Andy the Great to the Rescue (Sheba goes missing)

Andy the Great to the Rescue (Sheba goes missing)

Andy the Great to the Rescue (Sheba goes missing) šŸ˜¦

Yesterday was a shocker of a day! Stomach churning anxiety, fear, tears and constricting heart muscles were the order of the day for our family, including the dogs.

Sheba the chocolate (going grey) Labradoodle dandy dog went missing in action. This action is defined as an attempted grooming situation with Jazz and Sheba (who both suffer from generalised anxiety disorder or woosy poodle syndrome).

Both dogs were unenthused with the idea of getting their coats de-matted and clipped. Much resistance was encountered when encouraging the darlings to get in the van that would transport them to the groomers (this is part of the salon service).

I hate sending the dogs to the groomers (only happens when their coats are totally unmanageable) and my stress levels were skyrocketing way before they got picked up.

I have attempted to clip the dogs wool myself (Labradoodles have a sheep’s coat) and purchased the best of clippers and scissors for the job. However, Jazz and Sheba had different ideas when it came to close shaves and refused to participate, resulting in very strange looking Doodle hairdo’s and sore neck and back for moi. Not to mention lots of sneezing from this pack leader (who is allergic to most things on the planet).

Anyhoo, I was relieved to see the dogs on their way and was looking forward to the return of sweet smelling, short-coated greyhound type dogs. I took advantage of dogs in absentia and set to work cleaning the house and mopping the floors (something which is difficult to do with two dogs following your every move).

My husband Andy the Great (who coincidentally had the day off work) answered the phone during the morning. He was informed that Sheba had escaped. She had jumped out of the hands of the groomer in the style of Rudolf Nuriev. She’s a smart dog – she knew that clippers were close at hand and she didn’t want a bar of it!

This had happened on exiting the van that had transported the load of long haired and dirty dogs to the countrified dog salon. A salon situated on acreage with a fully dog proofed fence. The staff called out her name but this made Sheba run faster and faster.

Andy the Great immediately drove, at great speed, the 25 minute journey to the dog salon to encourage Sheba in her return. When he arrived he joined the staff in a systematic dog search, zig-zagging back and forth across the grassy fields. However, Sheba zipped about with a speed that has never been obvious to anyone before (remember this is the dog who thinks she is a cat) and slipped through the gate (yes, the gate was open – doh!), crossed a fairly busy highway, nearly got hit by a big truck (he honked his horn and she did a u-turn), and managed to get to the other side to hide amongst the scrub and bush of the adjacent National Park.

To cut a long story short, Andy the Great and one of the groomers spent the next four hours searching the bush for a brown dog who didn’t want to be found! They also didn’t have any water with them. I was following the action via mobile phone. Andy the Great told me ‘we’ll never find her in this scrub, not in a million years’ – great – heart attack material – tears on toast (or afternoon tea by this stage). I was sick with worry and Tessa was crying and Michael was very concerned. Andy the Great was ropable.

At 3.30pm the phone rang and Andy the Great informed us that he had found the dog; she was bedraggled, disoriented and thirsty. He had gone back to the salon to see if Jazz was ok and Sheba had walked back through the entrance gate (after crossing the main road again – groan!). It seems she had decided that life in the Australian bush was not to her fancy after the luxuries of the Bryden household.

Her paws were grazed and her coat dishevelled, but otherwise she was unharmed. I on the other hand am still recovering from the shock.

She is finding it hard to forgive me for sending her to the horrible groomers and keeps giving me the evil eye. It may take her a few days and many hugs and treats for her to completely forgive. It may help if I tell her that she will never have to go back to that salon in the sticks.

Andy the Great is now basking in the adoration of two kids, a wife and two dogs. I am very impressed with his dogged šŸ˜‰ perseverance and courage in the face of a long bush search without water. He was quite willing to stay there until after dark to find the woolly beasty. We could have lost both of them!

When he arrived home covered in mud, with hair askew, he cracked open a cold beer and told us all about his day.

My hero!

Andy the Great
A boy and a dog called Jazzy

A boy and a dog called Jazzy

A boy and a dog called Jazzy

Best friends
can be short or tall
bright or quiet
booky or sporty
anything at all
mine just happens to be
a goofy, woolly
poodly, woodly
labradoodley
type beastie
with a coat of gold
soft as marshmallows
melting in the camp fire
pinkest tongue
cool wet nose
that reminds me when
a hug is due
boofy head
that rests on my legs
like Iā€™m the best pillow
ever
following me from room to room
my loyal shadow
liquid eyes
of chocolate brown
forever sad
even when eating
but a shaggy, waggy tail
reveals
a heart filled with happy
jazzy, fizzy stuff
that bubbles all around me
tickling me with love.

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Note: A repost šŸ™‚

It’s a Dog’s Life

It’s a Dog’s Life

I am not a cat (get your tail out of my face you traitor to dogdom)
Sheba having an identity crisis!
‘dog dreaming of being a cat’ by Benedicte Delachanal

Artist Benedicte Delachanal has done a sketch of Sheba dreaming of a catdog existence – thanks Ben šŸ™‚

The blue ball point pen is making a comeback, if you didn’t know šŸ˜‰

Woof! Meow! zzzzzzzz

Listen to me esteemed pack leader – did you really have to show that photo of me with the shaved coat – how embarrassment!

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I Think I’m a Cat!

I Think I’m a Cat!

My Labradoodle Sheba is one of those dogs that thinks she’s a cat!

She might be a little confused šŸ˜‰

She makes a sound like a meow when she can’t get close enough to me (separation anxiety is her speciality).

When she sees something a bit scary in the distance she does a little quarter bark – sounds like a cross between a burp and a deflating balloon – most pathetic as far as barks go. Occasionally she does a decent full on bark that sounds like she is serious, but she will be backtracking to the house at the same time.

She likes nothing better than a nap on a comfy pile of cushions.

She loves a cuddle with other members of her pack (the Brydens).

She loves to eat fish!

She hates to exercise and refuses to play ball (something which sister Jazz is obsessed with).

She refuses to swim in the sea (whereas Jazz will swim with glee).

I’ve heard that a dog like a cat is called a Cog.

Not sure I like that name. Can you come up with a better one?

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What is it with dogs rolling in dead things?

What is it with dogs rolling in dead things?

Bwhahahahaha

What is it with dogs rolling in dead things!

My kids washed Jazz and Sheba the other day. Nice, clean labradoodles emerge dripping with water. They both do the doggy shake, water flying in all directions. Kids emerge as wet as the dogs.

Happy days šŸ™‚

Dogs get towel-dried and the front door is opened so they can go crazy outside. Dogs run around like demented rabbits for a few minutes.

Then Sheba proceeds to roll on smelly dead toad!

Arrghhh!

A stream of invective emerges from my usually clean mouth šŸ˜¦

$#@%^$#&^%$##*#*#*#*@@$#%^@&#

I like to think of it as a metaphor for what has just happened.

This is not a one off and dog owners everywhere will be nodding their heads in knowingness.

We’ve had the dead possum roll, the dead fish roll, the dead shark roll. Anything in a state of decomposition and suitable smelly will do.

Theories abound for why dogs roll in smelly, dead stuff, but I like to think they do it just to piss me off.

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