Well here I am, curled up on my favourite couch with a cup of coffee and a couple of large dogs spread around me, who are taking this opportunity for a gentle nap. I have five German Shepherds, and all of them are professional nappers.
I should introduce you to my herd, for those of you who have never met them:
Our "firstborn" is Leia, named for Star Wars' Princess Leia, and she is turning 9 this year. She is compact and agile, and for many years drove us crazy with her ability to vault even the highest wall and disappear - at first during thunder storms, and then just because she could. She loves her father most in the world, although she has been known to bestow affection on her mother on occasion. She's generally friendly with other dogs, although now and then a squabble ensues because she likes to be in charge. She is loyal and chatty and playful and pretty, and her nicknames include Eenaeena, Inklestinklepants, Blinky and Bean. If you have a dog, you don't need to ask. Leia and I have lengthy conversations when I come home from work in the evenings - she likes to tell me about her day, and gets quite upset if you ignore her. She likes to be heard.
Next is Luke, who turned 8 in February. His name also has Star Wars origins, and he and Leia are best friends, although he and Lucy have struck up an unlikely friendship in recent months. He is the largest of the lot, weighing in at just under 50kg - hard to believe he was a scrap of a pup we used to call Bones because he was so skinny. He and Leia are the (unplanned) parents of two of our other dogs, and it's worth mentioning that Luke was petrified of the puppies when they were born. He's a bit of a slut, and will go to anyone who will rub his head, and if you dare stop before he's ready, he'll headbutt you until you continue. He had to have half his tail amputated a few years ago, which was an ordeal I never want to go through again (neither do I want any animal to have to go through it). He goes by Lukey most of the time, or Lukeypants, but has been known variously throughout his life by Pukey-Lukey, Poobucket or Floafy. You may have noticed this blog is named for him - Floafy is a compacted version of Floating Oafy (he is a bit of an oaf). He LOVES to swim (I do not use capital letters lightly, but Luke LOVES to swim), and that's where he got the name. It is the coolest thing to watch - he does laps of our large pool by himself whenever he gets the opportunity. Luke is my dog, and is often accused of being a mommy's boy, which is a 100% accurate description of him.
Next are brother and sister, Oscar and Tallulah Belle. They have just turned 7, and are the dogs that are most on their own mission. They still play like puppies, and have a bond that none of the other dogs do. Oscar is a sweet, shy dog who loves to please his people, but doesn't always know what is going on and why. We think if he could talk he would have a lisp. His nickname is Oshkosh or Othcar, and his sister goes by Lulah or Lal or Ballerina-pants. Oscar loves his toys (which include a length of pool hose, a piece of wood, a toilet brush and the occasional dead pigeon), and stores them all in a particular corner of the garden. Lulah just likes to randomly chew anything, and has been known to short out our electricity on a number of occasions. She recently had to have three stitches in her lip as the result of an unidentified chewing accident.
Last, but most certainly not least, is Lucy. Turning 14 this year (on reasonably reliable information), we have had her for about 3 years. She is a rescue, and has managed to carve for herself a place in everyone's heart, especially mine. Her owner died when Lucy was around 10 or 11, and she went to live with the owner's daughter. This lady's rottweiler kept attacking Lucy, and after the last bout, she was ready to put her to sleep. I heard about Lucy through an e-mail system I belong to that rehomes animals, and couldn't bear it that no one wanted her because she was old (she'd been on the e-mail circuit for some time). I lied to my husband and said we were just going to foster her, and we went to fetch her almost 100 km away. In the car on the way home she was quiet and docile, and when we got home she curled up next to the couch and didn't budge. She was depressed and unresponsive for almost a week, recovering from her two operations the week before we fetched her, and I began to wonder if we had done the right thing. The lady we fetched her from, Val, warned us that she was crazy in the car and a "squeaker", but I hadn't seen any of this.
She started coming around by the next weekend, and my husband and I thought we should take her to the vet to get her checked out, her stitches removed, and her nails clipped. What a crazy dog! She jumped around the back seat like a hooligan, squeaking like a child's toy, and generally being a loon. From that day onwards she was her old self - happy, crazy and a little loopy when the mood struck.
She attached herself to me like a limpet mine, and all talks of Foster Lucy went out of the window. She's our little old lady who's a little bit of a porker, and we can't imagine life before her. I have a bond with all of my animals, but I can't explain the one between Lucy and I - every day, she is my own personal blessing. I miss her when I am at work and I can't wait to get home and see her smiling little face greet me at the gate. She's a tubby little thing with lots of energy, but who needs regular naps, and she loves her food. Her favourite meal is anything with gravy, and her nicknames range from Pork Sausage and Snufflebutt to Gravy-Eyes and Lucy Banana Poopants, but mostly she is known as Fatty.
As I type this, she is lying fast asleep next to me on her fat-pad (of which she has two), dreaming of gravy and chasing chickens.
We also have a cat, Foozi, who Denzil gave me for my birthday seven years ago. She was a tiny scrap of a thing then, and she isn't much bigger now, but she is a tough little bugger who has outlived two of her children who we decided to keep, and who I still miss dearly - Gimpy and Yoda. Foozi loves people, although she'd never admit it, and sometimes at night she sneaks onto our bed and curls up under the blanket. She likes to sit on my lap when we watch TV in the evenings, and is an accomplished food-snatcher, although she is often outfoxed by her best friend Leia, who waits for her to snatch the food (especially chicken) and then promptly steals it from her. She goes by Floozy (she was one before she got sterilised), or Mac-Mac, which is one of the sounds she makes. Her and Lucy are also good friends - Foozi can often be found rubbing up against Lucy's head while Lucy is lounging on the carpet.
Well there you have it - a somewhat lengthy introduction to the four-leggeds in my life. Some might consider me a little obsessive when it comes to them, but frankly, I couldn't give a crap. I regularly have to sit through lengthy (and I do mean lengthy) conversations with friends who have children, that revolve around one or more of the following topics - the consistency of baby poo and what it means; which pain/cold/flu/fever/teething medicine is best and why and where to get it and how much it costs and what colour it is; how their child is smarter/sportier/more talented than all the others; the amazing rate at which children grow out of their clothes/shoes; being pregnant/giving birth (often in graphic detail); breast-feeding and related issues; the list goes on.
For someone who does not have children this can be quite trying, but I grin and bear it because I love my friends and (most of) their children, and these discussions are obviously important to them.
But it does buy me the occasional diatribe about my children, and how amazing they are! :) And if that can't be on my blog, then where? Anyway, when they come up in blogs-to-be, at least you'll have had a formal introduction to the furballs that live here, commonly known as The Herd.
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