You came to me as a gift, in more ways than one. You were the first puppy of the litter to give me a kiss, and I knew you were the one for me. Your owner then gave you to me as a gift for being a friend, and you then became a friend of mine. When you first came home, Kelly ran away. She thought you were going to suckle on her – and she’d had enough of puppies at that time after only recently having 13 of them. She soon realised you were a friend and even became your partner.

You pleased me and made me proud more than once. You were a great show dog, becoming an Australian Champion at 2 years of age, and winning the Inaugural Karnimirie Trophy. How many dogs would win their own trophy first time out? You loved going to dog shows, and always knew when we were going too and were always ready to go. Remember that Irish Wolfhound who was always in front of us when we went for Group Specials? You never liked him, did you? And remember the time we were at the Brisbane Royal, when people wondered what breed you were, and what that mark was down your back? I had to laugh at some of them. Also remember the wonderful trip to Sydney for the Ridgeback Specialty, that was a great weekend.

You also did some funny things, and some dangerous things. You used to love to roll in cow dung, especially after you’d had a bath and even chase the cows, but never hurt them. I have a photo of you hugging my handbag, and remember when you used to go and steal my lollies out of the side? What about the time you were so glad to see me, that you ran up the stairs and straight over the balcony? Luckily you did not hurt yourself badly. The luck you had when you took that bait. Just as well I was quick thinking and got you to throw up. You stayed by my side all night so that I could check your breathing. And Caesar chasing you in the house, you pounced on the water bed, only to be flung straight off again. You would not come back into the bedroom for hours in fear that the water bed was going to eat you! What about the soft drink bottles you loved to chew? And your "hatred" for german shepherds. At our old house, Ron had you on a long lead and you saw one coming up the street. I’ve never seen a dog do a somersault before. It was not funny at the time as I thought you had hurt yourself. What about the time you repeated what your dad did a year earlier? Cocking your leg on your masters foot!! Thanks a lot. And talk about cheeky – what was the thing about knocking at the front door, me letting you in, only to find you going straight out the back door again! Or a dinner time – even though you weren’t as much of a food fiend as Kelly was, you’d lie next to Ron for tit-bits. When we had finished dinner, you’d trot into the kitchen, but if we were not right behind you, you’d come back and stand in the doorway and stare until we went to the kitchen. Who said dogs don’t remember. You always went out at 8:30 p.m. before settling into bed – BUT, you would not move from the laundry area until you got your good night biscuit! What about the time you tied me up when I tried to put ear drops in your ears? I used to keep you on a short chain around a large post, you got upset, wrapped yourself around me, and I could not move. Not a good feeling when the closest neighbour was 2 kilometres away. Even the temptation of food did not help. I thought I was going to be stuck there all night. Us being on rain water tanks did not help with regard for your love of water. Whenever it was really hot you would put your front paws into the water dishes and splash your underside to keep cool, or bite at the hose and love to have your chest massaged by the hose. And of course, what lead to your epilepsy, crashing into the pergola post. Do you know how hard it was for me to get you into a liftback to get you to the vet?

I did not realise you had epilepsy until a few years later, when we saw you have your first Grand Mal. That was really scarey. You’d been having absence seizures for so long, I thought it was just part of your personality, and would often laugh at you doing it. I guess I was fortunate, and you were too, that you did not have too many grand mals and that we were able to treat it with herbal medication.

You always let me know when you wanted to go out, remember the floods. Even then you were well behaved and we managed to find somewhere to go. You always scratched at the door to get me to let you out. And when Kelly took sick, you’d even tell me when she wanted to go. You’d even let me know when she needed me. You loved her dearly, and now you are together again, along with your children, ES, Cuddles, Red, Boots, and Tara.

You will be sadly missed my friend, my mate as I always called you. You held a very dear place in both Ron’s and my heart, you were such a loving dog, so sooky, always wanting cuddles, gentle but brave and a wonderful guard dog. You were the last surviving member of the Karnimirie Klan, no other dog will be in that Klan, it was a very special group. I will miss the cuddles on the bed every morning and night, our Sunday breakfasts and Sunday dinners, the "ka-thump, ka-thump" running that you used to do, when you came to greet me every afternoon, the "rolly-polly’s" you used to do just to get big tummy rubs, lying on Ron’s lap to get attention. Remember how you wormed your way into his heart – I’ll never forget how you did that. And being a "heater-hog". I always knew that when you were cold and wanted the heater on, you’d just lie in front of it until I turned it on. And if it was cold, I always knew where to find you. It was "your heater".

You will no longer have to take that yucky medicine, those horrible tablets and suffer no more pain or seizures. You are at peace now, happily gallivanting around at the Rainbow Bridge with your friends. You had a great life, extremely spoilt and loved.

Goodbye Mate, we miss you terribly, but you will always give us fond memories, we had a lot of joy and pleasure with you, no one will ever replace you. Enjoy the Rainbow Bridge with all of your friends, we will meet again one day. I love you Noodle.

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Last revised: February 06, 2000.