Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Sleepovers



For some lucky puppies, the Dog Rock Gods don’t just exist in the park. These puppies actually get to come and stay in our own little puppy heaven. A wonderful time is always had by the visiting puppy but not always by the Dog Rock Gods. These are their stories.

Let’s begin with very big Gordon Setter Monty. Dog Saint Meredith is sitting at her computer doing something very important like Writing The Next Great Australian Novel or Sending Out Invoices. It is hot. Without a cherub to flutter a fan – times are lean for the Dog Rock Gods – Meredith has to cope with an electric fan positioned behind her. She hears Monty lumber in and thinks nothing of it. In quick succession she hears what sounds like a tap, thinks something of it and turns from her masterpiece only to see Monty, leg cocked, weeing on the fan and the resultant, shall we say, golden shower, raining down upon her head as the offending fluid hits the fan, so to speak.

Then there was Harry, Lotti, and the Rock Star – not to be confused with the far more important (and pleasant) Dog Rock God. At this point The DRGs are living opposite a man who achieved some fame for some song about violently eliminating mechanical gambling devices. Who knew? Certainly not us. In any case, as you might imagine, Dog Rock Gods and Minor League Rock Stars live quite opposite hours. Apparently the Rock Star sings a whole bunch of very left wing songs about tolerance and people who have to work for a living and that sort of thing. Apparently people love him for it. Long story short, Harry and Lotti were staying and our dogs are walked around 6am before we do our professional duties. Yes, yes, our own dogs are always commenting on how unprofessional we are with them but quickly quieten down when we suggest they might put their own paws in their pockets. In any case, on these occasions Harry thought he might serenade the neighbourhood with his excitement at going on the Dog Rock Gods private walks at 6 every morning. These melodious tones could not be silenced by any amount of shushing or cajoling even though said shushing and cajoling was done quite desperately due to the fact that we knew the human Rock Star would be upset at having been woken up because he didn’t get home from his gig – that’s what these hip people call a musical performance – until after 3am. How do we know? Because we heard him making a heck of a ruckus as he stumbled out of the cab. Woke us up. Ooops. Long story short. Rock Star has number of Dog Rock Gods and continues a text campaign for the entire duration of the Harry stay, which is how long Harry continued his serenading. Lotti’s only real contribution for the stay was grabbing the one litre container of honey from the bench and spreading it throughout the house.

Don’t get us wrong. Lots of lovely stuff happens on home stays. Baci turns into a good dog, Twiggy becomes cuddle central, Rex cracks us up by literally staring quizzically at the Picasso on the wall, head tilting back and forth, hey that’s not how a person looks. But it is. But it’s not. You’re thinking it’s a real Picasso? We’re dogwalkers, get a grip.

Our bunch usually loves a visitor, no chance to get bored with each other. Socksy the cat rules the roost. Many a dog has developed an unhealthy interest in Socks, often laying there staring at him for hours. Socksy likes it that way. Only Toast has been banned for not getting that Socks is the boss. Gizmo is usually the welcoming committee for the visitors, teaching them the rules of play in our house, while Ruby plays mother figure should they need one and should she like them. Bubble, as the house terrier cross unfortunately has her cross terrier moments, usually with another terrier. Sadly Bubble could not threaten her way out of a paper bag – though why she’d find herself in one is a little beyond us – and usually ends up sulking under the bed after a few choice swear words from the visiting crosser terrier.

Bubble has reason to get her knickers in a knot though. Early on in our dog walking lives when we were mere Dog Angels, Otto Jack Russel came to stay with us for nine months. Bubble adored him and thought he was family. He even moved house with us – the ‘wow that was a mistake from which we are still trying to extricate ourselves’ move. Then Otto went home and Bubble was left heartbroken. She still refuses to speak to him.

Currently we have two long-term visitors. Bo, whose Mum has gone into aged care, and thus will always be with us. We take him to visit her a couple of times each week. And Judy. Judy. Judy whose Mum went overseas for two weeks over three and a half years ago now only to find that the Government wouldn’t let her back in. Hard to understand why. She is a lovely woman. And Judy. Well Judy raids the other dog’s bowls, eats poo at every opportunity, and snores like a very big fat man. Judy’s lovely Mum assures us she will send for her as soon as she finds a place to settle.

Aaaah the lives of the Dog Rock Gods. Truly.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Get well soon Jemima


Sometimes the world can be a little difficult to figure, even for Dog Rock Gods like us. We got a call on the weekend from one of the world’s truly wonderful people, Libby, to let us know that the beautiful, cheeky, happy, gorgeous, marvellous little munckin Jemima had been through a most dreadful trauma. During the previous evening Jemima had started out a little on the quiet side then progressed to full on shaking and finally couldn’t move her back legs. All in very quick time.

Jemima and the Family Fabulous (and they truly are) all rush off to Sydney Uni vet hospital from where they are steered to the one at North Ryde where all sorts of specialists hover with scalpels and anaesthesia and surgeon outfits. These very important people find that this little tiny ball of love has four or five slipped discs and set about meticulously securing them back to her spine from which they never should have strayed.

The washup is that one of the absolute delights of our days is in hospital on happy drugs for the rest of the week and then will need at least eight weeks of restricted movement in a little cot. Not that we’re counting, but when you add the weekend before it happened and the week in hospital, that will be 68 days or, even worse, one thousand six hundred and thirty two hours without seeing Jemima and all of her wonderful entourage. We are very sad. As are many of our Critter Clubbers who have asked us to translate and convey their messages here:

Josie: Dear Jemima, I hope you get well soon. I miss sharing the front seat with you and I promise I will work hard to keep all the other ones from your spot.

Twiggy: Ouch. That’s bad. Miss you. Get back soon. Please. We need you in our group. Charlie is sad.

Buttons: White fluffies together!

Sadie: If you don’t hurry back who will I snuggle up to on the front seat? Think about it Jemima. It’s not always all about you.

Toast: Come on kid. Chin up. I’m just down the road if ya need anything.

Bebe: I know I always complained when you took my ball and I know this is where I should say I actually kinda liked it but I didn’t but I do really like you and I hope you feel very better soon.

Bello: Dear Jemima, you are one of the really nice ones. Please get well soon.

Spikey: Who’s going to beat me to the ball if you don’t? I like to chase it but I like it when you pick it up because I think it tastes a bit yukky.

Charlie: Dear Jemima. I should have said this a long time ago but I was scared. I know what I feel for you is unnatural. I know that. Boys are supposed to like boys like my dads and girls are supposed to like girls like the Dog Rock God and Dog Saint Meredith but I love YOU Jemima. I love you. And I miss you. And I would do anything to make you well. Love Charlie.

Friday, April 2, 2010

The One Car Tango


Critter Club usually has two vehicles zooming around the city, battling the less privileged traffic, poor buggers with regular jobs and regular lives, as we pickup the world’s greatest dogs.

Usually. But not on this day.

Unfortunately, Mr Volkswagen felt the need to include a radiator with a very low life expectancy in the main dog bus, the Caddy. So after just three years it went off to get a replacement, and if this were a motoring blog we could tell you a whole lot more that might help you with your brand choice for your next car but onward, this is about dogs.

So now we have a large number of dogs to fit in a Toyota Corolla hatch. Again, if this were a motoring blog we could tell you more about advertised fuel efficiency versus actual non-fuel efficiency but this is about the dogs and we will not digress.

Large number of dogs, small car, so first a couple of adjustments need to be made. Daisy must go. Sweet, happy, getting rather large six month old Labrador who thinks any place is a play place and play involves running rings around other dogs and jumping on their heads. In the Corolla? Sorry Daisy. Next, the dogs who have a lovely, understanding person at home who can give them a little outing themselves which, while it will not be as much fun as their usual Critter Club extravaganza, will help provide some much needed space in our transport. But still it will be tight.

The Corolla is normally driven by Dog Saint Meredith but the Dog Rock God is a very bad passenger and so takes the wheel. This of course leads to much of the following:

DSM: Oh, do you go this way?
DRG: Yes.
DSM: Interesting.

DRG: Can you not lean forward? I can’t see the mirror.
DSM: I’ve got five dogs on my lap. What do you want me to do?
DRG: Sit still.

DSM: Red light!
DRG: You think I don’t know what a red light looks like?
DSM: Sorry. Of course you know what a red light looks like.

DRG: Can you go up and get Dixie and Sadie?
DSM: Sure. What do you want me to do with the five dogs on my lap?
DRG: Fine. I’ll go.

But again, this is about the dogs. In short:

Walk One begins with Buttons happy on the DSM lap while into the back of the car goes Monty, a very large Gordon Setter. On a normal day there would be room for one other large dog. Today we add Jennifer, a labradoodle, Bebe, a groodle, schnauzers Chester and Lulu, Spikey cairn terrier, massive Australian bulldog puppy Boris, and finally, very big puppy golden retriever, Louis. Louis can be a bit iffy in the car (iffy means car sick but we won’t say it out loud) but all is fine and we get to the park safely for our hour of joy.

Into the tin again, and the sardines are off home. One hundred metres from Louis’ gates, you guessed it, up comes his breakfast. Every packed in piece of flesh gags collectively. Windows down. Get to the gate. Stop the car. Wait for Louis to obligingly eat it up again. Oh, you wouldn’t do this? Think again. These are extraordinary times.

Walk Two is all about the DSM lap. Jemima, Josie, Gypsy, Rex, Bello, Sadie and Hugo are all front seat dogs. Determined front seat dogs. They have earned their place. But what’s going on here? The DSM who usually drives this car is sitting on their seat? And the DRG is driving? All is not right with the world. We must fight for our rights! And scramble they do.

Gypsy on one leg. Jemima on the other. DSM: ouch. Sadie in. Clings across the two legs. Gypsy backs into DSM torso. Ouch. Hugo in. Gypsy as the smartest dog we walk can do the maths and jumps into the back. Josie in. Pushes Sadie to floor where Dixie was happily alone between DSM legs. Dixie growls Sadie into a corner. DSM leg now crammed against middle compartment. Ouch. Rex in. Gives DSM a quick kiss then goes back to hang out in the cool lounge with Gypsy. Bello in. Demands his rightful position. Three white fluffies (Jemima, Josie, Bello) all go heavy bum and can’t be moved. Hugo concedes and goes to the lounge. DSM considers joining him. Ouch.

Phew. Dropped off the last dog and point the Corolla toward the very busy Volkswagen service centre. The phone rings. It’s Mr Volkswagen. Terribly sorry, parts not in, nothing we can do, terribly sorry, it will be late tomorrow, terribly sorry.

No real desire to print the other side of this conversation. Onward and upward.