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Post #8: Year of the Typewriter | November 9, 2017

Petrichor: the smell of the earth after the rain. Especially after a long dry period.

For five years, I walked Mt Elphinstone with my old dog Reba, who died last March.  I had gotten Reba second hand, but she had been well-trained to be off leash, and a beagle, lab, shepard mix she had endless patience for both long and difficult hikes and also days when vomiting babies meant that she just got booted into the backyard. A lovely sweet soul, and my constant companion. For months after her death, I felt I was walking with her ghost, I knew her in the forest so well, what she wanted to stop for. When she would lead or follow. I suppose in the last month now, perhaps in the passage from summer into fall, her ghost left me, and I have walked alone. And I began to feel that a new dog might be behind the next green rise in the road…

This is Petrichor. The downpour to my dog-dry heart. She’s a four-month old Anatolian Shepard. And all she wants to do is to be out in it. Agnes and I are her flock, and she wants to tend to us.

When I sat to write, Petrichor did slow concentric circles around us through the dense forest.

When she sits, on guard she is a rock in the shape of a dog.

But when I’m on the move she takes her turn to play. Here Petra discovers mud.



The joy of the forest awoken by this mighty puppy.


The Only Animal creates cultivates and inspires theatre work that arises from a deep engagement with place.