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.

The Politics of the Front Seat

The true joy of dogwalking is the dogs. The ick of dogwalking is the driving to pick up said dogs. Sydney traffic, aaaaaaargh. Other Sydney drivers, double aaaaaaaaaaargh.

Sometimes, when we’re running through the process of the walks as mindless conversation with, say, an osteopath who must have studied at least something a little bit difficult to qualify to have you semi-naked face down, cracking that most vulnerable of body parts, your spine, sometimes they say “Oh, do you pick the dogs up?”

At this we pause. Wait for the penny to drop. It doesn’t so, aware of the power of the questioner, we ever so gently say, “We do. We’ve tried suggesting that they all catch a bus to the park but the idea has failed to gain traction.”

So yes. We drive. A lot. But there is one fascinating aspect that all but relieves the tedium of the drive and that is the race to get the best spot in the car. Or, as we like to call it, the politics of the front seat.

For some Critter Clubbers, there is no more desireable place than the front passenger seat. Harbourfront real estate. On the early run, it is owned by Buttons. Occasionally he allows Ruby Watson to share but he lets her know when she’s not welcome and, head down, she slumps to the back to see if anyone will talk to her there. One day each week Buttons goes on the second walk because the cleaners are scared of him – check his picture out on our Dogs page. On this day Buttons faces stiff opposition for his customary position. The second walk provides the fiercest competition of all. It is not pretty, not a place for wimps. His solution is not to compete but to sit on the brake lever between the seats and cuddle up under my arm. Never beaten.

First walk on Fridays and Otto has the seat all to himself. Don’t tell the others.

The reigning champ of the second session is the adorable Jemima. What is it with these little white fluffies? Her nearest competition is the seriously cuddleable Josie. They do, of course, both fit on the seat, but next to the backrest gazing lovingly at the driver is the prime spot. Yep, it’s a tough gig.

Josie accepts that Jemima gets the best spot because she was there first, but not all dogs get it so easily. Enter Babooti, Twiggy, Sadie, Bello, and Rex. Each of them tries to cling to the remaining area of the seat. Bello manages it with grace. Sadie growls at Babooti who growls back, all tough but not an ounce of fight in them. Now Twiggy notices that if she pokes Sadie with her nose she will growl. When she stops poking, the growling stops. So she does it again. Just like playing with a toy. At this Rex feels very uncomfortable, makes his excuses, and departs for the back.

If they all get a little squishy for Jemima she explodes (and clearly means it) and Sadie flies onto the floor, only to land on her sister Dixie, who lets fly with so many dog expletives that even the driver’s face turns a shade of tomato.

Make no mistake, the top of the pile has been won fairly and squarely by munchkin Jemima. New dogs Daisy and Indie have both tried their luck and been sent packing to the back, where interdog diplomacy is a much more relaxed affair.

Once Jemima has left the Critter Club to rule her home for the rest of the day, Ruby and Roger make their way from the back, very politely, to have a turn.

The only other given is the dog who would never fight for the front seat but who waits patiently for her opportunity to play driver. Olympic equivalent athlete Bebe just loves to sit in the driver’s seat when dogs are being escorted into their homes. Anyone going past sees a giant black groodle sitting proudly behind the wheel of the parked car, looking straight ahead determinedly, waiting for her opportunity to finally drive. What they don’t see or know is that the high level of ball activity in which she has just partaken has caused her to go and lie in the swamp to cool down. As the driver returns to the vehicle, Bebe returns to the back, the driver sits down and aaaaaaaaaaargh. Wet bum. Delightful. So yes, we do drive them to the park.