by Zelie Bullen
Using some of the methods I’d learnt for myself over the last few years, I taught Fancy Pants to stand still when asked, to be gentle when being hand-fed, and never to show aggression towards me or treat me like I was lower in the pecking order. Eventually I got onto her back. If she didn’t cope well emotionally with that, I would get off and handle her from the ground some more. If she misbehaved I would reprimand her with my voice; and I would reward her with my tone and soothing physical contact if I thought she felt uncertain and to encourage desirable behaviour.
I had a lot of fun breaking in Fancy Pants, but then I wondered what I was going to do with her, I already had two other horses to ride.
In the end I sold her to a really sweet girl who lived just up the road. Her name was Isla Fisher and she would later become an actor and marry the British comic actor Sacha Baron Cohen. Isla used to come and hang around with me, wanting me to give her pony rides just as I had once followed Freda. I sold Fancy Pants cheaply because I was happy for her to have a home and for Isla to have her first pony. I wasn’t a horse dealer; I was a kid who’d seen one of my beautiful dreams come true—rescuing an undernourished skinny thing, turning her into a plump, happy and broken-in pony, and finding her a great home.
Candy and Snoopy continued to be my best friends, until they both passed away in my eighteenth year. Each time it was a heartbreaking loss. Both of them had helped me through my childhood, more than words can ever explain. But little did I know what more was to come.
CHAPTER 4
Love and loss
Study was never really my thing, but I had made up my mind to work with animals and the conventional line of thinking was that if you wanted to be paid to work with animals, you needed to be a vet or a zoologist. Both these careers meant going to university.
I had battled through high school hoping to achieve the marks needed to get into either of these courses, but I didn’t get the chemistry mark I needed for a vet science degree. Instead I gained entry into an agricultural diploma at Muresk Agricultural College, ninety kilometres east of Perth, thinking it would be a stepping stone into a veterinary course, and into a career that I was sure I’d love—working with animals.
In October 1988, Mum went travelling for a few months to have a much-needed break from raising us kids. Julie and I stayed behind at our Darlington house; we were joined there by my boyfriend, Paul Stanley, and Tamzin Lloyd, who had been a friend of mine since my earliest days at pony club. This was a bit of a steep learning curve for four teenagers. But Anita, Paul’s mum, helped by teaching us how to look after ourselves. We suddenly had to grow up and be self-sufficient.
Paul was my first love. We were young and we sometimes talked about getting married, with him building us a house where we would live happily ever after. He was the youngest of Anita’s three boys, and he absolutely idolised his eldest brother Mark, a seasoned boxer who was planning to train for the next Olympics.
At the beginning of the year, before my diploma course was due to start, I had been exercising racehorses for a trainer. But I had an accident when the horse I was riding reared, hit the side of my head with its neck and knocked me unconscious; then the horse flipped backwards onto me. When I regained consciousness and tried to pick myself up off the ground, I noticed my right leg wasn’t working—a terrible pain hit me and I saw my leg was bent as if it had two knees. I had suffered a compound fracture of both bones in my lower right leg, which had to be encased in a metal external fixture for six weeks, to realign the smashed bones; then I was in a cast for another six weeks.
Freda was now living in Gundagai, south-west of Sydney where she had just become engaged to a fourth-generation farmer, Bert Nicholls. Because of my injured leg I deferred my diploma; with some time on my hands I decided to fly over and visit her. I had been there for a few weeks when, out of the blue, Paul, together with his two brothers, Mark and Dean, and Mark’s girlfriend Roslyn, turned up in a little yellow Ford Escort van. They’d just crossed the Nullarbor Plain so they stayed for a few days; when the time came for them to get back on the road, Paul asked me to go along with them. Though I was initially hesitant, because it was such a small vehicle, I jumped into the van.
Mark was a very dominant elder brother. He had suggested a trip around Australia because he wanted to spend some time bonding with his two younger brothers before he started into more serious training for the Olympics. As plans progressed, he had invited his gorgeous girlfriend Roslyn along as well. There was only seating for three people in the front of the van so a mattress was laid out in the back, which two of us had to lie down on and share with Mark’s bull terrier, Seb, who suffered terribly from wind. It wasn’t the most pleasant trip.
Nobody wanted to spend any money (not that we had any) and Mark made all of the decisions, for all of us. Typically, he would pull up at some sort of park and we would pull out sleeping bags, doonas and whatever bedding had been stuffed into the back and camp out on the ground. By the time we had reached Townsville, I could no longer cope with Seb’s flatulence, with the cramped conditions and the seemingly constant rain, as well as the condensation in the little van.
It had been raining for days. In the evening we pulled up just before town, and the boys broke into a sports hall. I didn’t feel comfortable with that at all—I thought it was a really wrong thing to do. But they just wanted somewhere dry to sleep. I slept in the van with Seb that night, while the boys and Roslyn slept in the hall. I knew then and there that I didn’t want to be in that environment anymore.
Leaving them to head home was difficult. Paul was torn between his brother and me, with Mark trying to get him to stay. But Paul finally decided to go with me, and we caught a succession of buses over four days and nights to make it back to Perth.
We returned to the house at Darlington and began to get back into our old routine. But shortly after we arrived back, something horrific happened. The phone rang just after dinner. It was Paul’s father. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I could tell the news was bad.
Mark had been electrocuted. They had been picking fruit in Cairns and staying in a caravan. Mark was showering in the caravan when Roslyn heard him cry out her name. She rushed in and found him lying in the shower recess with a burn mark on his chest from the detachable metal showerhead. Apparently the caravan had bad wiring and was not earthed properly. Roslyn called an ambulance immediately, but when they arrived they told her nothing could be done to save him. Roslyn and Dean left the car in Cairns and flew home with Mark’s body for the funeral.
Seeing Paul and his family go through that tragedy, I thought I understood how they felt. Even though we’d had our differences along the way, Mark had been like my big brother too. I felt terrible that my last memory of him was the struggle over whether Paul would stay on or return to Perth with me.
After Mark was buried, everyone tried to go back to life without him. Paul himself fell into a big wasted heap—he drank a lot and it was horrible. I tried to support him, but it was really hard trying to help him to keep his head above water.
My philosophy on drugs and alcohol has always been zero consumption, and seeing Paul drink so much was soul-destroying for me.
As nerdy as it might seem, I’ve never been interested in drinking or taking drugs. My attitude is probably a result of the large number of unpleasant scenes I witnessed as a child. I saw lots of things from an early age that turned me off both drugs and alcohol; I was simply furious that anybody would willingly choose to inflict so much damage on themselves.
When we were teenagers, everyone started to drink. Many of them thought it was cool to sneak off from school at lunchtime and go and drink wine down at the river. At parties they would get extremely drunk. I felt angry and disappointed with my friends, and the more I came under peer pressure, the more I wanted to go my own way.
When people find out I don’t drink they usually react in one of two ways. There are those who belligerently say, ‘Oh, you don’t know what you’re missi
ng,’ and then there are those who say, ‘That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard.’
As an adult, I have never felt that I missed out. I don’t feel that I need any sort of substance to relax, to have fun, to wind down. There has never been a point in my life when I have thought I might just try what everyone else is doing. It’s just not for me.
CHAPTER 5
Snoopy Two
Mum arrived back in Perth to be with us after Mark’s death, but she was talking about travelling again for a while. She had fallen in love with Cairns in particular, the people and the place. In 1989, I started my diploma course at Muresk. I was again riding racehorses on weekends, and working as a barmaid at night to earn enough money to live on. I would drive down to the closest bank at Midland to bank my wages cheque each week.
One afternoon on the way to the bank, I was standing beside the busy Great Northern Highway waiting to cross, when I felt something on my foot and looked down. A little pup was sitting there; he looked to be about six weeks old. I thought, ‘That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.’ I picked him up and looked around to see who he belonged to. I asked people nearby but none of them knew where he’d come from. Finally one lady told me there was a pet shop in the nearby arcade—maybe he’d come from there.
Sure enough, when I went in, there were eight other pups just like him, though he had a different patch on his face. I went up to the sales lady and told her I’d just found this puppy right next to the busy highway. She thanked me, explaining that she’d had all the puppies out for a couple of little girls to look at; he must have walked out the door and they hadn’t noticed. I handed him over, but almost as soon as I walked out the door, I thought, ‘I want that dog!’ By then it had been nearly a year since Snoopy died, and I hated not having a dog. Then I stopped myself—I was studying and I was riding racehorses and working nights. I didn’t have time for a puppy.
But still I drove home thinking, ‘I want that dog; I want that dog. Why did I walk away from him?’ A struggle was going on in my head.
When I got home I told Mum the story and she said, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, go back and get it.’ It was just before my nineteenth birthday and Mum handed me the twenty dollars he cost and said he could be my birthday present.
I drove straight back to the pet shop in my old white Holden WB ute. I couldn’t drive there fast enough. What if someone else had already bought him? He was there; I paid for him and we walked out together. It was one of the best things I ever did.
Snoopy Two was a blue heeler–kelpie cross, but he had floppy ears, so there was something else going on there as well. He was a beautiful happy little mate and very well trained. He went everywhere with me, and everyone used to comment on how polite and loving he was. At the time I thought I was just lucky to have a good dog. But I now know that, because Snoopy Two went everywhere with me, he learnt boundaries. He learnt what were nice manners and what weren’t—that was why he became such a polite dog. Yes, he had a lovely temperament, definitely, but at the time I didn’t understand completely why he was so well behaved.
Snoopy Two taught me a lot about training, because he could communicate his feelings so well—he had such an expressive face. If I got grumpy at something he had done, I would tell him off. But he was so expressive that I knew when I had gone too far, because he showed me how upset he was.
A large part of being an animal trainer is trial and error. There’s no way you can go out and become an amazing trainer on the first animal you train; it takes time and you learn how to read an animal as you go.
Snoopy taught me about how long and how regular each training session should be. I taught him to sit, lie down, stay, heel, jump over an obstacle or onto the back of the ute, and to never get down unless he was asked. I learnt from him how simple the cues needed to be. I would babble on in his ear and he would have no idea what I was on about; but then I would give him a simple command, like ‘Get up’, and he would understand immediately. No one showed me how to do this—I was just playing with my dog. He was having fun and I made a fuss, and you could see how proud he became of himself.
CHAPTER 6
Julie
In 1989 Mum went back to Cairns. Tamzin and Julie were still living at Darlington with me, but Paul had moved back in with his parents.
Julie had always been proud of me and my ability to handle and ride horses; she would tell people how good I was, and it made me feel good about myself. I was proud to be her sister as well—she was so popular and vivacious—and I felt more confident when we went to the pub or parties together. But at around this time she got a new boyfriend, Tim.
Julie’s previous boyfriends had all been lovely passive guys. Tim was more assertive. Early in their relationship, Julie confided to me that she liked going to parties with him, knowing she would be looked after. Some of Julie’s friends didn’t like Tim and she didn’t like some of his friends. They decided to go travelling around Australia, and one of the reasons was so they could have a fresh start together, away from other people’s judgement. We talked about it and, although it was hard to see her go, I wanted her to be happy. I knew I’d miss her, but we were young and we agreed that in the near future we would get back together somehow.
They took off in Tim’s ute, travelling north. Julie phoned after they had worked their way across the Top End, picking fruit and doing other odd jobs, and told me they were going to see Mum, as she had heard Cairns was beautiful.
When she arrived there, I talked with her on the phone and noticed that she sounded different, distant. She told me she was fine and not to worry—she was really enjoying spending time with Mum again.
Then she rang and told me she was coming back to Darlington, but she hadn’t told anyone else. She planned to be home for her twenty-first, which was only a few weeks away. I was so happy. She was coming home!
Mum rang a few days later to tell me that Julie had been in an accident. I asked her what sort of accident. Mum’s reply was short: ‘A bad one.’ I asked to speak to Julie, but Mum said that wasn’t possible. My heart sank.
Mum explained that she was in a coma. All I could ask Mum was when she would be better—I didn’t realise then how bad it was. Mum started sobbing and told me that the doctors were operating on her. I kept repeating down the phone, ‘She’ll be alright, Mum, she’ll be alright.’ I think Mum was in shock, but I kept thinking that this was Julie, my tough invincible sister—nothing was going to happen to her.
When I got off the phone from Mum I immediately rang Anita Stanley. When she and Paul arrived, I was walking in circles. Poor Anita kept hugging me. She of course had recently lost her eldest son. She held my hand and we waited.
Mum rang again to tell me Julie was out of surgery. She was still sobbing. The doctors had told her that, even if Julie did wake up, she wouldn’t be the person we knew, as the damage to her brain was so extensive. They were going to take her off life support. I screamed and pleaded with her, ‘They don’t know! Don’t let them, Mum! Don’t let them tell you what to do!’
I was really angry and frantic. I felt the distance between Cairns and Perth even more than I thought possible. Mum kept saying to me that Julie wasn’t there anymore, and I felt like I was dying inside. Anita and Paul held me as Mum kept saying quietly, ‘She’s coming home, darling, I’m bringing her home. She’s coming home to you.’ Then she gently hung up.
For the first time in my life, I was truly inconsolable. When Mum rang again I kept yelling down the phone, ‘Is she dead? Is she dead? Is she dead?’ I didn’t want to give Mum a chance to answer as I couldn’t bear to hear what I knew was coming.
Mum sobbed as she said, ‘Yes, darling, she’s there with you.’
I screamed back at her, ‘No, she’s not. She’s not here! She’s not here, Mum.’
Poor Mum—she kept trying in vain to tell me that it wasn’t Julie lying there in Cairns, it was just an empty body. I didn’t care—I didn’t want to hear that. I would have held onto anything, even
a lifeless body. Julie had always told me she would be there for me, and now she wasn’t.
I learnt that Mum and Julie had been at a picnic lunch at the beach with a few of Mum’s friends. One of these friends, Annie, had left some pottery in a kiln and so she and Julie decided to drive back to check on it. As they drove away neither of them had seatbelts on—Annie’s ute was so old that there were no seatbelts fitted.
A drunk young man driving a sports car started to overtake them, but then he saw a four-wheel drive coming the other way and he pulled back in behind Annie’s ute. Instead of waiting, he tried to overtake them on the inside, on the shoulder of the road, but he clipped their ute at the back and pushed them into the path of the oncoming car. Julie had hit her head on the front windscreen on impact and then on the back window of the ute. For a long time I was very sad, thinking about how scared she must have been in those last few seconds. I tortured myself by imagining what it was like. Annie had been killed at the scene of the accident.
Mum brought Julie’s body back to Perth. We held her funeral, which went past in a blur. But I do remember that when we viewed her, one of her bandanas had been tied around her head—all her beautiful long brown hair had been shaved off. The make-up the mortician had put on her, trying to cover the swelling and discolouration on her face, was ridiculously wrong. I looked down at her and the only part of her I recognised was her hands. I wanted to touch her, but I was too scared that it wouldn’t feel like her, that it would make it true; that Julie really was lying there dead.