MARCH - MAY 2002

During this period I visited Mount Stromlo, continued my swimming training in another part of the Molongolo River, and gave chase to a whole tribe of kangaroos. The Pack Leader was not exactly pleased by the latter episode, since it was completely unintentional. But hear me on this: Never let the Kellie-Bomb off the leash in the vicinity of a kangaroo, because I am nothing if not a dyed-in-the-wool huntress. We're talking primal instincts here, mon ami.

Mount Stromlo is a top spot on a sunny day. I was so exhausted when we arrived in the silly-car that I insisted on a few moments rest in the shade. But it wasn't long before I was up and exploring the observatories and the mountain top in general. I must say that that flower bed looked very tempting, but the Pack Leader managed to intervene and persuade me not to indulge my horticultural instincts.

There's a lovely shady spot on Mount Stromlo where the founder of the first solar observatory is buried, together with his wife. It's a nice place to take a breather and indulge in a moment of quiet contemplation before continuing one's explorations.

Back in the ol' Molongolo again, the ubiquitous stick forever clenched in my jaws. Since my initial dip in the Molongolo back in January, I began swimming on about every second or third day while the weather lasted. I never tire of it, and always become very excited whenever I know that I am near the water.


What we see here, people, are my keenly honed hunting instincts coming right to the fore. There's simply no way a bunch of kangaroos can disport themselves on a ridge line without me taking a very keen interest, let me tell you that. The question running through my mind, as always, is how exactly to launch my attack.

There's absolutely no use trying to sneak up on these fellows, tippy-toe. They're just too alert for that. If there were two of me, I could launch a pincer attack; but with only one of me, the only viable option is to head straight for the centre and try to break them up a bit. (Incidentally, given the fact that there are dozens of them and only one of me, I often wonder why they are the chased and I am the chaser, instead of the other way about. Strange, that.)


Once you've broken their pack cohesion, it's simply a matter of singling out your target and motoring up to warp speed for the final assault. But, you know, this hunting is terribly hard work. I always find it necessary to cool off in the nearest babbling brook after a session of kangaroo-chasing.

Actually, I have to admit that those particular 'roos are highly habituated, see me quite often, and consequently seem to treat this whole thing as a game. They never take serious flight but simply bound a couple of hundred yards away and then turn and watch me as if to say "Oh, look. The little Golden Retriever has come to play with us again." Even so, I have never, ever been able to catch one. But one thing's for sure: They wouldn't be so playful if they knew what a savage huntress I really am. Oh, no indeed.

I'm a true renaissance dog, I am. I mean, I can move instantly from the primality of the hunting grounds to the tranquility of the garden without even changing gears.

(Actually, the Alpha Female says that any garden will have completely lost its tranquility the very moment I enter it, but you have to understand that the Alpha Female is extremely biased in this regard.)