Life seems to have to gone to the dogs for newshounds Patch and Ted

THINGS have been tough for controversial newshounds Patch and Ted recently. Still, it’s nothing a day at the dog spa can’t fix, writes Patrick Carlyon.

Labor MP Steve Herbert's dogs Patch (left) and Ted. Picture: Facebook

THERE’S been much scuttlebutt in recent days about me and Ted. We’re the Jack Russell dogs said to be chauffeured around Victoria on the taxpayers’ purse.

I’m Patch, the mutt who looks like I fell head first into a tin of black paint. Ted appears spookified, as though he’s plugged into an electric socket. We’re the faces behind “The Ted and Patch Affair”, the local version of Pistol and Boo, except that our owner is to Johnny Depp what tracky dacks are to sexy.

A while ago, we took a trip — unaccompanied — from Parkdale to our country retreat in Trentham. But as our Master explained, there was “absolutely no issue”. That is where the story should have ended.

Yet everyone else disagreed. They questioned the propriety of our adventure. Something to do with the misuse of a government car by our Master, Corrections Minister Steve Herbert. People conjured visions of pampered pooches and drinks with little umbrellas. Frankly, the chatter has been galling and Ted and I have been vilified by the rapscallions of the fourth estate. Ted has been beside himself. He departed for a dog kinesiology retreat in Noosa so frazzled he hopped on the first available flight. Poor thing flew cargo. On Jetstar.

He was concerned about the social media photos. The snoozes in front of the heater. The designer beds at the front door. I share Ted’s concerns. This needs to be put on the record — we are not and never have been treated like spoilt cats.

We’re plain, old dogs, three square meals a day plus treats. Except on Massage Mondays. And Wellness Wednesdays. We hardly ever have puppuchinos, except after dog pilates classes on Tuesdays and Fridays. We eat and lick and sleep and sniff. Except after Shampoo-and-Champagne Saturdays. As for the car ride, let me say this — I can say no more. There may have been other rides. But our Master cannot be certain. As he told the parliament, he has no accurate written records. Did taxpayers expect him to ask around for further information?

Ted at MP Steve Herbert's Trentham home. Picture: Christopher Chan

People assume we have it easy. We don’t. Our Master is the third cabinet minister to resign from the Andrews Government in two years, for reasons that defy common sense or good governance. It’s tragic because Master worked so hard. He couldn’t remember our trips because he had bigger trips to think about. There was the “education mission” to the Americas. In China, he built “government-to-government relations” at the expense of Master-to-doggy relations. He went to Malaysia and Singapore, then Vietnam and Malaysia. These trips cost $113,000. But as he said himself, he had a “really tough job”.

Ted and I have suffered terribly for his work. People don’t know the loneliness of being packed into your “travel container” and thrown in the car with the briefing papers.

The untold story is how our naturopath diagnosed both Ted and me with bad chi and PCDS — Post Chauffeur Disorder Syndrome. Anyway, Master repaid $192, a trifling amount. That’s about a week’s worth of holistic duck dog food. Or a spot of brunch at the dog spa. Perspective, people.

Some observers said Master’s explanations were unconvincing. He was dismissive at first, then he couldn’t remember. Then, he couldn’t find out — again, did people expect him to pick up a phone? He’s now been stripped of his ministerial role and $125,000 a year. There’s talk of drastic change. Who knew you could buy dog food from a supermarket?

Master released a statement that didn’t sound like the man we know at either of our homes. It soared with “Churchillian hubris and gratuitous superlatives”. If those sound like big concepts for a little dog. I confess, I’m just reciting what two blokes said down the pub.

They said other things, too.

That Master doubles as the new face of political gluttony. That he’s just a pig in the trough in a political career marked by its mediocrity, prompting the question — does he serve the people or does he think the people serve him? That my Master embodied why Malcolm Turnbull almost got rolled in July and why a misogynist buffoon will assume the most powerful perch on the planet. Because the people reject insiders and their casual contempt for their voters.

Perhaps Master will contribute to the next instalment of Man and Beast, a new book edited by Herald Sun journalist Andrew Rule, about people and their animals.

Then again, perhaps not.

Patrick Carlyon is a Sunday Herald Sun columnist