Category: dogs (and there’s a category I never thought I’d add)

That bit about the pelicans is true

It happened just as Adelaide was throwing her second u-turn on the road she would later discover they didn’t need to be on anyway.

Her eldest boy said, ‘Mum, haven’t we already been here? It’s half past twelve and we told them we’d be there at eleven’.

‘Well, thank you Captain fucking Obvious,’ Adelaide said, while simultaneously realising that her arms were long enough to reach into the back seat, unbuckle her eldest child, pull him towards her then fling him from her window in the manner of a newsagent delivering the morning papers.

So giddying was the liberating effect of this move that she repeated it for her youngest child who landed softly in the next paddock next to his brother, such was the previously unknown skill of for her extended throw.

Guiltlessly, Adelaide watched as the children were rescued by a pair of passing pelicans, who, coincidentally, were the same pelicans who had perched on the roof of the school only two days before the end of term and dropped such spectacular shits on the path leading down to the playground that the children had danced around the collected mothers at the end of the day recounting the moment that the pelican poo had almost hit Oscar and Lucinda, while the mothers could only look on incredulously until said incident had been confirmed by a teacher and a mother who was an expert in pelican poo.

Adelaide put her foot to the floor. She could afford to burn petrol like it really was juice, for just yesterday afternoon she had received the advance for her latest novel which she had, after all, written, instead of sitting mindlessly at her computer, refreshing bloglines, playing games of word twist against herself and reading Josh and Donna fan fiction.

As with her previous novels, this would bring her both literary acclaim and financial fortune.

She used her handsfree phone kit to check her messages. One from Pinky Beecroft and one from Willy Vlautin, both of whom had just penned songs inspired by her raging hotness which she hid, seductively, beneath her fragile exterior of delicate beauty.

She pressed 5, once, twice, deleting both their messages. She needed no man. She needed no one. Adelaide was a proud, independent, self-sufficient woman. She was satisfied that she had achieved to the best of her intellectual capabilities; she was heart-stoppingly excited that time had marched her through her twenties and thirties and towards the adventure-filled years that would be her forties; she was proud of the life well-lived she saw reflected in her wrinkles; and she had not even noticed that she had put on one whole stone in the last twelve months because in fact, she had not fallen into a miserable slump on the lounge, mimicking her mother by comforting herself with alcohol and unwise food choices and had not, therefore, put on even an ounce of self-punishing weight.

And she drove off into the sunset, which was especially beautiful for that time of day which was twelve thirty five, knowing that she had a suitcased filled with clean knickers and matching bras.

And then she woke up and it was all a nightmare and she was still driving around Two Wells trying to find the new dog kennel they were using because she was too ashamed to use the other dog kennel (which did pick ups and deliveries of the pups) after the last time when the cheque bounced and the woman was a bit unecessarily snippy even after Adelaide had explained the unusual circumstances and immediately transferred the money into the dog kennel account; and if they didn’t find a petrol station soon they would be not only lost at around lunchtime with no food and the children’s stomachs already grumbling, but out of petrol too, and her without a charged mobile phone.

And there was still the washing to be done.

He’s chewed the new grapevine, but not the iceberg roses

So, we’re calling in the ‘we come to you’ dog trainers. It’s all very middle class working families, isn’t it? But as the mister said ‘you’ve got a station wagon and a beagle…if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…’. I guess the only thing I would’ve added was the pink pashmina (currently draped around my shoulders in a most becoming fashion).

Feathers everywhere

So I was in my garrett, writing a new story that begins like this:

“If  he asks, she will tell him she grew the flowers. In the garden bed behind the shed. She’d planted them in May, forgotten she’d even put them in.”

But it turns out the daylight robber I thought I could hear in the kitchen (below me) was a pigeon. And it turns out beagles are good at catching pigeons.

And the story is unlikely to be what I thought it would be when I began.

I’m really not sure that I’m cut out for this dog-owning business

Somewhere in Adelaide, there is a woman who is telling a story something along these lines:

“So, I’m just sitting on the bench at the edge of the large park where dogs are allowed off their leads at that time of day, enjoying one of the lovely summer evenings we have in Adelaide, and letting my large-ish dog leave the park to run across the road – well, I did call at him three, or perhaps even four times, and he didn’t respond to my calls, but it was all right, my young lad followed the dog across the road and he didn’t stop to look for cars either – to greet another younger dog of more or less the same breeding.

This little dog started going beserk. Jumping and sniffing and twisting itself around its owner’s legs. You wouldn’t believe how scared that little dog was. Hmm? What’s that? Am I sure it was scared and not just being a puppy and wanting to play? Oh, yes, I’m quite sure of that, I’m an Expert on Dogs I’ve Never even Seen Before.

So anyway, I just happened to mention to the owner of the dog that even at six months her dog should not be scared of other dogs. After all, my own is only two years old which is more or less the same as six months, and he has never been scared of other dogs. So I suggested to her that perhaps she should socialise the dog a bit more. What’s that? How do I know whether she takes the dog to obedience classes, or whether the dog gets together with the next-door dogs quite including spending the night there, or whether it goes for a walk to a different dog park where it regularly meets with other dogs? Oh. I can just tell. Like I say, I’m an Expert on Dogs I’ve Never even Seen Before. 

Of course, my dog was bouncing around by now too, only because it was being led on by this other dog. And in other circumstances, it would have responded immediately to my commands.

What’s that? Yes, yes, I spoke to this woman in much the same gentle, caring voice I would use to suggest to a new mother that her baby probably should be wearing socks and should most definitely be weaned by now…well, after all, it takes a village to raise a child…and a dog as it turns out.

Well. I can’t tell you. This woman just exploded. It was a polite explosion, but an explosion nonetheless. ‘Do you know what?’ this woman said, and it was at this point I noticed that her shorts are probably a bit tighter than they were when she bought them fifteen years ago. ‘I’m really quite exhausted at the moment, and I’m just out for a walk with my dog trying to clear my head, and I really don’t need lectures from complete strangers.’

I looked somewhat bemused, I’m sure. She went on, obviously embarrassed at this completely unprovoked outburst as I offered my own dog another Burger Ring.

‘I’m sorry if I sound rude, but it’s just, you know, I’m just someone trying to do the right thing…but you go out with your baby and it should be wearing a hat, you go out with your dog and you should be socialising it’.

At this point, my young lad, thankfully oblivious to the adult tensions said ‘what’s your dog’s name?’ and we were able to return to the veneer of civility which holds our society together.”

The End. Apart from five minutes later when my dog did a poo and I didn’t have a bag with me, and the man walking past gave me one in a very grumpy way. And then, just around the corner, there’s this boxer dog (I’m scared of boxers, because I got chased by one once) and the gate is never closed, and it followed us to the end of the street. So obviously I’ll be taking a different route for my walk this evening. That’s The End.

 

At dog obedience, South Parklands

Being as I am, petrified of dogs – particularly medium dogs, and especially large dogs, and including dogs that bark as well as dogs that don’t, and not excluding dogs that are on leads, and encompassing dogs that jump, walk, run and sit, and not forgetting pedigree dogs, bitza dogs and any dog that was ever born – I take deep breaths and tell myself dog people are just cat people but with dogs.

Things you learn. After the fact.

I notice, when we are out on our walks, that there’s a lot of people want to give our dog a lot of love. And very often they say ‘oh, I used to have a beagle’ and they smile at you and they cuddle the dog and then they put him down and they have memory in their eyes.

And then they smile at you again.

And you can’t help thinking what have we done, but you’ve had him for a week and you’re already in love with the slope of his nose and the tip of his tri-coloured tail and the way that he snores when he’s in your lap at night.

Dog obedience starts tomorrow night. Which is too late for the white campers, but hopefully in time to save my black boots.

nothing like a sleeping baby


IMG_1698

Originally uploaded by adelaide writer

This is how he has spent most of the last two days. Asleep in someone’s lap. Which is to make up for the nights which he mostly spends crying. Missing his mum I guess. Goodness only knows how his mum is feeling.

This is probably the totally wrong thing to be doing. Like everyone says ‘don’t let babies sleep in your arms all day’. But we did. Let them sleep in our arms all day. And that seems to have worked out fine.

I’m completely out of my depth. You might have noticed.