Unforgettable Long March

It was enough to make me want to give my husband his "marching orders" in case I ended up in this position again. Perhaps he could consign himself to the borderland between Wales and England; that march area where others had battled in the past, just as we were doing. That way I could get some personal space to review my situation and develop some coping mechanisms. I was forty-two and had decided that, as this was the probably the last time I would be pregnant, I should enjoy my new baby on the soil of my home country. Therefore I had dragged my husband back, kicking and screaming, to a small, Queensland town inland from the beaches of the Sunshine Coast.

Renovations, lawn mowing, hedge clipping, bed weeding, cleaning, dusting, washing, ironing, cooking and wrestling with the bin instructions of the local garbologist, made us realize that apartment living in Harbour City had been a lifestyle we had abandoned with too little consideration. At great expense we erected a fence around our property to keep the dog inside. Bull terriers are unable to jump high because of their sturdy front quarters. However, we forgot that the neighbourhood mongrels did not have the same disability. They could jump in and they did. By this time I was exceedingly pregnant myself and did not regard puppies as the most pressing item on my agenda. However, the vet told me something of which I'd not been previously aware. If bitches are aborted they cannot give birth another day as we humans can.

Peter repaired to the beach for some serious surfing and then pretended he had things to do in the office. The twelfth puppy saw the light of day at 5.00 p.m. after nine hours of labour. I was exhausted but not as much as Miss Piggy. Her fatuous grin had really been wiped off her face. I put them into the back garden to gambol with their mother and went inside, only to emerge hurriedly when I heard a terrible squealing. I was confronted with the sight of Miss Piggy's big paw grinding an offspring's face into the earth, trying to suffocate it. I guess it was an understandable reaction to a multiple birth of such proportions and severe mastitis. With regular steps I paced about the garden murmuring mantras and seeking some kind of inner peace. Miss Piggy followed me about, the remaining members of her litter trailing behind.