Its a funny thing, me and writing, I tend to only do it when I am happy, as if the words make the pain I feel inside cut even deeper. So I am going to force some words out and break the habit of not writing when I am unhappy.

I've been back at the farm a few days, things were intensely busy in Sydney before I left, but dad was pretty clear that he needed me here so I drove through the night and was ready for breakfast with my parents.

It was weird to be here without little Rosie, I have a foster dog from AWDRI, Billy, a black and tan Kelpie, he dosen't make it any easier, as I am constantly catching myself speaking to him as if he is her.

Today just on dusk I spied a little black dog with a white chest in the last paddock we harvested, I could see her little body bounding towards us working the machines in the next paddock, then stop and sniff the air as if to see if it was safe.

I raced to my ute and sped across the stubble, my mind was filled with the joy of having her jump up on me and be as happy as I was to see her.

Within a hundred metres the trepidatious kelpie materialised into a hairy bushpig with an unusual white belly and white feet. I chased the pig off the property, so angry that the pig and my mind acted in concert to trick me into thinking it was all over and finally my Rosie was back.

She isn't and I miss her so much.