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A Triumph Bonneville.

The gray is the first version of the Bonny I did when stationed in the NT. The bin received the seat and base, exhaust, engine spacers and brackets, foot pegs, tail light bracket, side covers, air cleaner, triple zener pack, tacho, Instrument cluster, battery holder and clutch plates. They were replaced with a hand beaten aluminium seat base, 2” drag pipes, aluminium engine spacers and brackets, aluminium foot pegs, tail light bracket, aluminium side covers, single zener, speedo bracket, battery holder, side covers, an earlier model single Zener and a set Barnets. The frame had all excess tabs removed, a couple of extra tabs were added to the rear frame members for side cover mounts, I removed the air cleaner bracket welded to the 3” frame tube/oil tank. Once finished I filed all the welds smooth and bogged them. I added an oil cooler mounted on an aluminium bracket I bent up. The rear guard was shortened and to that I mounted the tail light bracket I beat up, new steel seat hinges were also made up along with a couple of baffles I made up and slipped into the drag pipes. The electrics were redone, replacing the rectifier with a Tandy unit and the triple pack zeners with a single zener mounted on the heat sink I bent up. Ignition was now via the handlebar switch block with another two master switches to fool thieves: One on the left side cover, the other mounted on the heatsink. The engine was stripped and a new barrel and pistons and rings were purchased along with a set of big end shells. Gaskets were all hand formed except for the head gasket, for that I binned the solid copper one and replaced it with a composite. Combustion chamber, piston crown, cons and ports were mirror polished along with valve heads - face and backs. Gearbox cam plate was re-shaped a little and the edge along with the fork slots were polished. I balanced the crank using knife edge straights, turned up a couple of stainless push rod tubes, mirror polished the engine side covers, and rocker covers, sand blasted the crankcase halves and cylinder head, polished the alternator rotor, why? because I could and it looked smick! The rear brake bracket and hubs were polished, and the wheels laced with stainless spokes. The cylinder head was also reshaped a little to get nice square edges on the fins. Frame, tank, side covers, speedo, tail light bracket, foot brake lever, kick stand and centre stand and rear brake rod were all painted in metallic charcoal gray. The side covers, tail light and battery holder were all mounted using grommets and positive stop nuts I turned up from aluminium. Also turned up were two stainless brake cylinders on my Hafco AL-50 I had just bought. Boy, was that fun. This was my first lathe and the first time I’d ever used one. The cylinders had a 26 TPI thread cut on one end. The lathe didn’t come with a threading chart so I had to get out my calculator and put the brain to work. The bore was 5/8” from memory for which I turned up a couple of pistons to suit. I had to drill two tiny holes, .07mm from memory through the cylinders into the bore, the stainless was 316 and I think I went through something like half a dozen drills – no feel when drilling holes this small. To each cylinder I welded a 1/4” threaded spigot with which to mount the reservoir and rear take off. To feed the cylinders I tuned up a 2” round aluminium reservoir and cap. To fit them together I machined a course acme thread in both cap and reservoir, talk about jumping in at the deep end: 2” internal and external acme threads and a 26 TPI thread on 316 stainless. Both came out brilliant though, the piston and cylinder having better tolerances than the originals. I used this bike going to and from work in Katherine, it was so loud you couldn’t hear a brace of Harleys on full song through the din this thing made. Posted south to Adelaide I knew it wouldn’t get past the pits so once settled I stripped the Bonny again painted it gloss black, polished everything again but this time also polished the lower sliders, switch blocks, turned up a tall 1” round aluminium reservoir and polished that, fitted an oil filter using a floor polisher bracket and polished the crankcase halves. Lots of difficult to get at areas here so it took a while; and a few handmade mops. I bought a couple of ugly mufflers and fitted them and then stuck it over the pits. It passed first time and I rode it too and from work every day for a couple of years. I was posted north again, this time to Darwin, so the bike was again stripped and then re-assembled once we’d settled in. I only made one mod this time, replaced the speedo with a digital one. I never registered the bike in Darwin as our house was within walking distance to work; but, I did enter the Bonny in the Darwin European Bike Show and won best Triumph. The Bonny stood around under the house for a couple of years until the RAAF kicked me out. Once out we settled in Port Kennedy in Perth. My body was pretty much spent by this time, I couldn’t kick it anymore so never bothered reassembling. It sat around in a couple of steel trunks for a while and then I sold it as a basket case. Amazing the difference one little item makes: On the gray there is a chrome strip around the base of the seat, that's missing on the black - makes all the difference: the rear end on the black just looks unfinished. Looking at the pics now the gray had nice lines and looked mean, but could have benefited greatly by the addition of more shiny bits. There’s probably a heap of other bits and pieces I made, or polished, or modded but this all I can remember. I tried to keep the Bonny looking as much like a Bonny as I could, only a Triumph enthusiast could probably pick the differences. Here’s a few pictures:

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Custom motor builds, GS750.

Another build.  I bought this 70s GS750 in the early to mid 80s.  The previous owner didn’t maintain or look after it all, when it wouldn’t start he would punch the tank.  Eventually it wouldn’t start at all, so he sold it to me for $200.  I loaded it in my van, took it home.  A quick look and I deduced the carbs weren’t getting any fuel, so, I disconnected the vacuum line to the taps, blew them out and the bike started first button push.  A really simple fix.  Nevertheless, I did a number on it:  pulled the motor down, replaced the cam chain and rings, everything else was excellent, so I painted the cases, barrel and head black, polished the side covers and put it back together.  Next I painted the frame, side panels and rear cowl jet, gloss black, re covered the seat using my Singer treadle.  All of the chrome plating had a light rust scale, so I rubbed it all down with an Amway chrome polish and it came up like new.  The tank was beyond repair, bent and twisted , so it went in the bin and I found a second hand tank at the local wreckers and painted it to match the rest of the paintwork.  The bike ran well and I used it to and from work for a few years before selling it.  The GS750 was a good bike, streets ahead of the CB750 and my favourite Japanese bike.  I took these pictures before sourcing a tank, but you the can the condition it was in when I bought it home and the condition I brought it back to.

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Custom motor builds, YB100 bucket racer.

This is a little bucket racer I built back in  the early 1980s.  Frame had about 6″ cut off the tail and a flat plate welded in place for attachment of a tail light bracket I made.  Seat was binned and in it’s place I fabricated a stell pan for a single seat then upholstered it in vinyl, sewed up on a Singer treadle.  Oil tank was fabricated from steel I cut from an old washing machine.  Handlebars are drop bars, welded up from 7/8″ tube.  Side panels were binned and the right side had a flatter panel beaten up to take it ‘s place.  Not shown is the oil oil tank I fabricated from an old washing machine. Springs front and rear were exposed and painted.  Hubs and side covers mirror polished.  Air filter was binned and a new one fabricated and bolted onto the original spigot.  I fabricated an expansion chamber from steel off the same washing machine.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room for one of the correct size, so performance fell a little short of what I was searching for.  Head was shaved and inlet disk modified to offset the expansion chamber short  comings.  I rewired the bike and painted it F111 green in two  pack, then later in gloss black lacquer.  It went well and was a bit of a rocket on it’s power band.  I used it  for a couple of years going to  and from work before dismantling and binning it.  It  got  a lot of looks.  

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Dennis

Dennis. We got Dennis from the animal shelter in Perth in 2006, at that point he was around 4 or 5 we think. Dennis went absolutely everywhere with us: down to the shop, out to tea, down to the beach or on holidays in our camper. He liked nothing more to curl up on my lap in the morning and sit next to his mum on her chair whilst she did the crossword. Dennis was profoundly deaf 

Dennis always accompanied me on my recumbent trike I built, as did Toby before him.   Crook hips saw an end to the recumbent and I started riding an MTB, with Dennis as Copilot of course.   Unfortunately, I fell of one day at speed.   Dennis wasn’t hurt but the shoc made him cry loudly for 5 minutes or more.   After that Dennis was terrified of the bike and never accompanied me again.   Riding the bike became less enjoyable after that and eventually I stopped riding

By his 12th birthday, he was suffering badly from arthritis in his shoulders and elbow, he also had a lifelong battle with am irritable gut. Dennis was about 8 when the picture was taken in ‘his’ camper.   The picture of him lying down saw him at around 14, not long before he left us.   He was showing his age in this photo.  the picture of jim waving was taken not long after we got him.   I pulled my finger out with Dennis and did some training with him. well as wave he did the the usual sit, down, stand, stand up beg and so on.   I also taught him to rollover left and right, spin left and right, take a bow and speak on command = including adding, counting and so on.   He was a quick study but never really enjoyed it.   Certainly not a much as we did anyway.

I made a seat for Dennis between ours in the car, complete with seat belt.   As already said, he went everywhere with us and spent most of his time peering out the front to see if we were there yet.

One night when he was around 14 he started stumbling, falling over and walking into to things, we took him to the vet who said it was almost certainly a tumor. The next day he started wandering aimlessly around the house - never stopping. It was obvious that Dennis was suffering neurological problems from which there would be no return, I intended on taking him to the Vet on Monday to have him put to sleep. By Saturday day night he was much worse, running around the house, stumbling, falling, getting stuck in corners and panicking. I called out the duty Vet on a Sunday night and she gave him a sedative to calm him down, Once calm she gently put him to sleep. Dennis took his last breath whilst we held him in our arms. We organised his cremation and when he was returned to us we placed him on the bookcase where he can be with us always - close by.

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A mate remembered PD Chum'.

This is PD Chum my last Police dog. I was an instructor at the dog school when I first saw Chum, a nice looking dog but just such a wimp and due to be disposed of as unsuitable (given to a good home). In those days sergeant’s were largely managerial and therefore weren’t allocated dogs,  I heard through the grapevine I was to be promoted to SGT and posted north very soon armed with this information I approached the boss and asked if I could make something of one of the recruit failures could I reteam, the boss agreed and so I went through the kennels for a look see. At that time there was only one failure ‘Chum’. When tested in his home environment Chum had passed with flying colours and been recruited, but on removal from his home had dropped his bundle and become a great wimp. In the two weeks he had been at the school he had hidden in his kennel refusing to come out. For the next week every lunchtime I took my lunch and went and sat in the kennel with him, me on the floor Chum in his box. Once or twice he poked his head out to see if I was still there but then abruptly ducked back inside again refusing to come out until the coast was clear, and so it went for a little over a week. After that he managed a little courage and came out to sniff at my feet but refused to come close or let me touch him. Another few days passed and at last he allowed me to pat him a few days more and he would greet me at the gate and a few days after that after that he would rush at me when I entered his kennel, barging into my knees and falling to the ground a great quivering, whimpering, excited wreck at me feet. From that day on until we were parted he greeted me the exact same way, barging into my knees and falling on the ground at my feet a quivering, wriggling excited heap. After that I began taking him for walks; unfortunately, being taken away from his home and familiar surrounding had a profound affect on Chum, everything new was to be feared: A stick on the ground, a fluttering shopping bag on the fence, an old tyre, someone walking in the distance, but most of all those large white LPG cylinders - he was terrified of them. I enlisted the aid of one of the sergeants, giving him instructions to sneak around, looking suspicious scampering off and behaving cowardly whenever Chum half barked. Eventually Chum began to grow a couple and wanted to give chase, barking loudly and straining at the leash. Over the next few months Chum gained greatly in confidence; but, only as long as I was by his side. Chum had plateaued just short of being acceptable as a police dog and so I started to look for a home for him, sure he just didn’t have what it took to become a police dog. One day, out of the blue, Chum dogged up and lashed out at someone passing by, and all when I wasn’t there, from that day on he became a real threat, knocking aggressors down and biting so hard nothing less than a thick leather protective arm could protect the aggressor from his bite. Chum was also extremely fast and as he ran his long hair seem to float about him and thus he became known as the flying rug, I simply called him Choo Choo or Chewy. We achieved a staff pass for the reteam and were posted north, I to take up the position as head of training and husbandry, Chum as my police dog and training aid. Chum was now Police Dog Chum and was allocated his service number. Over the next few years at our new base I continued to train Chum and although we never performed patrols of the base we did many, many demonstrations for school kids. Letters from schoolkids would arrive addressed to PD Chum, in the letters the kids would thank Chum and say how much they enjoyed him demonstrating his skills, I was jealous not once did I get a mention. As it turned out, of my three dogs, Chum was the hardest hitting and hardest biting of all, on a number of occasions managing to knock aggressors off their feet whereupon I had to hastily step in to prevent injury to the aggressor, Chum had truly become a real police dog. Eventually I was posted overseas and knowing this was a death sentence for Chum, I opted not to take him and scouted for a suitable handler to reteam with Chum before I departed. Unofficially I oversaw Chum's reteaming with his new handler before they departed for an official reteam at the school, but all the while Chum could not take his eyes off me. Move on 5 years, three postings and one more step up the ladder - Flight Sergeant. On the grapevine I heard Chum’s handler was discharging so hastily made enquiries regarding Chums health and suitability, I was assured he was in excellent health and temperamentally sound and so I applied to HQ to have Chum shipped over from the east to take up the position of pool dog at my new base (pool dogs are standbys to be used when a handler’s dog dies or is ill). Although I could in no way reteam or be allocated another dog due to rank and position I was happy that we would be reunited. Two weeks later a Herc landed with Chum on board and I was waiting on the tarmac for him, all set for our happy reunion. Reunions aren’t always what they are cracked up to be, after all Chum and I had been through he didn’t recognise me and didn’t until the day he died. When I went to the kennels to see him I greeted him in the same way I always had, he would cock his head and wag his tail seeming to say ‘that seems familiar‘, but never again did he greet me with the same unbridled excitement and passion he once had. When I took him in the exercise yard and set him off lead he would remain aloof and wander to the other side as though I was just another handler, when I trained him or put him through his paces he performed faultlessly but never again did we share that close bond we forged together earlier in our careers - this absolutely shattered me. Still, I was happy to be reunited, I continued visiting Chum whenever I could, taking him out at night to run him through his paces, bathing and grooming him or just simply sitting in the exercise yard with him. It was obvious that Chum was not in such good health as I was told, he was now 10, a great age for a police dog, but he had late stage hip dysplasia and a few rather large lumps over his torso. He continued to work well but unfortunately could not walk far or put too much pressure on his hind quarters. I realised I was going to have to make 'that' terrible decision but decided to wait until I returned from leave, I have always insisted on taking my dogs for their last walk to the Vet so I could hold them as they took their last breath. Extremely upsetting for me but this I always considered was my responsibility, my right and most of all my mates right. When I came back from leave I found Chum had been euthanised in my absence, a sneaky trick I thought- shattered once again. Chum departed this world 17 years ago. For the record and the naysayers, these dogs perform a valuable service they not trained to attack and bite, dogs already know how to do that; rather, they are taught to attack and hold ‘on command’ only and to also cease that attack on command - safer than your dog next door. And here I am misty again, my glasses fogged up thinking about Chum, one of three of the best mates a man could ask for.

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Shinta.   A dog with a slightly crazed bent!

Dog PD Shinta 1006, another long story: My first introduction to Shinta was in the isolation kennels at the school. Only 10 months old, he ran around and around in circles in his kennel, climbing up and down the wire, flinging his excrement all over the place and barking and screaming like a lunatic on uppers; he was on everyone’s ”don’t want” list for this reteam. 

When the chief instructor informed me he was my new PD, I was not impressed. The very first day of reteam, Shinta ran around wildly getting tangled in the 15 footer and barking and whinging loudly and driving me and everyone else on course crazy, continually climbing back up the lead, I think he had more air time than Chuck Yeager. 

Shinta was an extremely enthusiastic biter and when the CI explained the new whisper in their ear method of leave on command, I had serious doubts about putting my face that close to his; but, lo and behold, when introduced, he left straight away and continued to do so for the rest of our time together. 

I returned home and Shinta continued climbing back up the lead, although by this stage he was concentrating his efforts mostly on my left hand, forcing me to wear a padded glove. While at Glenbrook, the Penrith living in barracks were shut down and of course doggies had to secure the area as well as our normal duties, with no extra troops of course, the usual RAAF way. To lighten the load, I took up residence in the old barracks from 1700 hrs to 0800 hrs each day taking Shinta with me. We were both indifferent to each other at this stage and the first night in the barracks I tried to get Shinta to sleep by the side of my bed, but he kept sticking his nose in my ear and climbing into my bed, finally I gave up and let him stay. In the morning, he was a different dog, he no longer bolted at every opportunity and became a willing worker, although he still hated my left hand. By the time we got to our second last posting, Shinta had become very affectionate, climbing on my lap or lying next to me with his head on my lap whenever he could, it was also becoming evident he wasn’t a very healthy dog: 

One weekend another handler rang me at home and said there was something wrong with Shinta, when I quizzed him, he said Shinta was very quiet and had sidled up to him in the kennel and nuzzled his hand for a pat, not Shinta‘s normal behaviour. Alarm bells rang and I raced in, but Shinta greeted me like there was nothing wrong, the other handler insisted that he wasn’t quite right and so I took him to the Vet. Upon examination the Vet found he was indeed crook, he had suffered a heart attack. 

His list of health issues was expanding: He already had an enzyme deficiency which prevented him from digesting his food properly, he had also picked up an ear infection that wouldn’t respond to treatment and had a continual runny nose. The ear infection was taken care of by an aural resection (removing the lower section of ear leaving a hole in the side of the head), I assisted the vet in this operation using the quarterizer gun = very interesting.  

For the runny nose, he had an exploratory rhinotomy, (peeling back the face and scraping out the nasal cavity). When done the Vet advised me to keep him indoors that night and gave me a syringe with a pain killer, telling me to be very careful when I administered it that night, as he would in all probability be in a great deal of pain. I came in that night and slowly opened the door to the SGT's office where Shinta was convalescing, Shinta jumped around whinging, whining and wagging his tail as usual, I gave him his needle without any problems and went home. 

The next day another handler asked how Shinta was last night, I said he was fine and obviously not in any pain, “Ooooh yes he was“, he said in his usual laconic way, “He tried to smash his way through the window to get at me“, so I guess he wasn’t feeling to well after all. The rhinotomy made things worse: Both nostrils ran continuously, the mucous building up and hardening, blocking his nostrils with rather large hard bogies the size of peas which I removed everyday with tweezers. I was coming to work practically everyday to look after him at this stage and after a discussion with my boss regarding Shinta’s health problems he agreed not to interfere as long as I continued to look after him as I had been doing (it’s nice to be the white haired boy every once in a while) . 

I was posted to the school as an instructor shortly after and Shinta went with me. I continued looking after him and he seemed to improve. Eventually I went on leave thinking Shinta was OK for a couple of weeks but he went downhill quite rapidly whilst I was away and so he was euthanaised. 

Unfortunately, I never new when Shinta was crook: Whenever I turned up he would get excited and carry on like there was nothing wrong; in retrospect, perhaps that was why he liked to curl up next to me or sit on my lap in the latter part of his life, but I like to think it was for other reasons. 

He scared the s$%t out of more than a few people in his short life but to me he was always extremely affectionate. He retained his slightly crazed bent and never outlived his hyperactivity (he ran the obstacle course in 19 seconds) nor his finger painting and at the end of every shift I was usually adorned as well as he, but I just couldn‘t say no to his affection. 

I wasn’t there for Shinta in his final days and for that I will never forgive myself. He was only six years old when he died, just plain worn out.

I always get misty and my glasses fog up when talking about my boys, Shinta died over 28 years ago.

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Blossom a Malaysian Monny dog.

Blossom was living in a monny drain along the busy main road near the RAAF Butterworth Dog Section,

The wife and I ran around the neighbourhood, the wife trying to coral her and me with a cardboard box ready to drop over her.   The locals gave us a funny look.   One actually asked ‘ why you catch that dog, she no good’.   Eventually after an hour or so I managed to trap her in the box.   Putting my hand in to grab her was out of the question, her bared fangs and menacing growl put an end to any thoughts of doing that.   So, I slid a piece of ply under the box and carried the lot, box, plywood and dog to our car.

When we got her home we locked her in our laundry where she slept for a week, waking just long enough to eat and defecate.   Another week passed and she allowed us to pat her and after about a month she stuck to us like glue, became extremely protective of us and screamed like a banshee whenever we came home after being out for a while. When we first took her home she didn’t have a hair on her body but eventually it grew back and she ended up with a magnificent coat. Whilst her hair was growing back the wind would tickle her causing her to scratch and draw blood, in the end we had to keep her inside until her hair grew long enough so as not to bother her We called her Blossom because she was a little on the nose when we first took her home, so much so that Jack and Puddles, the other two dogs in the picture, refused to have anything to do with her. The picture on the beach is our last walk with her before we came home. We wanted to bring her back to Australia with us, as we did Jack and Puddles - but how do you choose, all had similar stories, albeit not quite as bad as Blossom’s; so, we found homes for all three with other RAAF families stationed there. Funnily enough, after her hair grew back, the locals often stopped us to tell us what a beautiful dog she was, not so long before they would kick her and throw rocks at her whenever she ventured out of her drain looking for food.

Her fame spread and a number of RAAFies often asked after her, not sure how anyone knew about her, possibly saw us running around with a cardboard box, locals laughing and pointing at us.   A few families had ex Monny Dogs, don’t know their stories but they were quite normal as far as dogs go.

Blossom grew very, very fond of us but her life in the drains had cured her of ever wanting a cuddle, a pat was all she sought from us.   Despite Jack’s strong maternal instincts he refused to have anything to do with her, right up until we left.   Possibly due to being a full grown dog when we bought her home instead of a puppy like Puddles and Blackie before him. Does Jack look familiar ( he’s the big fella in the bottom picture), he should, he was a dingo. Dingos originally came from Asia, they probably came to Australia with the early seafarers or made their way across the land bridge no one is really sure but they are plentiful in Malaysia. Jack was an excellent dog, he took puddles and another dog we had under his wing and raised them much as a mother would, he had an amazing maternal streak. Given the opportunity Jack would disappear on walkabout whenever he could always returning home after a few days. Every morning Jack would lie at my side on the sofa with his head on my lap as I ate my breakfast and every night he would sit by the gate to welcome me home.

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BESTIES

Besties. Everyone has positive memories, this is one of mine + PD Dante PD Dante was a RAAF Police Dog, Dante was 3 years old when I began training him on number 31 RAAF Police Dog Handlers Course in 1975, we remained together for the next seven years. Along the way he/we won Dux of number 31 Basic Course, Top Dog of the RAAF 1981, and three out of the three inter unit RAAF Police Dog competitions he was entered in. In his last competition he made a clean sweep winning trophies for Best Basic Obedience Dog, Best Attack Dog and Best Dog Overall.

Dante, or Sugar Plum, as I called him, could be an extremely aggressive dog, in fact six months after graduating basic course he attacked me (my fault), fortunately I managed to fight him off and convince him I was the boss. He never so much as growled at me from that day forth. Strange really, he suffered no ill effects from that incident, not so for me though, I was bandaged from fingertip to shoulder on both arms for over two weeks after the incident. Whilst we were ‘discussing things’ Sugar Plum punched a canine through the face of my brand new Tissot watch, out the back through the stainless steel cover and into my wrist,– didn’t keep good time after that. He became extremely protective of me after that incident. 

Dante loved the water. On bivouac at Bluewater in North QLD, we staked our dogs out just over a slight rise. That night Dante began howling whilst we were all sitting around having a drink. At everyone’s insistence I went over the hill, retrieved dante and sat him next to me around the camp fire. Phil, an ADG who accompanied us, thought he seemed nice so put out a hand and spoke to him, bad choice and I was forced to put a little distance between us and the rest. Dante was fine and would not bother anyone unless they bothered him. He considered people talking to him bothersome and told them so. That night all tucked up again, Dante started howling again, and again at everyone’s insistence I retrieved Dante and pegged him out between the creek and my camp. He was happy then but I wasn’t he would go wade in the creek and then come back to tell me what a wonderful time he was having.

Simon Townsend’s Wonder world was a fixture on TV around this time and they came out to the base and did a story on Dante. For one video we did a double attack, Dante would stop one fellow who attacked me and then the other as he also stepped in. We had done this exercise many, many times before but this day, he decided one was enough. Whilst attacking the first fellow the second came in a threw me to the ground. Dante stopped looked at me, still with the other fellows arm in his mouth, and gave me a look as if to say ‘I’m busy at the moment, you fix him up and I’ll be with you as soon as I stitch this fellow up’. Quite funny the look on his face.

I mentioned before Dante was very protective. I can remember one night we were sitting on the steps of HQs taking a break. Off in the distance there was a bit of lightning and suddenly a great crack of thunder exploded. With that, Dante jumped up, stepped in front of me, pushed me back against the wall, turned his head toward the thunder and lightning and issued an almighty growl. Even frightened the hell out of me, his growl being so menacing. This protectiveness was a two way street of course, Dante loved playing fetch and so one day I grabbed a broomstick broke it over my thigh and threw it for him. Dante chased after it, grabbed it and headed back, jumping and prancing in excitement. The end of the stick stuck in the ground and as Dante came down the sharp end where I had broken it pierced his chest. Dante issued a bit of a squeal and rushed back to me dragging the stick stuck in his chest. He looked at me, seemingly asking for help so I grabbed the stick and pulled it out and threw the stick away. Now free of the stick, Dante was all set for more fun, rushed off, retrieved the stick and brought it back. Three stitches worth that one.

On another occasion I hurled a half brick into a coconut tree one night trying to dislodge a coconut. Not a good idea, Dante caught the brisk as it came down and asked me to do it again, minus one canine. He lost another canine shortly after and so the base Dentist fitted a couple of gold teeth for him. They lasted a day. Next day, there was no gold in his mouth and the caps were no where in sight. Presumably he had swallowd them.

Golf balls were great fun, throw them down the runway and they would bounce for miles before Dante managed to stop them. In Townsville he would carry a tyre around waiting for me to roll it for him, if nothing else he loved a good game. He wasn’t all fun though, once the sun went down and we were on the job he was all business. As we walked he cast from side to side nose alternately on the ground and in the air looking for trouble, totally engrossed in his job, I never taught him that it was just him. One night I grabbed a tree branch about the same thickness as a broomstick and with him out front tapped him on the shoulder to see his reaction. Quick as a wink he grabbed the stick, broke it in two, spat it out and continued his casting.

He wasn’t real fond of anything that wasn’t me, cats, dogs, lizards, people, they were all in his dislike list. One night walking along the side of a building a cat darted out, Dante caught it mid air, shook and dropped it and continued on his way – casting, as if nothing had happened. The cat of course was dead, probably a broken neck I’d say.Dante was an accomplished athlete, despite his stocky build: at one time he held a record for the long jump. I was training him for a high jump record, got to 5’1”, but there I stopped as the landings were getting a bit severe, I thought it only a matter of time before he hurt himself badly. And then there was King, Bob’s dog. Long legged and tall, he could leap over a 5’ hurdle from a standstill, not much hope of beating him. Dante’s best jump was 5’2. Dante also performed the high jump blindfolded - low level only. It was a bit of a hit and miss affair though, my voice was his only clue on when to jump and how high to jump.In my off time 

I also trained Dante in 'Host Scent' drug detection (marihuana only). The base coppers used us a couple of times and we were also loaned out to Navy and Army for a couple of jobs - they never asked me to do a body search though - I don't know why! These dogs were never permitted to mix together, wasn't considered a good idea with most of them!

In his latter years Dante suffered three episodes of gastric torsion. I’d made a habit of checking on Dante first thing before starting shift and last thing before going home (I preferred to call it tucking him in for the night/day); so, I was lucky enough to catch him in time on all three occasions and rush him to the Vet. On the third episode I elected to put him down because I was concerned the next time his bowel twisted I wouldn’t be there to save him. A difficult and absolutely heart breaking decision. 

Sugar Plum died in my arms at 1615 hrs 2 December 1982, grumbling, growling and trying to eat the Vet – as it should be. 33 years, and two more Police Dogs (Shinta and Chum) later I still miss him terribly and remember our time together like it was yesterday. When you work with an animal this closely for many years, the bond becomes very close, much, much more so than an owner/pet relationship..

I was lucky enough to have a friend who was a RAAF Photographer and he took many, many pictures of Sugar Plum, here’s a few from my brag book:

Just to impress. Dante had an egg in his mouth when negotiating the window obstacle.See, I did have some positive times.