Why is that I won’t eat kibble without human food, but I’ll eat cigarette butts I find on the street?
And why do I spend an inordinate amount of time sniffing the perfect spot to poo, but I’ll lie down on top of filth without any appraisal needed?
And another thing; why do I tip toe on wet grass, but relish running through sand and mud?
She loves me.
Life is good.
I’m scratching myself.
Do I smell treats?
Just to remind everyone, I am a dog. Therefore, I don’t really have the most developed or profound understanding of love. I know I experience it all the time; licking my humans, eating a treat, ripping a toy apart. But I don’t really experience love, in an emotional or self aware fashion. It is projected onto me by humans. To be honest, whenever I wag my tail, they think I love something. How naive of them.
Any way, I’m trying to better understand love. It is, after all, Valentine’s Day. I’m not one to celebrate such holidays or milestones (mostly because I have no concept of time) but I thought I would declare my love for another. Today. Publicly.
Unfortunately, time zones killed the crescendo of suspense and the declaration has fallen flat and silent.
I’ve since drowned my sorrows in another love of mine. Yoghurt. And this is where it gets confusing. Can my love for yoghurt be the same as my love for Olive? Is this the same love I have for running off leash or eating crumbs? Will my life be more complete and meaningful with Olive, or with belly rubs? Because I love all these things.
At this stage, Olive is still sleeping in Norway. She will wake up to my public declaration. She will either declare her ardent love for me, saying that I too have always been the one. Or she may quietly reject me. Either way, I hope I get more yoghurt.
It lives in the cupboard. The one underneath the stairs. I’ve seen it in there; it’s on the wall. It hides, but I’ve seen it. I watch. You need to be prepared because you can never predict when it will come out. That’s what I find most unsettling; the unpredictability. There’s no structure to its routine. No pattern.
But what I have noticed is that it never comes out alone. A human lets it out. Welcomes it out. Relies on it.
This uncompromising, deafening fiend sucks up everything in the room. It obtrusively betrays any space I occupy, stealing precious objects I have lovingly collected. Trying to protect them is futile. I stand no chance against this monster.
At first, I was petrified. I’m ashamed to say I ran and hid behind anything I could. Giant plants. Pillar candles in the fire place. Under tables and furniture. Behind the couch. No space was too small for me to squeeze into, to shield me from this beast.
In time, I found my bark. And with this, the courage I needed to finally shout What are you?, Go away!, Leave me alone! But it’s roaring head still swerved and jerked toward me. Back and forth, relentlessly. My barking didn’t deter it, there was nothing I could say. I felt powerless.
The greatest betrayal was not the monster’s aggressiveness, booming howl or even his obstinate ambition to steal every leaf, petal or piece of debris I cherish; it’s that the humans seem to encourage him. They work together, a choreographed dance back and forward, as if to confuse me from their real design; steal from Jerry. Sometimes, the humans even lock me out of the room. And lately, they’ve reprimanded me for yelling. Me! The only one with any integrity! I am the one who is against pilfering, intruding and downright disrespect.
The monster has a friend. A quiet one. With a curious head of hair; short, strong and straw like. They all work together, trying to trick me. The humans sometimes bring this strange creature out silently and drag is head along the ground, collecting things around me. I used to try to bite this one, pull his hair out. Give him some of the pain I have felt.
But I found better revenge. I know how to wait. One day I left a smelly message outside, partly obscured by a leaf. Let’s just say, I haven’t had trouble with that bristled head any more.
My ears. They’re undoubtedly my best and worst feature. They’ve always been one of my best assets but recently, they’ve started to cause me some grief.
So here’s everything you need to know about my ears. I’ve lost all perspective on what is good or bad about them. You decide.
I’m flattered that I’ve been asked to contribute to Aussie Doggie Bags blog. I am like a columnist who has very important puppy related things to share with you all.
So to see what Jerry the Puppy Repawter I smells on a walk, go here.
I met two older, elegant women on my walk today. Both blonde. Both freshly set hair.
We cordially greeted each other.
The older lady said she’d always had dogs.
Never a cat.
Well everypawdy, the unthinkable has happened.
I swam.
By myself.
For those of you who know me well, you are aware of how much I deplore swimming; in fact, all water related activities. But we’ll focus on swimming for now for if you recall, in my first blog, I fell in the pool. How could I ever recover from this?
That is what I used to think.
Yesterday. January 16th. A Monday. It was a warm morning, and rapidly getting hotter. The sun was fierce and was slowly making it’s way around the the headlands of Mosman, finally reaching Sirius Cove.
Sirius Cove is a quiet reserve at the end of a long cul de sac. It appears somewhat bushy, but opens up to a wide, green expanse of grass, leading down towards a small, but appropriately sized dog beach. There are minimal waves and, depending on the tide, some rocks on the far right. The water is clear, and reliant on the sun’s shifting refraction, you’ll get varying clarities of blue or green. The beach and the grass are separated by a sloping, stone wall. One thats scaling is too frightening for little dogs, but endless fun for larger ones. Overwhelming, the view yesterday was sapphirine blue water, peppered with boats beyond and the Eastern Suburbs beyond that.
It was here that I arranged to meet with Cleo and Harvey. Cleo is wild. She immediately ran for the water, leaping in after a small green ball with close to no inhibitions. Harvey, also a seasoned swimmer, is a slightly more discerning beach goer, but a far more demanding sand thrower I did learn.
The point I’m making is, with these two, I felt like a fool that I was too scared, or uncertain, or apprehensive of the water. I might add, I’m larger than both and significantly younger at the same time. Come on, Jerry, I thought to myself. And then this happened…
The outcome? A bunch of beach bad asses.
New names for me:
It has been a difficult two days.
I’ve learned an important lesson that some wonderful things enter your life, but they can just as easily leave. A fleeting moment, of one who loved too quickly and then endured the cruel pain of betrayal just as quickly. And it was my own fault.
We shared one beautiful day.
Okay, well Spartacus didn’t betray me but his spirit, his fortitude and his physique just didn’t match mine. He will go in for surgery later today. And I warn you, his current state is not pretty.
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