Saturday, May 15, 2010


Please forgive the recent break in transmission. The Dog Rock God has been inexplicably ill. Fortunately, CSI like meticulous investigation claims to have identified the root evil, and the correct antibiotics should be doing their thing.

Into the breach left by the DGR wobbly state has stepped the most magnificent Dog Saint Meredith. And she has done a truly extraordinary job of managing the delicate orchestrations that are the Critter Club Cavortings as well as all the other household management thingys she usually does which Dog Rock Gods rarely get their head around. And she has been supportive and sympathetic and all of the ‘S’ words. And the dogs have all loved her.



That would be all except for one flighty little number, and yes you will be named, you naughty little Manchester Terrier Twiggy.

While the Dog Celestials most definitely do not play favourites, highly-strung Twiggy has always held a special place in our hearts. A slight little thing, she is always delighted to see us and plays happily with all other dogs. She has never taken herself off exploring, independent of the group, and has always done exactly as she has been told. She has come to stay on our cloud on a number of occasions where she is treated with extreme courtesy by our own puppies, is fed beautiful food, and is even allowed to sleep under the covers because her tiny stature means she gets cold.

Her one fault is that she can be a little, shall we say, nervous.

Cut to Friday. Dog Rock God at end of tether with sick thing, at home in bed. Dog Saint Meredith doing a brilliant job on a very trying day at the end of a very trying week. Twiggy on final walk, a touch nervous.

The walk goes fine. Twiggy does have this unfortunate habit of only coming to the Dog Rock God to get her lead on at the end of the walk but no-one had noticed this because it was just an assigned job and all assumed it was interchangeable. Until Friday when the way it is became abundantly clear to all. It is the end of a happy walk.

As Dog Celestials we are able to plug directly into dog thinking and report it in extreme cases. This fits the criteria.

DSM: Come on Twiggy. There’s a good girl. Come and get your lead on.
Twiggy: No.
DSM: Come on good girl.
Twiggy: No.

DSM makes an executive decision to walk them all back to the car and open the door so Twiggy will just jump in. All other dogs do this but Twiggy does not recognise the Executive.

Now Twiggy runs back to the main part of the park where a group of highly intelligent children and the genii who spawned them start running at her to say hello. Where the DGR might have gone all Sue Sylvester with bellowing, “back off people”, DSM merely internalises it, risking future health problems. More conversation ensues.

DSM: Come on Twiggy.
Twiggy: No. Scary people.
DSM: Twiggy I’m not scary am I? Who feeds you when you come to stay? Who holds up the doona for you to crawl under? Who sleeps crooked so you can snuggle up to my legs? Who do you see on your walks every time you come out?
Twiggy: The Dog Rock God. The Dog Rock God!

Admirably, Dog Saint Meredith does not kill this goose who will lay no golden eggs. She would have to get her hands on her to do that. Instead, she spends the next hour cajoling, enlisting the help of other lesser dog walkers who may be mistaken for the DGR, offering treats – which the Twig somehow manages to grab without herself being grabbed.

Finally DSM gives in and calls DRG apologetically requesting her to rise from her sick bed.

Cue heroic music.

A frantic drive across town in thinly disguised jimmy jams results in an arrival at the park where a car full of beautifully behaved dogs look quizzically at the strangely attired DRG and wonder, through the thoughtfully opened windows, whatever happened to DSM and the Twig monster.

Calmly the DRG progresses to the main part of the park where she sits on a rock, gives her special call which sadly DSM's mellifluous tones are unable to emulate, and the wayward Twigster comes running up for a cuddle.

Twiggy: So good to see you!

A sentiment echoed in the most tired and emotional way by the entirely spent Dog Saint Meredith.