The great dog/ cat debate finally resolved

I have often listened to debates on the subject of which make better pets, dogs or cats and they are always inconclusive.

It is like asking someone the question, “Which is the best flavour of ice cream, chocolate or vanilla?” It is a matter of taste; you either like chocolate or you like vanilla. Or is it that simple? Surely one must be better than the other, in spite of taste differences.

Think of the debate in terms of wine. Many people will be happy with a bottle of plonk with a screw cap, but the connoisseur will be satisfied with nothing less than a wine of distinction.

You have to remove subjective opinion from the debate and look at it with cold hard facts. When you approach it in this manner, you will see that a cat is like a wine of distinction and a dog is like a bottle of plonk.

Here are ten facts that prove my point:

What more can I say?

Buster my best childhood friend

David McMahon's question this week brought back many memories about my best friend, when I was a child - my dog Buster.

In 1962 I suffered from a bad bout of encephalitis and spent several weeks in hospital and like any active little “bush baby” taken out of its environment, I was pretty miserable. My hope lay in the fact that friends of the family promised one of their boerbull puppies that would be ready for collection when I was due to leave the hospital.

Buster demolishing my hat. This fuzzy picture was taken forty five years ago with a Baby Browning camera that let in light. It was one of my childhood treasues.

After I was discharged, we stopped in at their farm on the way home and it was with great excitement I chose my puppy. I promptly named him Buster after the dog in Enid Blyton’s Adventurous Four series, much to the horror of my older sister – she felt I could be more original.

I spent the next two weeks at home recuperating and then it was the school holidays. During this time Buster and I bonded and became the best of friends and were inseparable. From day one it was my responsibility to feed him and bath him and see that he had water.

Because we lived so far out of town my two sisters and I went to boarding school, but came home over the weekends. Oh what excitement when I came home, I would be jumped on, sniffed, licked, bitten, slobbered on and generally roughed up by Buster, as if to say, “Don’t leave me like this, but anyway I am glad you are home”.























Buster was probably the reason why I felt secure when roaming around the farm. He was afraid nothing and would take on all comers. He had extremely powerful jaws and could easily crush the shin bone of a Kudu.

My bedroom was a converted outside storeroom. Buster always slept at the end of my bed. When I think back my room must have smelt like a kennel, but I did not care. Doors were never locked in those days; more often than not mine was left open. At night no one (not even family members) were allowed to come into my room – unless Buster gave them permission. On Monday morning when we had to get up early to go back to boarding school, I would always pretend to be asleep, while Buster kept my parents or grandfather at bay, when they came to wake me up. This usually gave me another five minutes in bed.

If anyone picked up a rifle all our dogs would get excited, because they knew it meant we were going into the bush. There was always great disappointment when we went out to shoot for the “pot”, because they had to stay at home, which meant being locked in the house. If Buster was let loose, he would always find me no matter how far I went or how I tried to cover my tracks. My dad taught me that if this happened I must just accept it because he loved me and just wanted to be with me. We could always go out and hunt tomorrow.





















We were forced to leave the farm in 1965 during a devastating drought and Buster and I had to adapt to town living. He was the scourge of the neighbourhood where other dogs were concerned – I once saw him take on two German Shepherds and I thought this was the end of my beloved Buster, but within a matter of seconds they had turned tail and run. He came bouncing back as proud as punch with his head held high.

We move quite often after that and Buster eventually ended up with the family in what was then Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), in 1969. After four years of city life we were back in the bush we both loved and where we could be free.

Over the ten years that I had him, Buster and I had much fun and many adventures together.

He was poisoned in 1972 and I buried him in a clearing about a kilometer from the farm house. A sad end to a great buddy.

My favourite toys

David McMahon’s question this week is, “Which toy was your childhood favourite?”

To answer this question I first need to give you an idea of how I grew up. Pardon the quality of the photo's they are old and were taken with an assortment of box camera's.

My sister's Spaniel Rossi with the farm house in the background

I spent most of my childhood on a remote bushveld farm in the old Transvaal (now Limpopo). The farm is about 50 kilometres (32 miles) to the west of Warmbaths, in the plains below the Waterberg Mountains.

We had no telephones or electricity or other modern conveniences. Cooking was done on a wood stove. Hot baths only happened at night, when the fire was made in the geyser. The loo, was a long drop some distance from the house. We had a battery powered radio and listened to our records on a wind up record player. The refrigerator was paraffin powered. Lighting was by way of candles and lamps.

Me, my sisters and dinner

I lived with my extended family that included ma, pa, grandpa, two sisters and assorted cousins. My male role models were fiercely proud and independent farming types who lived by a code, like something from the old Wild West. They had very firm ideas on how a man should behave and be raised.At the age of five I was given an air gun, I am not sure when I got my first knife, but it was not long after that. I was taught how to hunt and fish at an early age – that was our source of meat.
My back yard was about 1,800 acres in size; it was teaming with wild life, including just about every venomous snake that is to be found in South Africa - on occasion I came across 18 foot long pythons. I would often disappear into the bush for hours at a time with my dog Buster, either hunting or fishing. Life was one big adventure.

My pal Buster






















My favourite “toys” were guns, knives and fishing rods – essential “tools” for survival in that wild environment.

Just so that you don’t think I was a total savage I also had mecanno sets, toy cars and trucks, toy guns, a clock work train set, a steam engine and montini building blocks. I was also an avid reader and loved my books.