Yes, I swam

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.

Jerry arrives at Sirius Cove. Is not thinking about much. Mostly smelling things.

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.

Cleo’s straight out
Cleo and her green ball
Harvey’s testing the water
Harvey needs sand to be thrown. Now! Jerry is confused.

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.

No words

Jerry Meets Spartacus

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.


Whisky Academy

We’re all staying with my grandpawrents for a couple of weeks. Luckily for me, my grandpapa is also the Chairman of Whisky Academy so I have an exclusive opportunity to expand my education on whisky.

I found him sitting in his revered ‘Research Chair’ one afternoon. I said to him, with wide eyes, “Grandpapa, teach me what you know about whisky.” He reached his large hand down and placed it on my head, then gently stroked my ear. He said that I was too young to drink whisky, or even appreciate it. Plus, he reminded me that I am in fact a dog. But when he saw my large, brown eyes turn slightly downwards exposing my disappointment, he decided to show me an empty bottle of the whisky he makes called STARWARD. He also let me sniff the woody, malty aromas. I loved it. I even licked the edge of the bottle, and the bottle stopper.

Thank you Grandpapa.

He tried to explain all about the barrelling and the ageing, and the ferments. But once I sniffed that ether, I wasn’t interested in anything else he had to say.

New year. New me.

17 things for 2017*

  1. No more pebbles
  2. No more socks 
  3. I will not growl or bark at what seems, to my humans, to be nothing
  4. I will eat my dinner, even if it doesn’t have poached, shredded chicken 
  5. I will stick to chewing my toys and not the miscellaneous items that do not belong to me 
  6. I will, however, continue to perch on top of human heads and lick their faces 
  7. I will continue to sleep in their room and will try my hardest to get on the bed with them
  8. I will continue to stare at them whenever they eat, in the hope that maybe – just maybe – they might share with me
  9. I will continue to prance after petals, butterflies and others alike
  10. I will continue to greet my humans with whole body shakes of excitement whenever they come home
  11. I will know my boundaries and try to improve my social intelligence. Not all dogs are as happy as I am, poor souls
  12. I will be braver and get in that water. If only for a second
  13. I will be more resilient on my daily walk: if I’m tired, I won’t sit down and demand to be carried. And if the lead gets tangled, I will keep going, I will not sit and demand to be realised
  14. I will cut back on post dinner ice cream or yoghurt 
  15. I will use my puppy dog eyes 
  16. I will be happy
  17. I will always be Me

* These have been projected onto me by my humans and I have no intention of abiding these or, dare I say it, understanding of any of this. I have no metacognition and therefore, am not self reflective. Lucky me!

A word on family 

Us puppies can’t get engrossed with the concept of family the way humans do. Mostly because we never see our biological families ever again. Can you imagine the misery we would suffer if we felt that yearning? The torment of feeling neglect; as though maybe we weren’t wanted.

Humans could learn a thing or two from us.

What I’ve come to learn in my six months of life is that family is more than your blood. And in some cases, it always should be. The symbolism of family is what matters, and what we should yearn for: boundless love,  unconditional support and a ceaseless desire to give your loved ones hope and happiness. 

My human family and me, we give each other this. But also my wider support of friends, both cavalier and human, that I connect with everyday.

I’m wise beyond my years, and I know all of this to be true.