Minki was the first of us to come and live on the farm.
William, the owner, was busy supervising the construction of the new house so she joined him because she didn’t want him to be lonely all up there on his own. Sharing a solitary, bunker-like, room known, appropriately, as “The Bunker”, they became good chums.
Once the house was completed, though, it was decided Minki really ought to have a companion of her own kind and so her cousin, Whisky, was imported from the same Free State farm where Minki had been born.
At first, Minki was a little put out about this new arrangement but – being Minki – she didn’t kick up too much of a fuss. Whisky, for her part, was absolutely thrilled with not only her new home but her new auntie as well.
Whisky in window. Minki looking on anxiously. 
New best friend. Whisky, in foreground, with Minki.
I turned up shortly after that and right away we all seemed to hit it off. They liked me even better when I started using the “walkies” word.
For me they became the most companionable of companions – easy-going, sweet-natured and loyal. We formed our own little pack, a democracy of three, although I pulled rank and declared myself the leader, deciding in which direction we would walk and when we would turn back
Being uncritical and accommodating by nature, they seemed happy to go along with that…
Over the following years the three of us built up an empathy and a camaraderie and a trust. All I had to do was turn up the doorstep with my binoculars and bird book and say the magic word and they would immediately start writhing and leaping in frenzies of delight.
My favourite picture of Minki (on left) and Whisky.
Whisky and Minki were mostly well-behaved on our outings in to the countryside. They quickly learnt that they were not allowed to chase the buck – as tempting as it always was – or bother the family of dassie that had one day decided to take up residence in the pile of rocks alongside Rubble Row.
Being retrievers, they were both keen sniffers, their noses constantly close to the ground as they searched for clues and vital signs and tell-tale scents. Their attention span could be short however – a leaping grasshopper or a meandering butterfly would be enough distract them from the serious task at hand.
Of the two, Minki was the more energetic and adventurous, covering an enormous amount of ground as she dashed hither and thither. The only problen with this was that I never got to see many birds up close but that didn’t really matter. She was happy and that made me happy.
While this was going on, Whisky, was content just to trot along behind. She saw her role more as the observer, the eyes to Minki’s nose.
She loved nothing more than to just park off.
Nowhere was this more obvious than relaxing at our favourite resting spot – Lizard Rock. While Minki would scuttle over the exposed sheet of dolerite doing her best to catch the blue and orange little skinks as they darted between the rocks (to my knowledge she has never succeeded), Whisky preferred to just sit and take in the view.
Minki, looking for lizzies. 
Minki still looking for lizzies
Whisky parking off on top of a hill. 
Whisky parking off amongst the spring flowers. 
Whisky parking off at Lizard Rock.
Conversely, Whisky was the more likely to bark at something. Our neighbour’s cows were a particular favourite. I noticed, however, that she always made sure there was a fence or some other form of barrier between her and them before launching in to her tirades of abuse.
She could be easily fooled – often mistaking, for example, a plastic bag fluttering in the wind for some sort of looming threat. And barking at it.
She was not a very brave dog as I have already intimated. The following sequence of photographs, which show her coming face to face with a man on a bicycle, provide a good demonstration of that:
They were good days – in fact, some of the happiest of my life – the three of us ranging across the countryside with never a bad word or heated exchange between us.
Our favourite walk was the one down to the river although it was always exhausting climbing back. Minki, in particular, loved flowing water and would immediately plunge in to the river once we got there, often emerging with a half-sunken log clamped triumphantly between her teeth.
Minki grabs the Log-ness Monster. 
Minki triumphant.
That, would be quickly be forgotten once I sat down and pulled my Thermos of hot coffee and packet of rusks out my backpack because, like all Labrador dogs, they have a highly evolved food gene. They also had a way of reminding me, without actually saying anything but by simply giving me “the look”, that we were a team. I always ended up sharing my food with them.
Sometimes we crossed the river and followed the road that ran along its forested margin. I named this road Porcupine Ridge because I have never been on it without finding quills scattered along its course.
At the point where our farm ends, the road – still following the line of the river – takes a sharp curve up a steep hill. About halfway up this we discovered a waterfall although we had to hack our way through a fair amount of skin-shredding bramble to get there.
It was well worth the effort, we all agreed. For Minki there was a deep pool to swim in at the top of the falls (even better there were logs in it) while Whisky thought the cliff edge spot provided another brilliant parking- off spot where she could simply sit and muse about life.
View from the top of the waterfall. 
Whisky musing at top of the waterfall. 
Minki captures another Log-ness Monster in pool above waterfall. 
Whisky decides to join in the fun by trying to wrestle Log-ness Monster away from Minki.
Above the falls the country opens up in to a grass-filled glade, mercifully free of those prickly brambles, while the river slides its way over a series of smooth rock fissures, with more pools in between. Along their margins tree ferns grow while the water itself is wonderfully clear.
Selecting a comfortable position on some rounded rocks, I would sit dangling my toes in the cool water while the girls lay spread-eagled in the grass, tongues lolling. It was all very peaceful, almost domestic, with the view down the valley providing a lovely, quieting effect.
As a rule, this series of pool was my turning point although there is a beautiful dam just a little bit further up I would loved to have carried on to but I was worried the owner might not want dogs trespassing on his property, even ones as friendly and as well brought up as Whisky and Minki.
So we returned home, the way we had come, crossing the Kusane River and climbing the steep hillside back to the house. I always got back from these excursions feeling tired but well satisfied and at peace with the world.
Sadly, those days of exploration with Whisky and Minki have now become a thing of the past. Old age has caught up with them both. Minki has become so arthritic she battles to make it from one side of the room to the other. She is still unfailingly cheerful and although she doesn’t always get up to greet me when I come to visit she still manages to convey her pleasure at seeing me with a prolonged thumping of the tail on the floor.
For her part, Whisky has grown more matronly and home-comfort loving. When the guests arrive, she is still the model host doing the rounds of the cottages to make sure they have all settled in nicely (while, at the same time, casting a surreptitious glance in to what goodies they have inside their cool box).
She also still wanders down to visit me in The Barn, especially when her owner is away because she knows the end of my balcony provides a good look-out over the farm gate through which Karen – she who Whisky adores above all others – will come driving.
Where it counts they are still the same two dogs that I have watched grow up from puppies. They are not aggressive types but rather humble; they don’t demand affection but are grateful for it. Both still have warm, affectionate natures. Although they will obviously do their duty and bark at the sight of an unknown car coming up the driveway, I do not remember them ever showing ill-temper towards a human being.
For me, life goes on. While I still try to walk on a regular basis, I have found that without the two girls to egg me on my enthusiasm levels aren’t what they once were and I don’t cover quite the same distance I used to. I hardly ever go down to the river any more although I suppose I ought to.
I still wander up to Lizard Rock but I miss having Whisky plonk herself down next to me and then lean up against my side, all friendly-like. I also miss watching Minki’s huge excitement when some lizard, with a death wish, decides to break cover.
It was a very special relationship. Through fair weather and foul, they proved the very best and most loyal of friends. I will always value and cherish and remember those times we had together, exploring Kusane Farm and the world just beyond…
Going “walkies” among the flowers. 
Waiting to be let in. 
Still waiting to be let in. 
Swimming in the LeVoy’s dam. Minki, the braver of the two, is the one far out. 
Whisky plays King of the Castle. 
Queen Minki surveys her domain. Kusane River below, Karkloof Hills in background. 
Whisky gives a Rastafarian, known as Craig, a few tips on how to “chill-out” and “park-off”. 
Whisky’s food gene kicks in…
Stidy's Eye 