Dog Woman
This week has been a bit of a roller coaster. Exhilarating, exhausting, and quietly emotional. I’ve been trying to break down the why. Is it the new Christmas routine, the move, the New Year, or even the lunar cycle? Eventually, I realised it doesn’t really matter why. I just need to be in this moment and let it be what it is.
I know I keep thinking about my dog, Louis, who passed away a few months ago. And Rufus, his brother, who passed away a few years before that. If I’m honest, I think about them all the time. I am a dog woman. They were the backbone of my routine. They gave me purpose to walk, and constant companionship. They were my best friends.
The adjustment from losing Rufus, to having a solo dog in Louis, and then losing Louis entirely has left me feeling slightly untethered. Anchorless.
Since moving to Ouse, I’ve been coming back to the Crabtree farm to balance running my farm. Crabtree is where Rufus, Louis and I spent all our lives together, and being there floods me with memories, alongside a deep, aching absence. I miss saying their names. I miss the feel of my hand brushing down a back as I walked. I miss them leaning against my leg, snuffling at my side, snoring in the corner. They were my protectors and my constant companions.
There’s guilt too. I was preparing for our move and for Louis to come and settle in. His new bed. Fencing the house yard. All the little details I wanted ready for him. He never made it with me. Louis passed away just weeks before the move. I buried Louis at the new farm in Ouse, and Rufus is buried at Crabtree. More and more, I’ve felt that Rufus needs to be back with Louis, where my future is. I need them both there. Together.
So many of the images I held of life in Ouse were of Louis and I walking the new layout. It simply never occurred to me that he wouldn’t make it with me. And so the memories arrive unannounced. Does that ever happen to you? Something small and insignificant triggers a wave of grief. Reaching over my shoulder in the car to touch him. Remembering the weight of their necks under my hand. Seeing the new bed I bought, which I ended up gifting to Aroha and Tim’s beautiful dog, Cook. A memory sparks, and suddenly sadness takes over.
Even in the middle of an ordinary day, I can find myself fighting tears. On those days, the long drives to my new home give me space. The tears can fall. They dry by the time I arrive. No one is the wiser. I like my grief unwitnessed, felt quietly. It has been such an extraordinary loss, creating an absence that still aches. Loving animals has always connected me deeply to the cycles of life. That connection doesn’t disappear with loss.
Amid the heaviness, there have been practical moments too. Shearing has been a bright spot. Gary is a shearing contractor who comes to Tasmania each year from Victoria, and it’s always a pleasure to have him back on the farm. His sunny nature and good humour keep a small, slightly rabble crew moving as we shear our little alpaca herd. And being a gun on the shears isn’t missed either in his skill set!
Shearing is always a moment of truth. Seeing the herd without their fleeces, returned to their goofy, svelte frames, never fails to amuse. I’m firmly in the practical camp. No fancy haircuts. Just remove the bonnets and fleeces for comfort. Annual shearing and routine husbandry are critical for animal welfare. It also marks the start of the fleece production cycle.
This year, it carried extra significance. In April 2025, I coordinated paddock matings for the girls, with the very handsome Macho named Dante, visiting our hembras for the first time. Alpaca pregnancy always feels a little mystical to me. The timing. The patience. The waiting. Shearing is one of the best times to confirm whether a mating has been successful for me because of the timing to delivery ratio. And this year, there was no denying it. I am very excited to announce that some of the girls are pregnant.
Dante is a true gentleman, with a gorgeous fleece, and I’m already excited to see what he passes on. Alpaca gestation sits in a wide window of around 340 to 375 days. Unlike other livestock, alpacas don’t show obvious signs like udders forming. While an ultrasound remains firmly on my Christmas wish list (and you know me, there are other practical things on that list!), for now I rely on waxy teats at shearing, engorged bellies, and careful observation. Some signs were far more visible than I expected.
The herd has now been moved to a paddock closer to shelter and my observation deck. With cria due in March, possibly into April, we’ve decided the animals will remain at Crabtree until the babies arrive safely and are well established. And we will have winter farm tours to showcase new cria!
Keeping them at Crabtree is the right decision. Healthy hembras. Healthy cria. That is the priority.
A small side note from this week that I will close with. I had the loveliest surprise when Helen stopped me mid-daydream on the streets of Hobart. Helen is a Hobart local and an extraordinary bird and wildlife photographer. I know her from ‘real life’ LOL. She creates the most beautiful calendars, and my mum is a devoted fan. She told me she’d been reading my articles! That shocked me, I think I’ve connected that I really am putting myself out there and people may see this. What an odd thought.
In a week full of heavy thoughts, that moment reminded me how meaningful small connections can be. It absolutely made my day. Thank you, Helen.
This week, I’ve thought about…
Louis and Rufus
Starting registration to become an RSPCA alpaca rehabilitator
What constant screen interfaces are doing to our humanity and inner lives