It’s winter. The blossoms are early in Sydney’s west.
With their respective, four-pawed charges in tow, the two house-sitters wind their way through the inner-city western Sydney suburb of Summer-hill. Their paths might never have crossed, if not for chance conversations with enough of the same people to discover their mutual, fleeting residence. With dog leads in hand, they meet to beat the pavements together, circling trees, picket fences and Federation era family homes.
“Did you really spend most of your first night in Summerhill coaxing Lilly out from behind the back shed?”
“She trembled for hours.” He sighs.
“Ouch!” She nods as they both frown.
The male housesitter walks Lilly, a compact rescue dog. Lilly looks like a mixed Lapsang Souchong cross, the sort of pretty dog you might expect to see wearing a bow if not for her female owner’s dislike of gender conditioning. Lilly is getting counselling for whatever has happened to make her tremble, but it’s a slow process.
They walk past trees buttoned with blossoms. The greyish brown branches of the trees that dot the parks and the sidewalks are covered in buds. Winter is still about, but the sun is crisp and a few of the branches are already sparkling with petals.
“I had no idea Summer Hill was so pretty.” She shrugs, almost disoriented. “I’d only ever driven through it,” she admits. “I’ve lived central and beachside, but never west. These big sprawling houses and picket fences are like relics from another world.”
“What do you think?” He asks, patting Lilly.
“I like it”. She smiles. “It’s fluffy.”
She nods towards the blossom trees.
The tree lined streets are criss-crossed by cafes and the odd local grocer. The female house sitter is staying in an archeologist’s house full of artefacts. The male house sitter is looking after a friend’s house whilst they’re away on holiday. His friend works as a physiotherapist and lives with a musician, so the house is full of instruments and optimal posture references.
Out on the street, she gasps, guzzling the smell of the new buds.
He smiles and breathes in the same heady smell of open horizons.
They reach a street corner almost entirely dressed in pink and stand beneath the fringed branches counting tiny clouds of pastel down. It takes a good twenty minutes, since there are hundreds of dark pink buds bubbling into lighter petals.
The female house-sitter walks SammySam, a droopy eared ginger Spaniel obsessed with a neighbour’s tabby cat. Each time SammySam nears the picket fence that surrounds the tabby cat’s front yard he tugs fiercely and drags his walker excitedly towards the gate. In no time, SammySam shoves his nose through the gap. His entire body, from his trembling jaw to his propeller tale jumps at the spaces between the picket fence and the wooden gate. If ever the cat shows SammySam the least sign of curiosity he barks and leaps into the air. More often, the cat is suspicious of his affections. Sometimes it hisses. When that happens SammySam looks up at the house-sitter, before returning his attention to the gap. Neither house-sitter has ever seen such a cat loving dog before.
The female house-sitter wraps the lead around her wrist and flicks her head. With SammySam threatening to dig the fence up she walks north beyond the Federation houses towards the local dog park.
“They’re the perfect motivation to get out more.” She says, smiling.
“…and savour street corners.” he adds. They both laugh.
The pair laugh even louder when they discover an outdoor cafe in the dog park serves ‘puppacinos’, a mix of goats milk and beefy treats frothed together in a tin bowl. Owners can sit and sip cappuccinos alongside their puppacino slurping other half. SammySam likes puppacinos almost as much as he likes the tabby cat. His tail wags so fast that his whole spine wriggles like jelly. Dogs can run off lead in the park, so for the next hour after his puppacino stop he runs about the park chaotically, chasing the ball any which way the female housesitter can throw it. Lilly will only chase balls when repeatedly coaxed. Whilst SammySam relentlessly pursues his cheery cycle of bark, chase, gulp and return, Lilly nudges the ball warily, checking for boobytraps. When she eventually bites and trots back with the ball in her mouth, she’s so light on her feet that she looks like a blossom herself, let loose in the wind.
On their way home, the two house-sitters circle the picket fences and federation houses and blossom trees. The dogs instinctively weave their way between fences and leads. The winter sun is breezy. The blossoms are fresh. The tabby cat runs to greet them as they walk past. SammySam barks half-heartedly, but even he’s ready for home now.
“Would you live here?” He asks.
She shrugs as her eyes open wide.
“Too much fairy floss in the trees?” he asks.
She grins, “Good people though.”
He grins back.
“…and awesome dogs.” she says, when they reach the house where she’s staying. “See you tomorrow then?”
“Yes, see you then,” he smiles and motions for Lilly to follow him down the street.
The sky is blue.
Continue reading