Week 15, Day 4 (What's in a name?)

The morning sickness is back again today for a visit. Yummy..

I need something to take my mind off my belly's out of body experience, so let's have another funny anecdote. Hmmm.. which shall it be today?

I guess it's time I properly introduced you to "The Poodle". As you probably noticed with "The Wobble", when I throw 'the' in front of a nickname, it indicates identifiable behaviour rather than a description. So you won't be too shocked to discover that 'The Poodle' is in fact half German Shepherd, half Rhodesian Ridgeback (but yes, she's still a dog).

You may remember her from her proper name which is Tamsin, but she doesn't like this name much, and chose "Poodle" for herself.

A couple of years ago we had two dogs; Cindy (mutant purebred corgi) and Wobble. Neither were skilled at property protection. Wobble loves everybody, and Cindy (aka The Wiggle) firmly believed that every human had the capacity to feed her, so she would never jeopardise a possible treat by being so rude as to bark at them (unless of course they fed someone instead of her).

When we lived in town someone actually stepped over the sleeping Wiggle to break into our car. Amazing.. good thing she wasn't asleep on the door step!

So when some local rotter started deciding he had a right to our fruit, spare steel etc, I started on at Wayne for a proper dog. It wasn't until a very scary individual turned up here one day asking if we had any guns (!!!) that I finally stopped asking and started TELLING.

Thanks to Dogwatch (a Chch charity that works very hard to rehome dogs), I found my perfect match. "Tamsin" was a gangly, unruly, opinionated 10 mth old bitch, wearing a leather collar & metal spikes so outrageous that you could sell it for a mint at the Sydney Mardis Gras.

Tam was getting over surgery (she'd been in a fight) and had her tummy upset by the antibiotics. What's more, she'd been accustomed to being fed home cooking (steak etc), and would not consider eating dogfood. (ew what's this muck?)

I resorted to standing in front of the open fridge and asking her what she did feel like eating.
Butter? No.
Salad? No.
Mint sauce? No.
Yoghurt? YES!!!! (Really? You want yoghurt? YESSS!!)

This dog is a total slut for yoghurt. If you eat a mini-pottle, she will hug your feet waiting for the empty pot, then lovingly, devotedly, send that amazing tongue into overdrive to lick it so clean you'd think it started that way in the factory.

Lucky for me though.. I tipped yoghurt on her food, and gradually she became acclimatised to dog biscuits and other more appropriate dinners (I love my dog, but I refuse to cook steak for her).

Anyhoo, one of the 'concerns' that came with Tamsin was her aggression towards cats. Did I mention we had six cats? (Seven then, actually). But she was young and on trial, and I figured we'd sort her out. First up teach her what 'sit' and 'no' and 'get off that bloody couch' meant. Then we could work up to complex stuff like "put down that postman you don't know where he's been" and "be nice to cats".

Seriously though, I figured she'd need to learn to be cat-friendly asap, so almost the first thing I did when we got home was to fill the water bottle and roll up a newspaper. (You slap your leg with the newspaper, and/or squirt the offender with the water pistol. Works a treat on cats and dogs ... and cheeky husbands).

Within ten seconds of coming to her new home, Tamsin had discovered Wayne on the couch and was telling him off. He just opened one lazy eye and said "hello baby, come here and get a cuddle". As quick as that she was in lerrrrve!

She was a little harder to convince about the joys of cats, however. On day three I discovered her barking furiously at a tree'd Mako, who was high in the elm tree looking all the world like a bottle brush had grown out of his butt.

A roar (from Mum), a yelp (from a soggy doggy), and a bit of time out in the dog run and that little bit of rudeness was never repeated.

Within a week or so, the cats had won her over and she became a reformed character. Gremlin loves to swipe her tail lazily back and forth over the dog's nose, then reach up and kiss her. Badger glares then belts/snarls/spits.. but then just as quick forgives and snuggles up to Tam when it's cold and there's a warm belly to be curled against.

Mako (he of the tree) decided that the dog was His. He truly owns this dog, sometimes more than we do. He sleeps on her when he feels like it, tries to chew her dog biscuits, and generally makes it clear the canine is his property. Tam's 100% okay with this, and loves him utterly. If Mako and Greebo get into it (male territory bullsh*t), Tam gets utterly distraught until Mako is rescued and she can inspect him for herself, and lick his fur down flat again. This just means Mako thinks he's ten foot tall and bullet proof (shame he's got short legs, no fighting skills, and is more likely to succeed as a doorstop than a bully).

Where does "The Poodle" come into it, you ask?

It's a bit like the yoghurt - she picked it for herself. I was reading a funny post from a longtime friend and hit a bit where she said the phrase "poodle-da-breep" (you had to be there, but it involved frogs, New Year's eve, and a conshiderabbble amount of alco-hic-hol).

As my skeleton is largely made up of funny bones, I got the giggles. Dog came over to see what the joke was, and I read the post aloud to her. When I got to 'Poodle' she reacted. Big response, huge. It was a word that appealed to her, and I tried it on for size with some commands.

"Poodle, sit."
"Poodle, lie down"
"Poodle, up!"

We discovered the dog wasn't resistant to education after all, she simply required us to use a name she liked. So The Poodle she became, and The Poodle she remains.

It does get a bit embarrassing explaining to people why we call something soooo not poodle-like such a name, and we get pitying looks, but hey, don't blame us for our dog's decision!

The moral of the tale is if you're looking for a dog, rather than getting a puppy out of the paper, why not check out a worthy rescue organisation such as Dogwatch or the SPCA. Chances are very good you'll find something utterly perfect, and it's win/win all round (especially for the dog). Super huge thanks to the marvelous people at Dogwatch - Poodle has been the smartest decision I ever made and I've never regretted getting her. When Wobble eventually hobbles off over the Rainbow Bridge, you betcha it will be Dogwatch I ring to find his successor.

Addendum: Last week we were in Brighton and called in to the Dogwatch store to say thanks in person and show off one of their success stories. I just got finished saying what a marvelous dog Pood is, when two young women entered the store and something about them hit all the buttons on Pood's radar. In a nanosecond she went from sooky friendly lovable mutt to 'ferociously barking with lots of teeth' guard dog. How embarrassing.. but I bet there was something in her reaction; she's a damn good judge of character. Wonder what she was trying to tell us?