One of the cleanest tackles I’ve ever witnessed was executed by my female Ridgeback Blondie, who died unexpectedly last week.
Ironically she is the second Ridgeback we’ve lost during a Rugby World Cup, after Benji slipped away eight years ago, also in September, a week after the Springboks lost to Japan.
Ridgies are incredible dogs. Perhaps they’re not trainable like German Shepherds, but they’re loyal, loving, expressive and superbly athletic.
Lola, a black Lab-Staffie mix, and Benji were our first pack; Teddy and Blondie the second.
Teddy is an acrobat who can leap onto a wall about 1.6-metres high effortlessly, landing as softly as a cat.
During play he barely moves a muscle leaping between floor and bed, floating through the air as if he’s levitating.
We had to raise some walls to keep him confined to the backyard.
Teddy is also quick on his feet, but when he played with Blondie, his younger sister from a different litter, he always gave her a fighting chance.
I guess he learnt that as a pup himself, when he first touched down like a tornado in our house, which must have seemed to him like an old-aged home because Benji and Lola were in their dotage.
Lola’s weakening back legs prevented her from running, but she still played ball with Teddy. He’d bring a tennis ball to her, drop it in front of her, and she would pick it up in her jaws, move her head around for a few seconds and then drop the ball.
Teddy would pluck it off the floor and speed off like a bullet, sprinting around the property before returning to repeat the exchange.
Blondie, one of a litter of four, was heftier than Teddy, the runt of 11. He was older by eight months and faster, but he’d run at her speed, especially when she chased him.
In the park one day she was pursuing him, and as she got close Blondie launched herself forward, her front legs leaving the ground and going around Teddy’s hind legs, her head going to the side of his rump.
He went down in a rolling, grassy heap, hard enough to have me worried until he stood up unhurt.
It was a classic tackle that any school rugby coach would have been proud of.
That was the only time I’ve seen a dog do that. Blondie didn’t try that again, probably because Teddy wised up and chose to run faster when being pursued by his rough-and-tumble sister, who did everything at full tilt.
He would avoid her by sidestepping and wrong-footing her like the twinkle-toed centres of old.
Bred for tracking lion, Ridgebacks have a beautiful horse-like gait that allows them to run at pace for long distances. They are also incredibly agile.
Benji had a big frame and weighed in at 61kg. He had a huge chest and a large head that you’d think would have been an easy target for the many dog-loving strangers we encountered on walks over the years.
But if Benji didn’t want to be petted, you wouldn’t lay a finger on him. With the subtlest of movements he slipped advancing hands like a skilled defensive boxer.
Teddy can be as aloof too, though Blondie never passed up the chance for attention in the park, demanding a pat from almost every passer-by, seducing most of them with her gooey eyes.
Lola didn’t have the natural talents of a Ridgeback, but the terrier in her made her a potentially formidable fighter.
On one occasion in the park, while walking with friends, their one Ridgeback, unprovoked, bit Lola on the neck during a walk, causing her to wince. It must have been hard because Lola hardly ever showed pain.
We carried on walking and they held their positions next to each other, and when the Ridgeback tried to bite her again, Lola had worked out a course of action.
She dodged the lunge and swung around, bringing her teeth up to the Ridgeback’s throat, growling menacingly. Lola didn’t bite, but her warning was clear — the other Ridgeback didn’t try her luck again.
Blondie and Benji were aces at catching a ball in mid-air.
It’s been a marvel to watch attributes of my dogs through the analytical lens of a sports reporter.
But the greatest characteristics of dogs are their unconditional love and finding happiness in small things.
In the past seven-and-a-half years Blondie etched her habits and quirks into our DNA. Her good-morning licks every day, or the lick of gratitude in the car on the way to or from the park; the way she pounced on a toy, flicking it into the air and bounding after it; the way she ran up behind me on walks, aiming the wetness of her snout at my fingertips and galloping happily through so my hand ran along her head and back.
There are a tonne of small thanks that add up into a giant void that lands like a punch in the gut every time they don’t happen.
I think even poor Teddy, who also misses his baby sister, would agree that these absent moments are far more painful than a tackle.
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