August 28th, 2025Your Say

It’s Leo to the rescue
Jeff Glorfeld wants to tell a shaggy-dog tale.
It’s funny, the things we remember. My wife Carol and I lived in our house in Wheatsheaf for 17 wonderful years, full of labours of love and fun times with family and friends. But when I think of the place, one day in particular still vividly comes to mind – the day the religious folks came calling. But I’m not sure they even had time to identify themselves or which sect they represented.
One of our neighbours had a dog, a big, fat, lovable boofhead yellow lab named Leo, who was something of an escape artist. Leo liked to drop in and check on folks, and his preferred route involved swimming in every dam between his house and his destination, so that when he arrived, he’d be sopping wet with muddy dam water and brimming with doggy joy.

Leo also had a party trick: he’d see you out in the yard and come ambling up to you in his boof-headed friendly manner, but instead of stopping and waiting to be patted or something, he would continue walking, duck his head, and go between your legs. Which we thought was hilarious the first time he did it to us, but which we knew to avoid during subsequent Leo visits.
So one day these two evangelical blokes drove down our driveway, climbed out of their car, both dressed in pressed black slacks and white shirts and carrying sheaves of religious literature, and headed towards where we were sitting on the back verandah.
As it happened, Leo had just arrived too, fresh from a swim in our muddy dam, so when these guys came walking up, Leo took it upon himself to act as official greeter. As I said, he was big but completely non-threatening. Even so, these chaps looked mildly alarmed as Leo approached, tail waving, spraying dam water. This turned to utter confusion as Leo showed them his party trick, pushing between their legs. Muddy, wet, smelly, hairy yellow dog – meet pressed black trousers. Carol and I tried to call him off but Leo had a job to do and he did it well. Plus, we were laughing so hard, he probably took it as a sign that his efforts were welcome.
Those two religion salesmen didn’t even stay to give their pitch, they just jumped back in their car and took off.
You might gather from this yarn that we’re not fond of religious spruikers knocking on our door, and you’d be correct. Living out in Wheatsheaf pretty much protected us from their ministrations but every once in a while a pair (ever notice how they always travel in pairs?) would wander down the drive, looking a strange mixture of apprehensive and hopeful, usually on a Saturday and generally right after I’d cracked open a well-deserved frosty ale.
My usual response was to offer a trade-off: I would listen to their spiel if they would first allow me to describe to them in detail how, rather late in life, I became a devoted fan and follower of the band the Grateful Dead – a Deadhead. None accepted the offer. Oh, well.
One of the many characteristics I loved about the vast majority of Australians I met over the years was their equanimity towards religion. My brother refuses to talk about religion because, I think, it makes him uncomfortable to try to articulate his feelings about such a personal matter. But I also think for most Australians it’s a matter of respecting the rights of others to hold such beliefs in private. If I choose to attend a house of worship, that’s where I will share my faith – not on the doorstep of some stranger who is just sitting down for some footy and a beer.
A great many Americans don’t share my feeling that religious faith is a private personal matter. Evangelical Christianity is rampant here now, encouraged by the ruling political party. There is a movement underway to have the United States declared to be a Christian nation, removing the US Constitutionally mandated separation of church and state – that church being Christian, no other faiths needing representation.
I wonder how Leo is going – I could use an emotional support dog.