Dog Friends

Blimey, she's finally posted something. Have been sooooo flat out with writing, work etc.

But here's a nice pic of Fergus and Lottie (David's lovely Red Setter) coming home from the Million Paws Walk a couple of weeks ago. This is a great initiative put on by the RSPCA to raise funds for animals, and takes place nationally each year. The sight of hundreds of human and doggie feet tramping the banks of the Torrens in quest of staying fit and raising funds for a good cause, is one worth seeing! Our two look exhausted, but then they walked their little paws off. They assured us though that they had lots of fun and are dying to go again next year!

Fergus and Lottie, fortunately, have become the best of friends. Fortunately, because of course their Mum and Dad respectively are the bestest of friends (and more). There is a dramatic difference in their height, colour, and facial features (the dogs that is), but the one thing they have in common is that good ole doggy tongue .... pant pant pant. We're hot, we're tired, we're thirsty, but gee thanks Mum and Dad for a great day out!

Doing the dog paddle

A dog in a life jacket .... whaaaaaat!!! I hear you say. Like most people I have been under the mistaken impression that dogs are born with innate Ian Thorpe like tendencies, i.e. all you need do is point them towards the sea, or chuck 'em into the nearest creek, lake, dam, or whatever and off they'll paddle like the proverbial ducks, not a care in the world, budgie smugglers not required, let alone life jackets or other such flotation devices. However on a recent stay with my brother in Kadina I was well and truly disabused of such notions.

Graham has been taking his border collie, Darcy, to weekly swimming lessons for some time now in a therapeutic pool designed especially for dogs. On boxing day Fergus and I accompanied them on the pool visit, ostensibly as observers. The woman who runs the facility explained that dogs are not natural born swimmers. Quite the contrary, some dogs are afraid of being submerged, panic and sink to the bottom like stones. Not only is it therefore good for them to learn, in case they find themselves in water, but dogs who suffer any form of injury or arthritic problem can benefit enormously from a little swimming in a controlled environment, as of course can their human friends. This is why Darcy was originally introduced to the pool, as a while ago she suffered a minor injury that restricted her ability to maintain her normally maniacal workout regime. She has since developed a passion for the pool and while we were there zoomed up and down like an Olympic champion for three quarters of an hour.

Although Fergus looked decidedly sceptical about the prospect, he was offered the chance to have a go and I accepted on his behalf with alacrity. So with no say in it at all, he was duly buckled into the smallest size doggie life jacket. On being introduced to the water at the shallow end, his face took on a look of appalled disbelief, as if to say .... what the hell!!! With hysterical encouragement from me on the sidelines and cries of "good boy, you can do it..." and other such patently manipulative blandishments, he bravely launched himself into the depths, where he thrashed about like a drowning rat, drenching me in the process. On turning around at the end to face the shallow end again, he did manage a few clumsy dog paddles, enough to keep himself afloat. I think this was, rather than natural born skill, an attempt to save face in front of the dolphin like Darcy, who was showing off like mad, gliding past with a superior smirk on her face.

To give him due credit, Fergus did labour on with a few more thrashings interspersed with frenzied paddlings. However there's little chance that he'll become known as Fergus the fish. Eventually I took pity on him and lifted him out. Once safely back on dry land and divested of his life jacket, there was lots of vigorous shaking. After a few baleful backward looks at the pool and Darcy streaking up and down, he sidled off to the farthest corner of the enclosure, giving me a look that said, "try that again Mum and you'll be history".

A Little Dog

Yesterday I sadly had to say goodbye to my dear little dog Scully. As I wrote in a post a while ago, she started having seizures a few months ago, for unknown reasons. Since then she has been taking barbiturate medication to prevent them, which worked until a couple of weeks ago when she had another couple of seizures. These events, as anyone who has ever witnessed them would know, are extremely distressing and frightening, for the animal and of course for their owner. The vet advised the only alternative was to increase her medication which I did. The downside of this is the possibility of side effects, the worst of which is liver damage. This is ultimately what happened to Scully and she began to be quite ill and yesterday went into liver failure. I had no alternative but to give her a merciful escape from pain, suffering and fear. We are very fortunate now to have mobile vet services and I called one of these. The vet who attended was kind, compassionate and sensitive and we were able to give her a quiet peaceful farewell in the comfort of her own home with me and Fergus near her. I know this was the best thing to have done for her, but it breaks my heart to lose such a dear little friend.

Compared to boisterous, gregarious Fergus, Scully was a quiet, docile and almost anti-social little dog. Not having been brought up as a pet, she was always very shy with people but once she became comfortable with me the bond that developed between us was a very special one. She loved being with me, would sit by my side for hours while I worked at the computer, occasionally putting her paws up on my knee as if to say, hello. Or if I was lying in bed she'd come in to the bedroom and look for me, her little face appearing around the corner of the bed, just wanting to make sure I was there. When she'd have to go out at night for "calls of nature" she would rush back inside, running down the passageway, anxious to be back with her little "pack". Food was one of her greatest joys and she would become so excited at the thought of imminent dinnertime, dancing around on her hind legs waiting for the bowl of goodies to be placed on the floor, so she could gobble it up at lightning speed.

She was a darling little dog and I will miss her gentle quiet presence every day. Fergus is a little lost now without his other "mummy" as she was his birth mother but we will both adjust in time. We are glad she is at peace now. Goodbye dear Scully. I will always miss you.

Kenny K rides again

Just when we thought it was safe to expect a night's sleep uninterrupted by close encounters of the animal kind, Kenny K decided to drop by again. Hell hath no fury like a koala given the cold shoulder and this time he decided to give us that message personally.

The happy trio were peacefully slumbering en famille last night. Me snoring faintly and doubtless dribbling, Scully snoring loudly in her bed and Fergus on his/my bed not snoring but emitting pollutants from his posterior of sufficient strength to render our personal methane footprint the size of an elephant's.

Suddenly all hell broke loose. Fergus gave a clarion cry like a pack of hounds to the chase and burst from the bedroom into the loungeroom, from which there shortly came not four but eight clacking claws pounding the wooden floor. To this was added the cacophony of ferocious growling, yapping etc. as noted in my previous post, and another indeterminate sound which soon turned out to be .... wait for it .... Kenny K - having a very bad fur day and at large, and I mean large, in the bosom of our home. Whether he thought he'd drop by for a spot of quiet TV viewing while the coast was clear, or what I don't know. He had apparently slipped through the aperture of the back screen door left open to cater for urgent canine calls of nature in the night and then forgot which way was out.

Fergus already somewhat embittered by the previous confrontation was not about to do any turning of blind eyes, other cheeks or similar wimpish stuff. The scene that met my eyes was not a happy one. I had to decide in a flash what to do and being both a dog and and a koala lover there was a decided conflict of interest. The potential for flying dog and koala parts was high though. So what could I do but leap into the fray, feet protected by the trusty holy bedsocks but hands sadly not. Like the proverbial mother throwing herself in front of a truck to protect her beloved brood, I prized the creatures apart, seized Fergus and hauled him off into the bedroom slamming the door behind him.

I was then left to face Kenny K, alone, as is my lot in life. By this time he was in a state of advanced panic galloping about, as if to the strains of the William Tell Overture, scrabbling up armchairs, blundering into furniture and so on. Having the presence of mind of one who is expert in emergencies, or in other words doing the first thing that leaps into my mind, I threw open all the doors and windows and kept out of the way. Kenny eventually cottoned on that freedom beckoned and gallumphed his way out the door and off into the night, apparently uninjured.

On subsequent inspection Fergus also proved to be unscathed, which is more than I can say for myself. My passage through the house was marked in classical chain saw massacre fashion by large drops of blood on the floor and smears on the walls. This alerted me to the fact that I was wounded, messily but not mortally, now evidenced by some impressive looking medical dressings along one arm and finger.

Fergus when allowed out of the bedroom was bent on vengeance and spent the rest of the night seeking it. A glance at the bedside clock radio revealed the time of the incident to be 2.00am so there was a sizeable bit of night remaining. Sleep was but a dream as Fergus tore through the house in a frenzy for the next four hours. An excitable dog at the best of times, he outdid himself on this occasion. Scully slumbered on through the whole uproar. Deafness has its advantages.

What happens next who knows. I will be barricading the dogs in the house at night from now on at least until the coast is clear of the mad koala. If you don't hear any more from me, you'll know I've either gone bonkers from sleep deprivation or have started a new career as a taxidermist of native animals.

Another brush with an Australian fauna icon

I’m moving – somewhere – anywhere where the innocent populace is not plagued by rampant marsupials running amok.

First it was Skippy the kangaroo or one of his relatives, blundering into my car and causing one hell of a mess. Now it’s Kenny the Koala decorating my backyard with the fruits of what must have been a veritable orgy of pooping, and then to add insult to injury rudely awakening me from my well earned rest last night.

To be fair it wasn’t Kenny K who woke me. It was Fergus, my trusted terrier, conscientiously fulfilling his watchdog duties, who must have heard the plop of koala excretions hitting the ground or something (his hearing being very keen). On being alerted, he leapt to attention, sprang from his bed (unofficially my bed, but he sees it as his), tore outside at top speed and erupted in a frenzy of hysterical yapping interspersed with ferocious growls – both loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the peacefully slumbering neighbours. I gave it ten minutes or so, in the wishful hope that he might have just had a bad dream and on realising there was nothing there calm down and come back inside. No such luck though. The barking and growling if anything escalated in volume and intensity. There was nothing for it but to drag myself up and go outside to investigate, bedecked in all the splendour of my winter season night attire, complete with holy bedsocks. A vision that can only be imagined.

There was Fergus in full cry, springing up and down, tearing around in circles and generally acting like a mad dog. Above him, perched precariously on the pergola was Kenny, the giant koala. Judging from the state of his figure he had clearly been feasting on those special gum leaves beloved of koalas which I suppose are now flourishing because of all the nice rain we’ve had. Hence the voluminous poops. Despite his bulk, he managed to trot back and forth along the beams of the pergola quite nimbly, occasionally glancing down at Fergus in a taunting sort of way as if to say “come on dog – make my day”. Which I’m sure he would have – and his breakfast, lunch and dinner as well. No cute cuddly teddy type this one I can tell you.

Needless to say, it was mother who had to save the bloody day, as far as one can in the dead of night. After a few fruitless efforts to tempt Fergus inside with calls of “bickie, bickie” I realised this was useless. Normally no matter what the alternative temptation, Fergus is such a glutton that this feeble ploy actually works. However in this case a cartload of bickies wouldn’t have done it. There was nothing for it but to try and catch him. Easier said than done. Despite lots of plunging and lunging as he sped past, he managed to slip through my fingers. Eventually though as he was attempting to climb the wall to get to his prey, I grabbed his collar and hauled him inside. Of course I then had to haul him all the way to the other door that was still open in order to close it before he could slip through and escape again. Quite a test of strength it was too. Even at the risk of strangulation, the little bugger kept surging ahead, desperate to make a dash for the exit. But I prevailed and with all the exits blocked, decided it was safe to go back to bed.

Back to bed I went but not to sleep of course. Foiled in his attempt to get up close and personal with Kenny K, Fergus was not happy. He made this very clear throughout what remained of the night by rampaging through the house, pummelling at the doors to get out, whining and yelping and otherwise carrying on. The only one who slept was Scully, who luckily for her is stone deaf.

Aroused to another day of work by the clock radio, I dragged myself from my bed in an even more advanced state of stupour than usual. Fergus having momentarily lowered himself into a prone position for the space of a few minutes just before dawn, immediately jumped up again ready to burst into the outdoors – that exciting realm of furry nocturnal invaders. I made him wait until at least I’d had a shower and got dressed, thoughtful enough not to inflict my night-time sartorial ghastliness on any neighbours who might be abroad. Once we did venture outside, thank goodness there was no sign of Kenny K. Presumably he’d moved off to partake of another serving of leaves somewhere else, or after the excitement of the night, was sleeping it off amongst the branches.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t decide to pay us another visit tonight.

A little girl in trouble

My little dog Scully has had some very worrying health problems just recently. She has suffered several convulsive attacks, which although fortunately short lived are alarming and distressing, both to her and to me. She has been thoroughly examined by the vet and had a full set of blood tests done. There don't at this stage appear to be any specific causes for the seizures and she doesn't have any other symptoms. One possibility is a brain tumour or similar neurological problem, but until further investigations are done, if they prove necessary, we won't know. In between these episodes she has been perfectly well, and as far as can be seen, her normal self. Her normal self is a sweet, quiet and serene natured little dog, so the thought of anything serious being wrong with her fills me with dread. At the moment we just have to wait and see if further problems occur, and take whatever action is recommended then.

Scully is 12 years old, so not in the first flush of youth and health problems therefore don't come as a surprise. But whenever they come with a loved pet, they are never welcome. One desperately wants to spare them pain and suffering of any kind, and to protect them at whatever cost, but it's such a difficult experience. Although inevitable, it's virtually impossible to prepare oneself to deal philosophically with the concept of their illness, incapacity and eventual death.

Fergus is worried about her too and senses something is wrong I think. He's giving her a comforting kiss in the above picture.

I am hoping this doesn't mean I'm going to lose her just yet, but if I do I must just hope to deal with it in the best way possible, for her sake and for mine. In the meantime she is getting lots of hugs and love to make sure she knows she is a special girl.

An older lady has a birthday!

This week was little Scully's 12th birthday, so in doggie years she is becoming an older lady. Despite what can only be described as rather a matronly figure, she is doing very well for her age. And matronly with good reason of course, having been the mother of around 5 litters of puppies in her time, some champions of the show-ring among them too I believe. Not the least of her prize offspring is Fergus, my other dog.

I adopted Fergus as a 6 week old puppy almost 7 years ago so of course briefly met Scully, his mum, then. However Fergus turned out to be a very hyperactive puppy, full of beans constantly, always wanting to play and have mock fights with me. That's when he wasn't engaged in chewing or shredding some article of my clothing or prized objet d'art around the house. Eventually I hit upon the idea of getting him a little companion with whom he could expend some of his excess energy and who would keep him company while I was away at work. After the experience of Fergus's puppyhood, I thought an older dog might be wise and when I approached the breeder, she mentioned Scully, Fergus's other mummy was soon to be retired from breeding and might like to come and help me keep her errant son in line. So Scully came to live with us about 6 years ago and very glad am I that she did. She is the dearest little dog - completely calm and placid and an absolute model of good behaviour, in complete contrast to Fergus. She does have her moments though - one of her greatest weaknesses being food. Maybe it was all that jostling for position around the food bowl in competition with the puppies that did it, but she is to put it bluntly the biggest little glutton around food I've ever seen. Long after her dinner bowl is empty, the sound of crashing and banging can be heard from the kitchen, as she slurps her bowl around the floor, desperately vacuuming up every minuscule trace of food until not the tiniest speck remains. She is also an enthusiastic devourer of books - not unfortunately in the literary sense, but in the literal sense and can often be seen dragging dog-eared books from the lower shelves of the book case and gaily ripping them to shreds. Cook books are her favourites - those realistic food pictures I guess being the attraction.

Nevertheless she is one of the little lights of my life and I hope she has many more birthdays still to come as we both grow gracefully into the twilight of our lives together!!

Dogs about the house

As anyone who has dogs or for that matter cats, knows only too well, whenever you're engaged in doing something around the house, they have to be "involved". My domestic duties around the house are considerably lightened these days by being fortunate enough to have the lovely Maria who comes once a fortnight to keep order and restore cleanliness to grubbiness. However occasionally I have to get involved in such things as changing the sheets and it was during one of these episodes recently that the dogs partook enthusiastically of the whole exciting process. Once the bedclothes were all in a heap on the floor, Scully sprang onto it and ascended to the peak, like a mountain climber, then dug around madly until she'd made a nice nest in which she immediately curled up and went to sleep, not to be budged for anyone. I think she thought as she blended in quite well with the colours of the quilt, I might not notice her. Fergus meanwhile installed himself on the unmade bed - his favoured position, in whatever state of dress or undress it is - and also refused to be moved. Needless to say, the bed changing process took a good deal longer than it should have, especially as I took the opportunity to capture the little dears on film!

I recently read a post in the "Blogher" blogging community for women (which is fascinating by the way) about the joys pets bring into our lives, which I wholeheartedly endorse. They don't even have to do anything really, just seeing their funny little whiskery faces looking at me makes me feel wonderful!

No paradise for dogs

Thailand, as I know from my own couple of trips there to visit my son Simon, is a beautiful place - some may say a paradise. The people are warm and friendly, the scenery is magnificent, the sense of history, culture and tradition is all pervasive. It is particularly shocking to see therefore in this beautiful land of gentle people the brutal treatment meted out to dogs.

As any tourist will attest, huge numbers of stray dogs (and cats) roam the streets of Bangkok and most of the major tourist destinations, especially Phuket. These dogs live in appalling conditions and attempt to survive on handouts of food from tourists or by what they can scavenge. There are no shelters or agencies such as the RSPCA or Animal Welfare League in Thailand and no laws providing protection against abuse or promoting responsible animal ownership. With no controls or protections in place, the only way the escalating numbers can be controlled is by culling programs and these are carried out in the most barbaric and callous manner. The most common method is by strychnine poisoning which results in an agonising death for the poor creatures. The Asian Tsunami of December 2004 of course only served to magnify this problem as there was a huge increase in abandoned dogs and cats when people lost their homes and businesses.

The Soi Dog Foundation first came to my attention following their appeals for help following the Tsunami. The Foundation is a charitable organization, based in Phuket, Thailand, which aims to reduce the numbers of unwanted dogs and cats on the streets, improve the living conditions of the existing street and stray dogs and feral cats and provide medical treatment where possible for the many sick and injured animals which would otherwise be left to die or subjected to cruelty and abuse. Sponsors for dogs and cats are desperately needed to help cover costs of transport for volunteers, feeding and treatment costs for the animals. Sponsorship costs approx. $20 per month for dogs and $13 per month for cats and helps provide food and medical treatment for the sponsored animal.

I became involved several years ago by sponsoring a lovely dog, Shambala, who sadly died not long ago from a tick borne disease which didn't respond to treatment. I am now sponsoring another dog, Roz, (photo top left). It is not very much in terms of money and helping one dog among thousands may seem trivial, but every little bit of effort helps.

I recently received a request to sign a petition to help try and prevent the latest round of horrific abuse where a local government initiative to remove unwanted dogs has involved the tranquillising of large numbers of dogs by garbage disposal employees. The dogs are then dumped in the back of a truck and driven around all day in the heat until those that have survived are dropped off at the Govt Dog Pound, to what one can only imagine must be even worse horrors to come. Here is the link to the petition, if you would like to sign it.

A sick boy

Poor Fergus is feeling rather sorry for himself this weekend. He had to submit to a dental operation yesterday. As the result of an infected tooth, and a couple of other dubious ones, the vet recommended a thorough going over in the dental department. Not only did the tooth in question (a large canine) have to be extracted, but a couple of others as well. A typical male invalid I have to say - in other words a drama queen. We have been subjected to many mournful "poor me" expressions, however suffice to say when food is in the offing a remarkable transformation takes place - in fact he had only just returned home from the surgery when he managed to scoff down his dinner at the speed of light and then look for more, before re-assuming the patient posture once he realised no more would be forthcoming! What remains of his teeth are now sparkling white however and his breath is nice and fragrant once more, although mother will be paying the bill off the credit card for some time to come I fear.

The joys of pets

My pets are a prominent feature of my life, they being two Border Terriers, extremely cute and adorable (from a mother's highly prejudiced point of view). Many note that for people who live alone (as I do) pets provide a substitute for human company. I disagree. I find the company they provide is uniquely characteristic of their own particular doggie personalities, and possibly superior to the company of a number of humans I have known. We have developed a good level of instinctive rapport, in that we sense each others' needs and moods and tend to adapt our behaviour accordingly... well realistically perhaps I do more of the adapting than they do. Especially when I arrive home late from work and they are impatiently awaiting dinner, or what is most often the case demanding it through various verbal and non-verbal clues. Left to my own preferences, I would probably sink down in front of the heater, pour a stiff drink, turn on the TV or whatever, but instead regardless of my state of exhaustion, work induced frustration or whatever, race immediately to set out the dog dishes, grab the dog food from the cupboard, stand back from the rush and serve. Guilt plays some part in this to be honest, as I know they have no say in the timetabling of our lives, whereas I have total control.

Oh and I neglected to say, their names are Fergus and Scully. Check out their personal blogs in my blog list, set up thanks to Beneful Dogspace, a great new facility for dog lovers to put their precious pooches online.