02/10/2026
𝗩𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗲 -“Bubba”
27 April 2014 – 2 October 2026
How the hell do you put 12 years of a little dog like Midgie into words?
I don't think you really can.
She was one of those dogs you just had to know.
Quirky, cheeky, funny, full of s***k and completely and utterly Midgie.
And more than anything, that little dog loved to run.
If you only knew Midgie later in her life, you probably never got to see the little dog I knew for all those years.
Because Midgie ran.
She ran everywhere.
All she ever wanted to do was run and be with me.
She’d be 100 metres in front of me, flat knacker, doing whatever the hell Midgie was doing, but she always knew exactly where I was.
Because for all her independence and all her quirks, I was her whole world.
She liked a few people, but she only ever had eyes for me.
I was her person.
And she was my soul dog.
Bloody hell, what a privilege it was to be loved like that.
God, she was a funny little dog.
She looked like a puppy nearly her whole life, so everyone wanted to pat her. Midgie wasn’t interested. It was pretty much, “No thanks, I’ve got my mum.”
She’d tear off ahead of me on a walk, hide behind the ute or a tree and wait.
Then as I got closer she’d get down low and stalk me ever so slowly.
And I’d bloody forget she was doing it. Every time.
Then out she’d come, flat out at me, growling and carrying on as she hit me.
Not an angry growl. Not nasty.
It was her cheeky little “I GOT YA!” growl.
Then the little bu**er would tear off again.
God, she made me laugh.
She’d grab her bumper by the end so it stuck out of her mouth like a cigar, tap it along the ground and go round and round in circles with it.
One day in South Australia she did it with a leaf, going round and round chasing a leaf that was already in her own mouth until she was practically dizzy.
She had her little patterns and circuits that she did over and over.
She snapped at fairies in the air.
She noticed things the rest of us didn’t.
I once found her staring at the ground and wondered what the hell she was doing.
She was watching the tiniest little ant walking along.
Another time she stood staring into a baking tray with a little bit of water in it, completely captivated by the tiniest ripples moving across the water.
Years ago, some kids with autism used to come into work, and one day they said to me, “Janine, Midgie’s like us.”
I asked them what they meant.
They said, “She’s got doggytism.”
And you know what? In their beautiful little way, they understood something about her.
She was different.
She was an enigma.
And she was bloody wonderful.
And then there was food.
Midgie had been fighting for her tucker since the day she was born.
She was the tiniest pup in a litter of six, stuck amongst these big fat Buddhas, and I was forever making sure she got onto a b**b and got her share.
Well, apparently she never forgot it.
Food was serious business to Midgie.
If you gave her a treat, you could see her trying so hard to take it gently.
She’d slowly open her mouth and come towards your fingers ever so carefully...
And then at the very last second...
WHACK.
Gone.
Treat, fingers, possibly half your hand.
She drew blood on more people over the years than I care to remember.
I’d tell people, “Don’t feed her out of your hand.”
They’d feed her.
And then I’d hear, “OW!”
There was never any malice in her.
She just seemed completely incapable of judging that last little bit of distance between her mouth and whatever she desperately wanted.
Even today, she was still Midgie when it came to food.
One of the first things I ever taught her was tracking.
And bloody hell, could that little dog track.
I could walk around the property, go off spraying weeds or doing whatever I was doing, and hours later Midgie would put that nose down and follow every bloody step I had taken.
Everywhere I’d been, she had to know.
She would track me until she found exactly where I’d gone.
I suppose that was Midgie all over.
For all her independence, all her running 100 metres in front of me and doing her own thing, she always needed to know where I was.
She always found me.
The lead-up to today has been excruciatingly hard.
Mentally, she was still my Midgie.
But physically, her body just couldn’t keep up with her anymore.
She couldn’t do the thing she’d loved doing her whole life.
She couldn’t run.
And that wasn’t fair to her.
I didn’t want to wait until it became an emergency.
I didn’t want her final day to be decided for us.
So today I gave my girl the biggest gift of love I could give her.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.
Freedom.
When her grandma Crikey passed away, I told her to run.
Run to the top of that hill as fast as she could.
And today I told Midgie the same thing.
Go, mate.
Run flat knacker.
Hammer and tong.
Run those hills.
Chase everything.
You’ve got your legs back now.
And as she was going, her little front feet started to run.
Just like her grandma’s did.
I kissed her little face and told the little dog who had spent her whole life finding me,
“You have to do one thing for me now, Darlin’.
You cannot look for me.
Not this time.
When my time comes, when I’m ready, I’ll find you.
And you’ll find me.
But until then, you don’t look for me.
You go and run.”
And she looked straight into my eyes.
I am heartbroken.
But tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, there is peace in me too.
Because my girl is free.
Run, Midgie.
Just run. 💞🐾