As dogs go, mine is particularly placid.
Frog Dog puts up with all of my wacky plans without complaint. In fact, the only complaint I ever hear is a mournful howl whenever his food is momentarily delayed. He even sits perfectly still while I attack him with the clippers… Cocker Spaniel Mohawks are the latest in canine couture. His fluffy black and white tail is forever wagging and he always has a spare tonne of slobber he’s willing to share.
This weekend, Rick, Jamie and I all toddled our way up to Peregian to spend some time with Papa Bear and Veeds. Due to a significant lack of bedrooms, the Frog Clan pitched a tent and prepared a small campsite in the back yard. When I say the “Frog Clan” pitched a tent, I really mean that Rick constructed the tent, blew up the mattress and rolled out the sleeping bags, while Jamie watched attentively and I sat chatting and drinking white wine with Veeds. It was a team effort.
What followed can be summarised by the following dot points:
The last point would have been made easier to deal with, if it hadn’t been for one particularly cozy pooch. Jamie liked the idea of camping – as he could snuggle up with us on the blow-up mattress and practice his god-like skills at blanket theft. Truly, the dog is a sleeping-bag ninja.
In any case, with a metric poofteenth of sleep, I arose with a headache that was so noisy and loud that my back teeth rattled. As headaches go, this one had claws and fangs. It took three panadol, and a nana-nap to tame the worst of it.
Still, I survived long enough to enjoy an afternoon on the beach with the family. Only one of three dogs were prepared to join in the burial ceremony –
I give you “Frog Dog Sand Castle”!
It’s less humiliating than his last haircut…