Loyal, easygoing, and patient, he was proof positive that humans aren’t alone in their dogged pursuit to find meaning in the bounce of the odd-shaped ball
It’s often said that sport is like religion, marked by spiritual experiences that lift athletes and fans beyond the mundanity of everyday life. With such a hefty remit, it stands to reason that your choice of sporting friends is of paramount importance.
You don’t want to be stuck with a TV-torching, sour worm-scoffing maniac when you’re trying to reach a higher plane of existence.
Thankfully, I never had any problems there. Milhaus was the perfect matchday buddy.
He was always available and never needed an explanation of the offside rule or grumbled about missing an episode of Game of Thrones. He’d listen patiently to my rants and growl disapprovingly when Stuart Berry made another questionable call.
Built like a Casspir, with a low centre of gravity, he would have been a demon in the front row if his parents had allowed him to take the field.
I never had cause to question Milhaus’s loyalties – he’d be ready with a high-five or join me in powersliding through the garden, or a comforting pat on the arm, at the final whistle, depending on the result. And even better, when the Boks took on England, he’d resist the temptation to mouth God Save the Queen.
All he ever asked for in return for his companionship was a bowl of his favourite snacks. Asa full-on jock, he preferred to parade around bare-chested, without being shackled down by a supporter’s jersey.
I recently had to have Milhaus, my six-year-old English bulldog and my first pet, put down when he could no longer bear the cancer that was eating away at him. It was probably the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make and a conflict of emotions I hope never to have to face again.
In the days that followed that fateful last visit to the vet, I would have normally looked to take refuge in sport, but the colours had run out of the game. It felt as though I was taking the coward’s way out and avoiding dealing with my feelings of grief.
Like most other dogs, Milhaus was a cheerful fellow who lived in the moment and loved nothing more than to spend time with his owners. With a new season of Super Rugby about to kick off, I have realised that renewing our Saturday ritual was a way to maintain our bond and cherish his memory.
I can no longer look at the world through the prism of “just a dog” – or for that matter, open the fridge without expecting to see a pair of eyes peering up at me.
He’s left me with incredible gifts: the lessons in compassion, fidelity and the sheer joy for life – that precious commodity that can so easily seep away in the helter-skelter nature of today’s world. I also have a renewed appreciation of the great unifying language that is sport, and its ability to develop and shape those bonds that make life worth living.
I will be hoping that the Sharks finally break their duck in Super Rugby, but no matter how the season unfolds, I’ll be cheering on twice as hard as in previous seasons to give voice to my departed friend.
Who knows, maybe someday, in a better place, Milhaus and I will be able to reignite our rugby reverie, and I’ll finally be able to convince him to slip on that jersey.
*Written by Ebrahim Moolla, a guest writer for the Change Exchange
Leave a Reply