bowen. I showed Dani and we both slumped. We were defeated. With no energy or will to fight any more we climbed back in the van and drove back through the town. I found a quiet spot on a back road next to an empty field and we decided to just go for it. Like a pair of zombies we prepared the back of the van, unravelled our sleeping bags, and passed out. Tomorrow would be a better day. We would get up early, have a nice breakfast, and start this road trip out properly.

At 3am something banged on the side of the van. We woke immediately and everyone stayed very still, trying to figure out what was happening. Then it came again, three loud bangs as someone hammered an object against the side of our van. Nova was up like a flash, hair standing on end with a low growl forming in his throat. I pulled a curtain aside slowly to see a uniformed security guard beat the butt of his flashlight against our van a third time. This time Nova responded with a series of ferocious barks. Great, I thought, now there’s no pretending we’re not here.

I moved to the door and slid it open, using my other hand to restrain Nova. Right away I was blinded by a flashlight in my face like I was some sort of criminal. I felt anger rising in me and prepared to verbally assault this jerk-off. After the day we had this was the last thing we needed and I was going to let this guy have it. I turned to give him a piece of my mind and as I did I truly saw Nova for the first time. His lips were curled back, teeth completely barred, and  he was fixated on the man holding the flashlight. I was suddenly aware of the pressure on the hand I had pressed against his chest, that he was pushing back. Hard. The man took one step back and Nova, sensing his hesitation, his fear, let out a low, menacing growl. The full gravity of the situation hit me and I realized that this could get serious quickly. I relaxed my body, took a breath, and felt Nova mimic me.

The security guard proceeded to be a complete asshole. He began by accusing us of deliberately provoking him, insulted me repeatedly, and finally through a $200 fine and a camping leaflet at me. I had tried to reason with him at first but when I realized he had the ticket already written I resorted to giving as good as I got. I took all my frustrations from the day out on this guy – if I was going to get a ticket, by God I was going to earn it. Finally, he got in his little car and drove off with a final warning: if we were still there in 20 minutes we would get another ticket.

Dani and I stumbled back to the cab of the van and drove out of Bowen. I made it an hour down the highway, fueled by pure rage, before pulling off amidst a bunch of transport trucks. We nestled in between them all, hiding our little camper,  and climbed into the back to fall asleep. We slept well, safe in the knowledge that our trip had to get better from here.

It sure couldn’t get much worse.

It was the Greyhound buses that really amazed me when I first arrived in Australia. I wasn’t so much amazed by the fact that I had to ride in one, quite the opposite. The trip from Cairns to Townsville is 340km via the Bruce Highway which is touted as Australia’s main highway – It’s even called the 1. So no, I was not amazed that I was going to do this journey on a Greyhound crammed in with other poor, sweaty degenerates. I wasn’t amazed that a trip that would take 2.5 hours by civilized transport in a civilized country was scheduled to take over 6 hours. I was simply amazed that Greyhound buses existed here.

I figured that they would have buses, I figured they would be very similar to our buses, but I never thought that they would be exactly the same. I was literally on the opposite side of the world – surely things would be completely different here? Soon we were passing through Cairns and driving past MacDonald’s restaurants, Subway sandwich shops, and Burger Kings – except they were called Hungry Jack’s here – all the same places you see in Canada. I began to come to the obvious realization that of course things weren’t drastically different here. We shared so much of the same culture, so much of the same influences, and our societies were founded on many of the same principles that it was inevitable that our countries would be so similar. It was one of those realizations that you never really admit to having because they are so obvious. Voicing them would only earn you responses like: “Yeah … what did you expect?” To which your only recourse is to point excitedly into the distance and shout “Sweet Jesus, what is THAT?!” and then run the other way.

So everything was largely the same but all the little differences began to add up. Like summer giving way to fall one leaf at a time, one degree cooler each day, North America gave way to Australia. Burger King became Hungry Jacks, Chevrolet became Holden, and pickup trucks became utes. Even our house was full of small differences. At the end of the day it was a building with walls, a roof, a bathroom, kitchen, and bedrooms – just like any other house. But it was built on stilts to catch cool breezes and let flood waters pass harmlessly below. It was not insulated in any manner whatsoever, and it had all the archways and latticework that are so characteristic of a Queenslander. Small differences on their own, but they added up to big change. We rolled with the punches and soon were comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road, forgot all about tipping for services, and were even calling our Queenslander house a real home.

But when it came time to usher in another era of change we were reluctant. Change was no stranger to us at this point. Even coming to a country so similar to our own there were enough small differences to make it a big deal. We always knew we would be leaving Australia and were excited to get back home, but we also felt like we had finally settled in. It wasn’t that we thought we couldn’t handle the coming changes, or even that they wouldn’t be worth it. It was more like that feeling you get before you go to the gym – you know it will be worth it, you know you can do it, but sweet Jesus this sofa is comfortable.

Sometimes, though, you just have to get on with it.

While Dani started organizing our wedding I began the task of unloading all of our worldly possessions. I came up with a plan to post all of our belongings on one of my blogs and then promote the site instead of promoting each item individually. I was away for work when I had the idea and was so impressed with myself that I called Dani right away to tell her of my brilliance. She humoured me by agreeing with the idea and then went on to tell me of Nova’s adventures since I had left. He normally drifts into a funk for a few days when one of us leaves but he was doing better this time. The repairmen had come to fix our deck and had spent the last few days repairing, building, painting, and taking their lunches outside on our deck. The whole while Nova would sidle up to them, investigate their progress, or just plop down onthe edge of the deck and watch them work. They all got very used to him and by the time they finished the work there were some fond farewells for the beautiful blonde lady and her giant German Shepherd. I couldn’t help but smile at the stories. I also couldn’t wait to get home.

Over the next few weeks I got the website up and Dani took Nova around the neighbourhood and university to put up posters. The responses came very quickly and there was hardly a day that went by without someone coming by the house to pick up a bike or a table of some sort. Nova would greet everyone at the screen door with his tail wagging in overdrive. We practiced getting him to wait in his bed for the people who weren’t so sure about the big dog, and with others we let him go introduce himself (normally directly to their crotch). We met old professors, stay-at-home moms, university students, highschool kids, and even a young father who turned around before leaving to ask: “Hey, have you seen my son? Where did he go?”. Dani shrugged, Nova wagged his tail, and the man left. We assumed he found the boy eventually. Soon our bed sold, our washer went, my entire home office was gone, the dining room set disappeared, and eventually we were down to a futon and the outdoor set.

As each piece of furniture left the house we couldn’t help but feel a bit sad to see them go. We always knew this would happen and so we had tried to only buy the things we would absolutely need but even so, you get attached to these things. There was the barbeque that I had got a celebrity discount on after the kid at the store recognized me from a presentation at his school. There was the filthy sofa we had bought at a huge discount due to its condition only to invest an hour of time and a bottle of cleaner to return it to showroom condition. And then there were all the things that had been Nova’d.

Dani coined the phrase when, as a puppy, Nova had caught his paw on her necklace and dislodged a small diamond. We never found the stone and the necklace would forever more be lopsided but she would cherish it even more from that day. She had a really cool stool for her make-up desk that had one leg chewed from when we left Nova alone for too long as a puppy. There was the side of the sofa that always had dog hair on it because it was his favourite place to plop down. There was the pedal of my bike that had been chewed and chewed until it was just a mass of rubber. Each of these marks, scratches, and signs of Nova passed through our doors and ventured out into new homes to be marked by other lives. Each item was small, almost insignificant, but together they represented a big portion of our lives.

I came into the bedroom after we sold our bed and found Dani already curled up under the covers. We had put the futon mattress on the floor and would keep that as our bed until we moved out. Nova was there too, thoroughly enjoying the fact that our bed was now at his height. He had his legs draped over Danielle and looked up at me with a look that said “You can’t tell me to get off! This is the floor! I’m on the floor, dad!”. I didn’t argue and got into bed with my family. I laid there and listened to Dani and Nova sleep.

Through all the changes, all the people coming and going, all the furniture emptying out of our house Nova had remained the same. He didn’t care about the sofa, didn’t care about the bed or the washing machine, and he certainly didn’t care about barbecue. As Dani and I got melancholy at all these changes, Nova just kept wagging his tail. At the end of it all he was the most resilient of us all. All he cared about was whether Dani and I were there and when we were going to get to go play outside again. It would take a lot more than selling furniture to rattle his cage.

The next day we got the details of Nova’s travel plans from JetPets – the pet transport company that would arrange all of Nova’s transport to Canada. He would fly from Sydney to Vancouver, have a layover, and then continue on to meet us in Toronto. The flight to Vancouver would be about 15 hours and during the entire flight he would be confined to his wooden crate. In Vancouver he would be let out, excercised and fed, and then crated again for the final leg. We were assured that he would be fed only a minimal amount of food before the trip so that, at most, he’ll only have to pee in his crate. Still, that’s a long time to be stuck in a box.

Dani and I shared our concerns with each other, “I hope he’ll be ok.”, we said to each other, “I hope he’s not too worried about where we are.” Deep down we knew better. We knew we were just passing our own concerns off on Nova. We were really wondering if we would be ok without him, we were hoping we would make it to him ok. Deep down we knew he was resilient, he was hearty, and he was hard to shake.

He would be fine – he was Nova.

I woke up early in the morning. The wind was still wild outside but the rain had stopped and the house was no longer shaking so violently. Dani and I had stayed up through the worst of the storm and, despite the deafening crashes, the roof seemed to remain attached. Eventually I had managed to take a page from Nova’s book and get some sleep.

Dani was still sleeping when I woke up and so I quietly slipped out of bed to set about assessing the damage. Despite my best efforts to be silent, Nova’s ears perked up as soon as my feet touched the floor. He stumbled lazily out of his bed, dug his claws into the floor to anchor himself, and enjoyed a full-bodied stretch capped off with a big yawn. Blinking he looked up at me with his tail lazily drifting from side-to-side as if to say “Sup Dad, what are we doing today?”.

Today, we see how much of our house has been destroyed, I thought.

Nova plodded after me towards the kitchen door, pausing on the way to lick Danielle’s face until she rolled over to face the other way. In the kitchen I got my first look at Yasi’s handiwork. The window looking out over our deck is simply covered with a screen for the bugs and some wooden shutters for privacy – definitely not weather proof. This was evidenced by the puddle of filthy water that had pooled on the floor. Nova sniffed it and moved on. I flicked the lights witch on and off with no result and moved on to the deck where I learned what had caused all the terrifying noises the night before.

Our house is at the end of a dead-end street. We have neighbours beside us, an elementary school behind us, and a sports field on the other side. Yasi had come from the direction of the sports field which meant there was nothing to slow down the storm before it hit our house.  On that side of our house the railing of the deck was completely missing. The rest of the railings had taken a beating too and there was no side that wasn’t missing a post or three. I carefully peaked over the edge and saw what was left of our railing sitting in the field below. Nova peeked out through some of the missing posts and then looked back at me with his tongue hanging out as if to say, “Cool!”.

I also noticed some fibreglass sheets littering the fields. Hoisting myself up on what was left of the railing I looked up at the roof and saw that a good portion of the roof of our deck had been torn off and destroyed as well. Probably the cause of the banging and tearing we had heard from the roof last night. All-in-all though, the house seemed to have survived well. The deck could be repaired easily enough and nothing big was destroyed. As I looked to my neighbors it seemed to be the same story there as well. The only exceptions were the trees.

Everywhere we looked there was another tree down or destroyed. In the elementary yard there was a massive mangrove tree split straight in two. The cemetery was almost unrecognizable due to the mass of branches and debris. Nova and I decided to explore out front and were almost blown over by the wind. Crossing the road to the cemetery field we spotted a fallen branch that had taken down the power line for our road. We would not be getting power back any time soon, it seemed.

While I toured the cemetery field, picking up as much debris from our deck as I could find, Nova bounded around like a kid in a candy store. He was ginning like an idiot and running from one stick to another. It wasn’t debris to Nova, it was just more stuff to pick up and play with.

We spent that first day cleaning up our house and trying to set things back to normal. Our power stayed off for the entire day but we lived in a fairly affluent part of town and knew from past experiences that our suburb generally had its power repaired fairly quickly. That afternoon I took Nova out for a walk to see how the rest of the town had faired. As we made our way through the streets of West End I began to realize the scale of the damage.

The good news was that it did seem to be largely the greenery that suffered Yasi’s wrath. The bad news was that there didn’t seem to be many survivors. Every second tree we saw was either down or half the size that it used to be. Every single street had at least one tree down over a power line, some had many. Power poles themselves were down in some places and parks were just masses of destroyed trees and branches. Signs had been blown straight down, letters had come off walls, and cars had been crushed under fallen trees. It was destruction on a massive scale. And there was no power anywhere.

We ran into people as we walked and traded stories where we could. Most people were already busy cleaning up their yards, houses, or parks. SUVs were parked up on curbs or sitting in the middle of streets, people walked in the middle of roads, and more than one person was having a drink to pass the day’s work. There was a general disregard for the more common norms of society – not in a chaotic way, but in a way that suggested there were bigger concerns right now than parking tickets. I unclipped Nova’s leash and let him go explore the wreckage of a local park.

We quickly fell into a routine in our electricity-devoid lives. The sun rules everything when there is no power, it controls the two factors that you rarely think about when you have power: light and heat. When the sun’s light goes out, you just turn on your own. When it’s heat fades away, you fire up your own. And when the sun’s heat is too much to bear you flick on your air conditioner and cool everything down. When these things are taken away though, you’re left at the mercy of that burning ball of gas, drifting across the sky.

In the morning we would wake with the sun. It became incredibly refreshing, maybe because it felt so natural. Our stove was gas powered so I could still cook which meant we would enjoy great breakfasts of pancakes or eggs – a definite bright spot of our day. The rest of the day would be spent listening to the radio, cleaning up the debris, and playing card or board games. Nova would come with us everywhere and when we sat down to relax or cool down out of the sun he would curl up on one of the decks and watch the world go by.

After the second day we had to clean out our fridge and move to the coolers. This meant I had an additional daily trip to get ice from the only place in town that had generators to make it. Nova and I would wait in line for 20-30 minutes, talk to locals, and enjoy the sunshine. The evenings were a different story. The sun would set and we would immediately feel helpless and alone. Even with candles and camping lamps, it was hard to stay entertained when the sun went down. We would go to bed earlier and earlier but end up sleeping less and less.

Towards the end of the first powerless week I was losing my mind. We had played all the card games I could take, drank all the beer and wine we had, and endured too many hot, sticky sleepless nights. Nova was constantly smiling but I began to wonder if he was happy or just panting because he was so hot all the time. Dani and I talked less and less for fear of snapping at one another and I watched the line for ice get smaller every day as every other suburb seemed to get their power back before us. Eventually, even our friends in West End began to get their power back. The tree on our road still sat on the line.

On the seventh day they showed up. I was laying on the couch with all the doors and windows thrown wide open when I heard the truck pull up. I got up and there they were, with a man already in a box up our pole. It took them an hour of faffing about before they packed up their trucks and left. I looked around the house and panicked as the power was still not on. Just as I was about to throw in the towel and collapse to the floor weeping, it all happened.

The lights came to life, the fridge whirred away in the kitchen, the internet modem beeped and the phone asked me to set the time and answering service. I had no energy left to celebrate or even cheer. Like a zombie I walked through the house, closed all the doors, shut all the windows, turned on the air conditioner and collapsed on the couch. I felt a moment of guilt for Nova – I knew he had enjoyed all the action this week, all the life and being outside so much. As if reading my mind he plodded over to my feet and collapsed on the floor in a heap and I knew one more thing: he was really bloody hot. And so we both laid there, let the frosty air conditioning cool us down, closed our eyes, and did the one thing we hadn’t been able to do all week: we napped.

Years ago I read a story about a yellow lab who had saved an entire office worth of people from an earthquake. Apparently, minutes before the quake struck, the dog began to bark. He then started to run around the office and his barking became more frantic, more urgent. Eventually he had caused such a stir that everyone decided to investigate what this dog was on about. He led them outside where they stood around confused and ready to flog this dog for wasting so much of their time. Then, queue the dramatic music and the cinematic reconstruction, the earthquake struck and leveled the entire building. Fido is a hero! I’m fairly certain this program was on late in the evening and the production quality wasn’t exactly Emmy worthy (they made the earthquake effect by shaking the camera violently), but it wasn’t the only time I had heard of this animal sixth sense.

Danielle’s supervisor did some research in Florida where she tracked sharks in a bay. During her research there was a massive storm and when she collected her data she saw that the sharks had all predicted the bad whether ahead of time. One by one they made their way out of the bay into the river mouths to wait out the storm.

The trend continued in Townsville. Upon returning from our holiday on Magnetic Island we were faced with a front page article in our local paper warning us that a heavy cyclone season was upon us. The article cited meteorologists and scientists but also referenced another, perhaps less credible source: ants. Apparently observers of ants (yup, they’re out there), had noticed them moving to higher ground than usual to nest. Ants all over town were opting to climb large hills and build their homes at heights instead of going for more traditional places in the lower lands. Dogs, sharks, even ants – it seemed that all of nature’s creatures were equipped with this sixth sense.

All except one.

Nova has been many things: a teacher, a protector, an extraordinary companion to name a few. But he has never been the emotion reading, disaster avoiding, storm barometer that I may have expected. At the end of 2010, for example, I was having a really rough day. There was not one single thing getting me down, but more a compilation of little things that just kept piling up and up on this particular day. I moped out of my home office to see Nova lounging on his bed and knew that he would ‘sense’ my mood and feel obligated to cheer me up. I collapsed onto the floor and stretched my arms out towards him so that he would come and give me a comforting embrace.

He reacted as I hoped and, sensing my vulnerable state, popped up and plodded over towards me. Except instead of coming into my open arms, he pounced to my right and snatched up our tug-of-war rope. I gave him a disappointing look. He shook his head violently from side to side as if the rope was a rabbit and he had to make sure it was dead before we played with it. As his head swung to the left and then ripped back to the right the rope when careening in a great arc in front of him. The rope had tennis balls on each end and one smacked me square in face on the return swing. I dropped my arms and Nova dropped the rope, grinning at me expectantly.

I did not feel comforted.

It was the same story with weather. We had survived torrential rain storms highlighted with thunder that would shake our entire house and make Danielle and I jump out of our skin. Nova would sleep through it all. He gave no warning for bad weather, no comfort for sour moods, and no reaction to wicked storms. As a companion he was without fault, as a barometer (emotional or otherwise) he was borderline useless.

With all the creatures of the forest and all the creatures working at the bureau of meteorology warning of a busy cyclone season, Danielle and I were both wondering if this would be the year we would finally experience one. Every year we had warnings, every year we would watch the storms approach on the weather map, and every year they would dip south or drift north at the last second. Since moving to Townsville we had dodged massive floods, avoided devastating fires, and snuck between every single cyclone that had come our way.

Even though I knew it was stupid, a part of me wanted one to hit us, square on, just so we could experience it.

Cyclone Anthony was identified in late January. It was a medium sized storm but was still going to pack a wallop. Most importantly it was head directly towards Townsville. We waited and watched and it seemed like this would be it, this would be our chance to experience a tropical cyclone. I could bust out my hilarious t-shirt: “I was blown by Cyclone ___ and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”. The storm was due to hit in the morning hours. The night before, Nova and I headed down to the strand to see if there were any big winds or surf to tell of Anthony’s coming.

The strand looked exactly like it did every other evening. People were walking their dogs, eating gelato, and laying out on the grass by the beach.  I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. When I stopped to let Nova sniff another dog I asked its owner if he was ready for the big storm.

“Wont hit us.” he told me, “Dogs are acting totally normal. If there was a storm coming they’d be inside with their tails between their legs.”

I glanced down at my broken barometer to see what he thought of that but he had his head buried in the other dogs crotch. Hopefully there was no wind to measure down there.

We went home and, sure enough, over night Anthony dipped south and hammered Airlie Beach instead of us. We barely got a light breeze. As I was lamenting another disappointing storm I caught a story online of another, bigger cyclone forming off Vanuatu. “Yasi” it was called and it was supposed to be 4 or 5 times bigger than Anthony. I was just about to ask how they got to a Y name so quickly after an A name (don’t they go alphabetically?), when I noticed the satellite photo. This was a monster and it was tracking directly for us. It was so big that it didn’t matter if it dipped south or north; it was big enough to affect the entire north coast. All of the sudden this wasn’t a game anymore, this wasn’t exciting or fun.

This was getting scary.

As the last days of January passed Yasi became the only thing people would talk about. It dominated the news because it was so big and so potentially devastating. It was going to be a category 4 or 5 storm – the most powerful a cyclone can be.

It was due to hit around midnight on the February 3rd. That afternoon we double checked that everything was prepared and I took Nova for one last walk around the neighborhood. As we walked I noticed other people out and about but there was something different. There was a rush in people’s steps – it was as if there was a wild killer on the loose and no one wanted to be stuck outside when he jumped from hiding. I met a good friend of mine, my golfing and fishing buddy, and he lent me a drill to screw our windows shut. Even our conversation, which is normally light-hearted and full of laughs, was short and laden with worry. “Geez,” I said to Nova, “I think this is going to be the real deal.”

He looked at me with the same dopey grin he always wore.

We hurried home and I set to work sealing our windows. Danielle and I ate our supper and then moved everything in off the deck that could become a projectile. We took items away from windows and pulled our bed into the living room so we could sleep without fear of our bedroom window shattering over our heads. Nova followed us around, sniffing at things we picked up, occasionally dropping a toy at our feet in an attempt to get us to play, and acting like any other day of the week. He seemed to have no idea that there was anything amiss. For a moment I thought that maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he was the only one who really knew what was going to happen. Maybe he knew that Yasi was going to miss just like the others.

The winds soon began to pick up and the rain started shortly after that. After hours of howling winds and driving rain Dani and I were beginning to think that this might not be so bad. It was rough out there but we had survived many rain storms similar to this before. I even managed to lay down and fall asleep for a while.

I awoke to an almighty crash. Shooting awake I saw Dani sitting up in the bed, her eyes as wide as they would go. The wind and rain hammering our house was like nothing I could have imagined. The entire house was shaking violently as if there were giants on all side beating our walls with massive hammers. The windows were slamming in the frames and I was sure they would shatter at any moment. Things would get quieter every few seconds but then the storm would attack again with even more ferocity. We could feel  the raw power of the storm in our bones, like a standing next to a massive bass speaker in a night club. Again and again the storm would smash against the walls of our house, shaking everything in it. It felt as if a massive locomotive was barreling past our house every few seconds. With every pulse of the storm we would tense, waiting for something to shatter or snap. We sat there helpless, wondering when this would end, wondering what was going to happen. We had heard horror stories of roofs being ripped off houses. What would we do if the sky was suddenly bare over our heads?

I tried to think of something to say but before I could, we heard a massive crash from the back of the house. Something different than we had heard before, something was breaking. It came again and this time there was no mistaking the sound of wood being torn apart. The cracking continued and with horror we both realized that it was starting to come from above our heads.

Nova laid at our feet, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep, completely oblivious. We sat there together, with nothing to do but hope and pray and listen to horrible sounds of Cyclone Yasi tearing the roof off of our house, one shingle at a time.

I am a road warrior.

When I have a capable vehicle to drive – something comfortable, powerful, and sporting a good stereo – I can drive for days straight without complaint. I don’t know why, but something about being on the open road makes me feel free from life’s distractions. When it’s just me, the car, and the highway I feel peaceful. I spend hours day dreaming, planning, thinking about everything from solving the worlds energy problems to what I would spend a million dollars on. I listen to Rage Against the Machine, talk radio, stand-up comics, and anything in between.

And sometimes, I just want to stay home.

One such morning found me lowering myself into the Commodore at the ungodly hour of 5am. I had a 9am presentation 4 hours away and was not excited about it. I was marinating in my sour mood as I left the hotel parking lot – frustrated that my team had scheduled me such an early day and even more frustrated that there was nothing I could do about it. Around 45 minutes into my drive though, something extraordinary occurred.

As I began to cross the Great Dividing Range I noticed specks of light in my rear-view mirror. Pulling up to the crest of a hill I pulled off to the side of the road and got out of the car. I could faintly make out the coast line behind me as the first few rays of sunlight stretched their arms and began to rise. I stood there and leaned against the hood of my car. I watched the brilliant glow of the sun peek up to blanket the eastern Australian coast in golden light – like thick syrup drawn across a stack of pancakes. As the sun rose, so did my spirits. Inch by inch it rose and I stood in awe for each spectacular second. Finally it crested the horizon and began it’s slow trek across the sky in earnest. The air began to warm and the colors of North Queensland came to life all around me. I took a deep breath and smiled.

And so it was on the morning we checked into our New Year’s holiday home. When we arrived back at the house I was frustrated with Nova for not listening and misbehaving, I was frustrated at myself for letting it happen, and I was frustrated most of all for not knowing how to fix it. We walked through the gate, the dogs charging ahead, and got our first look at the house we had rented. It was spectacular. The dogs stopped wrestling by the pool for a moment to look back at the four of us as if to say: “This place is AWESOME!”. We all agreed.

The dogs set to marking their territory and then marking each other’s territory until there was just no pee left. Those of us more inclined to peeing in toilets explored the interior and staked our claim on bedrooms (with suitcases, not urine). After settling in we all made our way down to the pool with some beverages and set about enjoying our tropical New Year’s holiday.

Not willing to break from the tradition of taking opposite approaches to everything, the dogs approached the pool accordingly. Harry would take giant, heroic leaps from the edge and land with a massive splash in the center of the pool to retrieve whatever it was we had thrown in. Nova would slowly pat the water with a paw until he was satisfied it was safe. Then he would gingerly lower himself in and unceremoniously plop down into the water.

We spent the day laughing at the dogs and doing whatever we could to entice them into the pool. We feasted that night on steaks and fresh veggies and many bottles of wine seemed to empty themselves as well. The dogs laid out on the deck with us, exhausted from the day’s events. We all agreed that it was a good day.

The next day Dani and I shut ourselves into our room for a session of P90X Yoga. It was part of a workout program I had started and was really enjoying. I did a different workout every day, 6 days a week for 90 days – no thought necessary, no planning, just lots of hard work. As we stretched and moved from pose to pose, we were urged to clear our minds, to focus on the task at hand and put our energy only where it needed to go. I struggled with that and ended up day dreaming about finishing this workout program.

I wanted to see how I would look after the 90 days. I had already started to see results and couldn’t help but get excited. I knew that this type of regime was something I could continue with after the 90 days were up. I could not only achieve the results I wanted, but maintain them afterwards as well. I moved from one pose to the next. I mean, what`s the point in a workout routine that you can`t maintain?

And it came to me: the key isn`t just to achieve but to then maintain.

Nova and I have been training together since he was a puppy. We would learn new tricks, shape behaviours, and create new games to play. The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that this was happening less and less. We had gotten to a great place where he knew some cool stuff and would listen to all my commands … and then we just stopped. We had achieved, but forgotten to maintain. And so he listened to my commands less, he responded with less reliability, we started to slip.

The rest of the weekend played out well and I made a resolution to focus on maintaining Nova`s training regardless of what tricks and behaviours he knew or didn`t know. It didn`t matter if he learned anything new or we simply kept reinforcing the things he already knew. What mattered was that we kept at it, kept working together, and kept practicing how to work as a team.

As we rode the ferry back to Townsville on a rainy January day I was feeling good. Nova and Harry were a great pair and I was convinced that we could overcome the lapses Nova had when Harry was around. I sat back with my arm around Danielle, Nova at my feet and let myself smile, despite the rain.

“I can`t believe that soon we`ll be packed up and leaving this place for good.“ Dani said.

“Yup. “ I said, “four months and we`re out of here.“

Saying it out loud really brought it all home for me.

Four months.

Four months to book our flights, research and book Nova`s transportation across the globe, sell all of our worldly possessions, organize our trip south to Sydney, plan and organize our wedding, get all of our finances in order, the list in my head went on and on. All of this while maintaining my job as a road warrior.

The smile on my face slowly washed away and I looked down at Nova, happily sleeping with his head on my foot. He was relaxed. He was content. He was completely oblivious to the massive changes and challenges that we would all face in the coming months. I couldn’t help but envy Nova his ignorance as I sat there running over my massive to-do list. Little did I know that there was something coming our way that none of us could predict. Something that had the power to tear communities apart, change lives, and truly put your priorities into perspective.

None of us knew that far to the east, off the coast of Vanuatu, a storm was brewing.

When looking back on a moment of terror it is easy to insert rational thoughts like your life flashing before your eyes. You say that a moment felt like an eternity, time slowed and you were able to contemplate the severity of what was about to happen in one, terrifying, elongated second. The truth is that it is only in hindsight that we add these details. In the moment, when you’re there and under the grip of terror, there are only instincts and adrenaline-fueled reflexes.

I grabbed the Kong with one arm and felt something long, sharp and very much alive grab my leg.

Surrendering to instinct I lashed out with the assaulted limb and caught something square on beneath the water. It felt soft. Almost … furry.

Realization dawned on me as I spun to face my assailant. Two black nostrils flaring open and closed capped off a long snout which tracked back to a pair of brown eyes that were firmly fixed on my own. It was Nova.

Beneath the water I felt a now familiar claw scrape against my leg as he tried again to reach me, not at all discouraged by the kick I had delivered only seconds before. Sure enough, there was one thing that enticed him to swim that extra distance to the Kong, the one thing he would do absolutely anything to get to: his Dad. Like Samwise Gamgee wading into a lake in Middle Earth, he was driven by passion, by a primal feeling powerful enough to outweigh thoughts of his own self-preservation. While this devotion warmed my insides, I was now in an even stickier situation.

I can’t speak to his reasoning – perhaps he was trying to help me or perhaps he was trying to find a way to rest – but Nova was now determined to climb aboard the SS. Darryl and sail home. I had the Kong in one hand, Nova in the other, and was left to kick my way back to safer waters while trying to keep my mouth and nose within reach of air. It wasn’t a graceful process but we made it. I sloshed out of the water, threw the Kong down at Danielle’s feet, and set about drying myself off as best as I could. We walked back to the car with Danielle and I in a steamy silence and Nova trotting between us as proud as a peacock.

The drive home was a silent one.

Deep down, somewhere near my knees probably, I knew that it was unfair to blame Dani for the day’s events. The truth is that I would have thrown the Kong out farther as well – I just have a better arm than she does. Don’t mistake that for a cheap shot either, Dani’s throwing arm is the source of much amusement around our house. On one occasion she stood in the park by our house spinning our tennis-ball-on-a-rope toy around her head in preparation for an epic throw. Nova was at the ready waiting for the toss. When she let go the ball did not go forward. In fact, it went behind her and to the left and landed neatly on our neighbors awning. Nova looked confused. So did our neighbor when he came out of his house in a towel to find Dani on my shoulders and using a borrowed broom stick to sweep our ball off of his awning.

“Morning!” we both greeted him cheerily.

No, my swim wasn’t really Dani’s fault but that wasn’t going to stop me from taking full advantage of my soggy state. You see, we, as men, are very much aware that on most occasions you ladies could probably do a lot better. We leave our clothes strewn about the house, happy to let them land wherever we take them off. When we agree to do a task for you the caveat of ‘eventually’ is almost always implied. And if we ever get even a sniffle the entire world seems to end until you feed us warm broth and tell us it’s all going to be ok. To be fair, there are things we are good at – but on the whole we’re fairly certain the scales tip in your favor.

So we take situations like this to rig the scales to a more balanced state.

As is the way with all of our arguments, this one did not last long. We eventually got distracted by something else and the story of my swim was forever more relegated to a dusty old bin which houses all of our funny stories. Besides, we couldn’t over look the main accomplishment of that day – Nova was a swimmer!

The timing of his aquatic accomplishments could have been better but they were at least in time for our New Years trip to Magnetic Island. We had booked a house on the island with our friends Nikki and Cameron and were looking forward to some time to relax and soak up some rays by the pool. Nova was in for a treat as well as this house was dog friendly and his good friend Harry would be joining us too.

Magnetic Island is a 45 minute ferry ride from Townsville. We packed all of our gear, four adults, and two dogs into the car and made our way to the ferry terminal. After letting the dogs out to stretch their legs and relieve themselves we piled back into the car and boarded the ferry only to all pile out of the car once again so that we could enjoy the ride. It was an overcast day and we were getting the odd shower but none of us was relishing the idea of getting back into the car with two excited dogs. We climbed the narrow, spiraling stair case to the top level of the ferry and procured some benches where we could enjoy the trip to the island.

Harry and Nova might as well be polar opposites as far as dogs go. Where Nova is always alert and keen to meet everyone and be involved in whatever it is you are doing, Harry is keen to observe from a distance. Preferably from a laying down position. That’s not to say he’s lazy – Harry is an incredibly energetic dog. He is a bundle of muscle and energy when there is a ball around or some bushes to invade, but in a place like the ferry he is just as happy to sit and observe. I’ll admit, I was a bit jealous.

Nova wanted to say hello to everyone. He tried to lay in the middle of the aisle or at the top of the stairs and would deploy his must sneaky tactics to drift towards any newcomers and say hello. Some people were just as keen to see him but just as many wanted nothing at all to do with him. One woman was particularly taken with him and asked to take his photo. Of course, as a proud papa, I obliged. Then she told her son to get in the photo with Nova. This boy was maybe 3 or 4 years old and was not interested in being anywhere near Nova. He was straight up terrified.

His mom couldn’t care less.

She kept encouraging him and eventually, with the entire gallery watching this poor kid, he made his way next to Nova. I had Nova sit and drop and so the boy crouched next to him but he would not touch Nova no matter how we encouraged him. The lady snapped away and then, mercifully, let her son come back to her. I would pay good money for those photos – Nova laying down with his tongue hanging out, a dopy grin on his face, and a small petrified boy trying to feign a smile next to him. Priceless.

Nova and Harry passed the ferry ride well. They did some exploring together and Nova discovered a great view from the side of the railing. Getting back to the car was a challenge for us both due to the narrow spiral stairs. There was no way Nova could traverse them so I would go down half way, turn around and hoist Nova the rest of the way on my shoulders. This amused our fellow travelers to no end but it was either this or move on to the ferry permanently.

We arrived at our rental house to discover that we could not get in for another hour or so. We decided to leave the car there and explore the beach with the dogs in the mean time. This is when the trouble started.

I’ve spent a lot of time and effort training Nova. It’s not all tricks either, we work a lot on walking on and off leash, waiting for permission, and just listening to commands. So I was thoroughly disappointed when he completely regressed on this walk. No matter what I did or where we walked, Nova would only focus on Harry. If he was in front of us Nova would pull, if he was behind he would drag behind, it was hopeless.

In the end I let everyone go ahead and stayed behind to calm Nova down. We worked for a while to get him down and slowly made progress. Eventually we made our way back to the group. I was starting to think I had sorted him out when he saw Harry again and we were right back to square one. Frustrated, I let him go so they could play.

On the walk back to our holiday house Nikki let Harry off lead. He trotted almost perfectly by her side. This was a dog who has repeatedly attacked other dogs, wallabies, and just about anything that moves. And there he was, cool as a cucumber, and walking like a perfect gentleman. My teeth grated as I watched Nova run around, forward and back, completely ignoring any kind of instruction.

This was a disaster.