Friends

Call me daft, you wouldn’t be the first, but having spent about the same amount of time teaching high school as I have with dogs, I feel compelled to make the earth shattering revelation: dog friendships are just like those in the playground. Trust me, it’s true in so many ways.

First, there are the new kids to the school – or Critter Club but I think you get the analogy by now. And, incidentally, if you have a problem with anthropomorphism, anthropogoaway because you’re just wrong.

The new club members usually have that exact same look on their faces that the new little kid does. And, as with teenagers, there’s usually one that will be sure to take the newbie under their wing. In the case of Critter Club, the caring role is usually played by Toast, the boxer with the biggest tongue in the world. We’ve had quite a few little new puppies of late, and Toast has made sure each of them feels welcome and has someone to play with. Our smartest dog, Gypsy labradoodle, can also be relied upon to get the new puppies started with a gentle game. It’s beautiful to watch.

Sometimes the addition of a new dog brings out a whole other side in a dog who has been with us for a while. Olive, for example, always hung out with the cool kids, nothing too crazy for her. Then along came Indie, and suddenly Olive runs around with him like a mad thing for the full hour, all elements of cool totally left behind.

Roger and Ruby were inseparable little sausages, until Lex arrived and decided that two could be three and now they all play happily together. This, of course, differs slightly from the playground where noses are more easily put out of joint.

Louis and Boris are our newest arrivals. Boris, a baby Australian Bulldog, thought he’d spend all his time with Toast because he seemed to think they looked alike. Louis, a retriever, initially wanted to hang out with another retriever, George, but eventually decided George was a bit of a boring old fart and he’d rather spend time with someone more his own age, 16 week old Boris. So Boris has defected from Toast to Louis.

This will likely change over time. Most groups evolve. For the longest time, Twiggy, Charlie, and Jemima were an impenetrable threesome. As Charlie and Jemima became more enthralled with each other, Twiggy found others more interested in chasing games than the brawling games her former group insisted upon. Her departure left space for new white fluffy, Josie, to join the threesome. But hey, she seemed like fun, so Twiggy returned – which is good because sometimes Charlie likes to play with the ball dogs, much to Jemima’s horror.

The ball dogs are too cool for school and top of the tree sits Bebe and Jennifer. If you’ve seen Grease, think Pink Ladies. They are the Rizzo (Bebe) and Frenchy (Jennifer) of Critter Club. Em is working her way into Pink Lady status while Spikey, Snowy, and Charlie would qualify as T-birds. Come to think of it, Toast works as Danny Zuko. We don’t have a Sandy.

While the ball dogs lead the pack, always bringing up the rear is, what we like to refer to as the CWA, Country Women’s Association dogs. These are the dogs who like to take their time, smell every blade of grass or, to anthropomorphise them, they may well be members of the CWA on a trip to Sydney, carefully window shopping at the QVB before stopping for a nice Devonshire tea somewhere. Membership of this group is limited to Dixie, Sadie, and Babooti, with a special guest boy dog, Bello. They have a lovely time while the rest of us wait.

But back to school. A further similarity is what we like to refer to as the back of the bus syndrome. Remember how the naughty kids would always sit at the back of the bus/class? And there was always the kid who wanted to be bad but didn’t want to do anything on their own? We’ve got that too! Baci is the naughty kid and Tilly is the one who would never do anything wrong by herself but, should Baci lead the way … she’s in! And Baci can always be relied upon to lead the way. But should Toby Beagle be there, cue Kate Bush, Heathcliff, Cathy. All that. Tilly only has eyes for Toby.

Of course special friendships can go wrong. For the longest time, Buttons only wanted to play with Mitzi. And Mitzi loved it that way. Then one day, Buttons went all prepubescent boy and didn’t want to be seen with a goony girl. Mitzi was heartbroken. But like a good Critter Club girl, she picked herself up after a few sobbing weeks, and found others to play with. Hah!

Finally, there’s the boy who went off the rails and is just starting to come back to the fold after much patient counselling from the staff. Beautiful young Rex, the cheeky long haired Jack Russell, would always play like crazy with the others. He would have been the first kid out at recess, ball in hand, and the last one back to class. So one weekend he goes away to his Dad’s farm and he comes back totally different. He doesn’t play anymore. We call home to find out what’s happened, only to discover that our innocent young hero has succumbed to his natural instincts and killed a chicken. He no longer wants to play silly, childish chasing games, not when he has experienced the real thing.

Thankfully he has come through his awkward teenage period, and Rex is casing around with the best of them. Phew.

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.

The Delight of Dogwalking

Starting to get a little concerned that this dogwalking stuff all sounds like a joyous piece of cake. The dogs themselves are a delight, the people we walk for are a delight, but there is the occasional moment that is anything but … a delight. Try this:

It’s a Tuesday, the start of a busy day. Mitzi is a Miniature Schnauzer. She has the unfortunate combination of the most delicate stomach known to dog and a predilection for eating poo. For this, of course, she has made Baci her role model. Aware that Baci has a better nose for finding freshly arrived poo or recently dead animal, she follows her around like a canine acolyte.

On this particular morning her tracking of the naughty Labrador pays off. She scores some poo. Ick.

Already I think you know where I’m heading with this but stick with it, because it may be even worse than you’re imagining.

Between the first walk and the second, there is dropping off of dogs and picking up of others. We would prefer that they get a bus to the park and meet us there but this has proved an unpopular concept thus far.

Mitzi is still in the dog bus, waiting to be dropped off. I go up to get Dixie and Sadie from their apartment, leaving Mitzi on the front seat next to Bichon Frise (a small white fluffy), Babooti. Back to our transport, I get Dixie and Sadie in and take my seat, ready for the next pickup.

Suddenly the stench hits. I look down. Great gobs of sticky, runny, Mitzi nutrition (regurgitated dog poo for those of you not following) all over Babooti, the cloth seat - say it again – cloth seat, and running down the side to the part under the seat from which nothing is ever recoverable – nice design there Mr Volkswagen.

Slightly agitated, I pickup Mitzi, lovingly, and gently deposit her in the back of the van, WHERE SHE SHOULD HAVE VOMITED IN THE FIRST PLACE … if she had ACCIDENTALLY eaten poo … WHICH SHE SHOULD NEVER HAVE DONE. Fullstop.

This gentle action of depositing her in the rear of the vehicle somehow causes runny regurgitated stinking dog poo to further find its way into my lap, onto my phone, and onto my hands. Too awful.

I know really really bad things happen to people in their lives but I truly believe this is the Everest of ick. I scream. I get out of the car. I look around. I’m the adult here. This really sucks. I cry. None of these actions cause the sticky runny regurgitated poo to clean itself up off the seat of the car, Babooti, under the seat, my phone, or me.

I contemplate calling 000 like those crazy Americans who call 911 because their Big Mac lacks special sauce. But I couldn’t possibly do that … my phone is covered in the unspeakable. I’m going to have to be a grown up. Gingerly I go to the back of the dog bus and find a towel. I start with myself but only serve to smear it further on my clothes. I contemplate throwing myself on the ground. Fortunately I realise this would only serve to draw attention to myself and pretty soon people would notice I'm covered in excrement that has spent time in the stomach of a schnauzer. Bad idea.

Another idea. You can clean the phone, go on, you can do that much. And I do. Horror everywhere but at least the phone is clean and now I am able to do the only thing I know how to do. I call Meredith. Help.

And she drives across town and saves me.