RIP Tulla the blue cattle dog. Picture: Shirley Sinclair
RIP Tulla the blue cattle dog. Picture: Shirley Sinclair

Miss you already, our dear Tulla


IT’S the little things I’ve already started to miss.

Our 13-year-old family pet, Tulla, died on Friday night and out of habit, I still got up out of bed the next morning and opened the back door to let her in.

Every afternoon, she’d poke her nose through the bars of the front gate as I said “Hello, Baby Girl”. Then she’d turn and lead me inside.

Even as her hearing went in the last year, she’d come running every time she heard someone at the pantry or fridge door.

It was no use closing the sliding door to the ensuite: without a lock on it, she’d use her nose to nudge it open anyway.

A blue cattle dog, she was a regular on Wurtulla Beach for many years and lured groups of onlookers as hubbie used his sand wedge to hit a golf ball that she’d always retrieve and bring back (his golf “short game” improved out of sight).

Tulla may have started out as an “outside dog”, but she soon wormed her way into the lounge room. Her favourite spots were on our feet in front of the coffee table, or propped up on large cushions on a mat, watching us while we watched TV — always the protector.

But turn your back and she’d be on the lounge or a bed in no time.

And she knew how to use those big brown eyes on me for a morsel of whatever I was eating.

Anyone who doesn’t believe pets can become family members never owned a dog like Tulla.