Being a dog-friendly office, we had had quite a lot of Poppy time at work over the last couple of weeks much to everyone’s delight. I notice she has a ritual when we arrive in the mornings: a quick scoot around the desks and offices to check out who's in the house and (no doubt) who has left a tasty morsel in their rubbish bin. Then it's laying in wait for each person to arrive whereby they are greeted with a lashing tail and bum wiggle with the expectation of a pat and a cuddle. From there, Friday's pie day so there are sad brown eyes and chins on knees everywhere trying to scab a tiny morsel of pie crust. If I can’t find Poppy in my office she is generally trying to score a titbit or has managed to find a sunny spot by a window - uncanny how they manage to do that.
It has been a funny month since I last put digit to keyboard. It started off with Sam, our Pet Advisor and general boffin of petfoodology, flying away to Borneo to spend three months at the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. Sam being Sam, she is still assisting from the jungle with customer enquiries, Facebook, surveys and the like, I’m sure we will have some interesting stories on her return. Next up we had our Jimbo's Pottles recognised as a finalist in the Worldstar Packaging Awards which was pretty cool, and then………………………………………………………….
Welcome to the Jimbo's July Newsletter. Here we are deep in the heart of winter, mud puddles everywhere and soon-to-be daffodils and ducklings gracing the landscape.
Given that it's winter and the chill is on, Poppy the dog is Pyjamafied every night before bed and it’s always a little of a battle. It kinda goes like this:
Dad: “Okay bud, time for bed, PJs on and piddle and poo.” Poppy (mind bubble): “Oh but Dad it's cold out there and scary and wet and the fire's sooo warm and do I have to...!?”
I will start this month off with something I’m sure all the dog owners out there experience almost daily but something which never ceases to amuse me. I open up the door of my wagon at night when I pull up at home, and there waiting is this tail-wagging, noise-making exuberant little pot-licker named Poppy. Once I have had the cursory sniff to validate that I am who I should be, there is the fast galloping-round-the-front-lawn Dad's home Dad's home Dad's home Wooohooo! barking dance. This is regularly interspersed with sideways glances to see what can be gathered up during the dance as a gift; a doggy token of joyousness and pleasure at the fact that I have returned. On the expiration of the doggy dance, jumping up and down, barking bum-wiggle tail-wagging parade, the gift is offered and removed and offered and removed and offered and removed and so the game begins.
My Mum and Dad have a pocket rocket; that is to say they have an energetic wee scally-wag of a dog named Molly. She’s what some would call a miniature Foxy, she’s what I would call a fart in a jar waiting for someone to take the lid off. When they do, woohoo, it’s like I’m only little but I have the energy of something twice the size that’s powered by Kryptonite and I’m going to show you just how exciting that is all in one simple movement that involves my whole body wriggling and accelerating at close to the speed of sound while dodging most things in my path while circumnavigating the space that I currently occupy. Just the thought of it makes me tired, add to this explosion of energetic excitability my old girl Poppy, and the whole situation intensifies to a point of a black, white and brown blur defying the laws of modern physics, gravity and all canine logic and sensibilities while causing distress, hilarity and genuine concerns for all personal and public safety for all people in the near vicinity.
I have a funny little tail about Lowndes the Chihuahua.
There we all were, a family barbie with Cousin Deb, Nicholas the wild hairy one, Chloe, Marcus and all the crew (I won’t give you all the names), with a few dogs thrown into the mix. Suddenly there was a whole heap of people and quadrupeds hanging round the barbie table catching up. Always entertaining to watch the personalities mingle. Poppy, my dog, was in her element; a few new dogs around the place and she was busy showing them her patch - to say there was a lot of piddling and bum-sniffing was an understatement.
The Cat that was named CC, an $8 purchase from the pet store up the road, purchased at a time when there was some sadness at home due to a family bereavement and a bouquet just wasn’t going to cut it. So, a kitten to brighten up our lives. Small, black, inquisitive, playful and hopefully-very-cuddly soon grew into, large (like "look at the size of him" large), free-ranging, self willed, hard-arsed and staunch. That was my CC. Every now and then (twice in 18 years) something would get the better of him, and the second time it was life itself. He was a cross between the Fonz, Barry Crump and Joseph Parker I guess. He made his own rules, set his own schedules and slept wherever the heck he wanted to thanks very much. He let us reside with him for 18 years and never asked for much, just moseyed on in when he felt like it and made his presence known. We still have a cat - a little black girl named Ono. She's a very different cat in many ways to CC, but only having one seems a little empty... It might be time to re-populate. They are going to be hard paw prints to fill. I’ll keep you posted on how we get on.