I do it once a
week. Well that’s not too bad, considering my age.
Mostly it takes me three quarters of an hour – but that’s understandable
too. One of the bosses is in the carpark. Long legged, slim and elegant with eyes to die for
(the colour of a cloudless summer sky), he saunters towards me. My knees wobble even
thinking about him. WOW. But, hang on, before you go all wobbly too, it’s not what you’re
imagining, you rotten lot.
It’s 9am but inside there’s already plenty of action – that is if you call
wheelchairs in motion ‘action’. It’s a home where the elderly and infirm find comfort and affection beyond
explanation from other than the usual caregivers.
Some of these are hogging the best chairs, or
curled up on laps, whilst others are still snuggled down in bed with their ‘owners’. When I
open the door at No.38 I find my friend in danger of being smothered by ‘Baggins’ who lies across her chest, pinning
her to the bed where he’s spent the night snoring. Her room is his room – the Knox Home is his
home.
This is obviously not your normal rest home
where the idea of allowing animals is abhorrent and
unhygienic. How many people do you
know who’ve heart-wrenchingly had to have their pets euthanised because they
were compelled to move into care. If not sitting on still-warm car
bonnets, Ole Blue Eyes is often seen snuggling up on a lap in the
lounge. ‘George’ (no relation to the Prince) ‘belongs’ to Peg in the next corridor. This tabby
disappears during daylight hours and Peg insists he ‘goes to work’ but I wonder if, with a Church opposite, he
doesn’t sit bathed in the colours of the stained glass windows praying for the ‘oldies’ across the road.
‘Romeo’ is small, with tousled hair hiding his eyes. He arrives daily by bicycle (in a backpack) to visit
Pat. What joy she gets from these visits. ‘Whisper’,
the small black cat, sticks close to his
‘Dad’. ‘Oscar’, a small dog with a tail in perpetual motion dashes
about like a whirling dervish cajoling titbits at
mealtimes. And there are others too numerous to mention.
The hairdresser, who rescues neglected animals,
often brings a selection of livestock in for a day. She arrived just before me carrying two cages,
one containing a couple of brown ducks, the other a hen with a clutch of newly hatched
chickens. Incidentally she has ten ponies and numerous cats and dogs but still finds time to
shampoo and set the hair of the ladies of Ranfurly Road. Yep- it’s not a bad way to
help combat the blues that so often accompany old age – that is if you’re an animal lover.
Barbara