The worn, wooden rocking chair creaked rhythmically as I swayed, the rhythmic motion a comforting counterpoint to the storm raging outside. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest of emotions swirling within me. Three years. Three long, heartbreaking years of trying. Three years of doctor’s appointments, of whispered hopes and crushing disappointments. Three years of yearning for the pitter-patter of tiny feet and the sound of childish laughter filling our home.
Then, there was Teddy. Our goofy, clumsy Labrador Retriever, a whirlwind of fur and affection that had crashed into our lives like a playful puppy tornado. We had brought him home on a whim, a spur-of-the-moment decision after months of soul-searching. The emptiness in our home felt unbearable, and Teddy, with his boundless energy and unwavering love, had filled it with a joy we hadn’t known existed.
He was a whirlwind of activity, his tail a blur as he chased squirrels, his bark echoing through the neighborhood. He loved nothing more than a good belly rub and a game of fetch, his floppy ears flapping in the wind as he sprinted across the yard. And then, there were the cuddles. Teddy loved to snuggle, especially on cold winter evenings, his massive head resting on my lap, his warm breath a comforting presence.
But it was recently that Teddy’s behavior had taken on a new dimension. He’d become increasingly protective of me, his golden eyes following my every move with an almost uncanny intensity. He’d started spending more time by my side, his head resting on my lap for longer periods, his gentle nudges more frequent. And then, there were the kisses.
It started subtly. A gentle lick on my hand, a playful nudge against my arm. But then, it evolved. He’d seek me out, his tail wagging with a newfound purpose, and carefully, delicately, he’d nudge my belly with his nose, then lick it with a soft, wet tongue. It was the most unexpected, and yet, the most heartwarming gesture. It was as if he knew, somehow, that something magical was happening within me.
And then, it happened. The two blue lines appeared on the pregnancy test, stark against the white background. Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and salty. I was pregnant. After three years of longing, hope had finally returned.
I turned to see Teddy watching me, his head cocked to the side, his golden eyes filled with an unusual intensity. He whined softly, then nudged my belly again, his tongue gently licking the skin. It was as if he was congratulating me, celebrating with me. In that moment, I knew. Teddy wasn’t just our dog; he was our protector, our confidante, our furry guardian angel. He knew before I did, and his joy was palpable.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. Morning sickness, fatigue, and the constant worry about the tiny life growing inside me. But Teddy was always there, a constant source of comfort and companionship. He’d lie beside me, his head on my lap, his presence a soothing balm to my anxieties. He’d follow me everywhere, his eyes glued to my every move, as if anticipating my every need. And every evening, without fail, he’d gently nudge my belly with his nose, as if checking on the progress of the little miracle growing within me.
As the months passed, my belly grew, and so did Teddy’s protective instincts. He’d bark at any sudden noise, his eyes scanning the room with a newfound alertness. He’d nudge anyone who came too close, his low growls a gentle warning. He was already preparing for his role as protector, his love for the unborn child radiating from him like a warm glow.
Finally, the day arrived. The day I met my little miracle. As I held my newborn daughter in my arms, tears streamed down my face. She was perfect, tiny and fragile, yet so strong. I glanced at Teddy, who was watching us with wide, curious eyes. He whined softly, then cautiously approached, sniffing the air with his wet nose.
He hesitated for a moment, then gently nudged my daughter’s hand with his nose. She startled, her tiny fingers twitching. Teddy, sensing her surprise, whined again, then licked her hand gently. My daughter, seemingly sensing his affection, reached out a tiny hand and touched his nose.
In that moment, I knew that Teddy was already smitten. He was no longer just our dog; he was a brother, a protector, a friend. He had welcomed our daughter into our lives with open arms, and his love for her was already overflowing.
As I watched my daughter and Teddy interact, a wave of gratitude washed over me. Teddy, our furry companion, had not only filled our home with joy but had also prepared our hearts for the greatest love of all. He had shown us the meaning of unconditional love, and now, he was sharing that love with the newest member of our family.
Teddy, our goofy, clumsy Labrador, had truly brought magic into our lives. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep within my soul, that our little family was complete.
Australia’s adopted popstar son Leo Sayer reflects on his career
“I look at my role as being a friend of Canberra Hospital, I can bring some pleasure and happiness sometimes to people who are really in difficult times in their lives.”
With backing music from a Bluetooth speaker, Sayer croons his way around the cancer wards, making a human connection with everyone he comes across.
Canberra Region Cancer Centre Operations Manager Caroline McIntyre says Sayer’s visits are typically kept a surprise for patients and staff.
“He’s always come in so discreetly,” she says.
“Normally it’s just very quiet, he comes up in the back lift and says hello to literally everybody.
“Some of them are doing it tough, and to have a little bit of joy and light – it really gives them a lift.
“What makes me happy is to see people getting chemo on their feet dancing.”
Jamming with Jimi Hendrix, Countdown and the Troubadour
Originally a graphic designer by trade, English-born Leo Sayer rose to pop prominence in London in the late 1960s, as a singer-songwriter – and was soon adopted by Australia as an honorary son after his first tour here in 1974.
He went on to become an Australian citizen in 2009.
Sayer was a regular on ABC TV’s Countdown during the 70s and 80s, performing chart-toppers like “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing”, “When I Need You”, “More Than I Could Say” and “Orchard Road”.
He blushingly admits they were wild days – when he didn’t always live up to his “good-guy” public persona.
“It was mad, I mean, Top of the Pops in England, Countdown over here,” he says.
“You were mobbed by the fans, I remember being dragged out of a limousine the first tour that I came here, and then speaking to crazy people like Molly Meldrum on TV and trying to sort of like take it all in.”
It seems hard to believe – the petite, well-spoken singer, with a mane of curly hair that inspired changing his name from Gerard to Leo – beating off mobs of screaming fangirls.
Sayer circulated in superstar company, becoming close friends with former Beatles George Harrison and Paul McCartney, collaborating with Roger Daltrey of The Who, and even sharing a sly cigarette or two with John Lennon and Yoko Ono who had a flat above his design studio.
“I met Jimi Hendrix right at the start of his career. I actually jammed with him, playing the harmonica, and him playing the guitar,” he says.
Recalling his 1975 opening night at the famous Troubadour Club in Los Angeles, he looked up to see an intimidating line-up of fans in the front row.
“It was David Bowie, Elton John, and ‘The Fonz’ [Henry Winkler].”
Alongside them: John Cleese, Mick Jagger, Bernie Taupin, and comedian Marty Feldman.
“We never thought it would last, we were adapting to things around us, writing songs about things that are around us,” he says.
“And we thought they were only for our generation — so the amazing thing is my music’s become like a fine wine, where you lay it down and years later, it becomes a collector’s item.
“We’re in an age where the music that I make, young kids are actually latching onto it now, and they’re finding that that generation and that style of music we made is as current now as anything.”
Sayer’s health battles, still spreading hope at 76
Leo Sayer says his hospital charity work caps off a career dedicated to providing joy through music.
“It’s a nice piece of synchronicity really, because I was born in the grounds of a hospital in Shoreham by Sea in Sussex, near Brighton in England,” Mr Sayer said.
“I suppose I’ve always felt comfortable in hospitals and being around hospitals.
“Growing up, my dad was a hospital engineer, Mum was a nurse, my sister was a matron.”
Sayer has health struggles of his own, including three stents in his heart, which help him have a genuine connection to the hospital patients he entertains.
“[My music] is providing something that isn’t taking away from any of the treatment that’s going on. It’s providing something that’s just putting a smile on peoples’ faces.
“Music is communication and that’s what this is all about, we’re communicating, we’re making people feel better.
“We’re not healing people with music, but we are making them feel better about their healing.
“To sell out Canberra Hospital will do me fine.”
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