My beastly summer. WARNING - contains violence and adult themes.

Today was my last day of school before summer break. There was a Christmas party after class. My humans decided to skip it because they didn't want me to get sunstroke and m.e.l.a.n.o.m.a. I've seen m.e.l.a.n.o.m.a.s on telly. They are scary black things with little legs, like ticks but much bigger [at least on telly].



I suspect my humans were just being lazy though. They probably thought - it's a nice Sunday, why waste it on Georgia's last day of school and Christmas party? I'm upset that they had better things to do than take me to a party. Luckily, I still got to eat my bag of school treats.

It's been so hot and muggy. No one wants to do anything but sleep and sweat. The cicadas have woken up and won't stop talking. There are flies and mosquitoes everywhere. I've caught a few. They're not good to eat.

Flies like Mr Thumper a lot. He's so slow and messy when he eats, they get a good feed too.

Every night, my out-at-work human  brings out his Tools For Killing Mosquitoes. An extra large value pack of Raid and an extra large value pack of Mortein, in case the mosquitoes have become resistant to Raid. Mosquito coils and zappers. And a pot of citronella oil. It gets hard to breathe in the house and I'm sure we're all dying slowly from the fumes. The mosquitoes, however, seem to be fine.

Out in the backyard, Alfred's been singing all day and all night in his water pot. I've not mentioned Alfred before. He's our frog. We're not animal scientists, but we think Alfred may be lonely and looking for a girlfriend. There used to be another frog that lived in the water pot in our front yard. Her name was Agatha. One night, Agatha decided to cross the road. We don't know why, maybe just to see what was on the other side. She got killed by a car or a cat. Alfred could be crying for Agatha. That would be sad, but I hope he gets over it soon so we can all get some sleep.

Now that it's nice and hot, the mama and papa rats have been busy too and there's a new batch of baby rats. We can hear them scampering around the backyard at night. My stay-at-home human wants you to know that our house is clean and she vacuums, dusts and mops all the time. She doesn't know why there are rats in the backyard. It could be because we live in an area with a lot of fine restaurants, cafes and pubs. There's always a price to pay for being so close to fine restaurants, cafes and pubs.

Last week, one of the rats came into the house and ate a mango. My stay-at-home human was awfully cross. [She freaked out.] She immediately started disinfecting everything in case some little rat toes had run over her dining table and chairs. She insisted my out-at-work human trap and kill the rats.

My humans bought this rat trap in Chinatown. It works a lot better than the simple snap ones. There's a piece of yummy mango in it. I like mangoes.

The trap's been sitting outside for 4 nights now and no one's come to eat the mango. Maybe the rats have all moved next door to Millie and Indie's house.

My out-at-work human is not a good rat catcher. I don't think his heart's in it at all. He's worried he might catch a papa or mama rat. "Then, who'll look after their families?" he says. My stay-at-home human pooh-poohs on this sentiment, but isn't willing to get blood on her own hands.

"If no one wants the yummy mango, can I have it please?"

I wonder who looks after all the orphaned baby mosquitoes. I'm glad I'm a dog and don't have to think about these e.t.h.i.c.a.l issues.

Ever since the night the rat came into the house, I've been sleeping with my humans. I think it's a good idea to have someone who can protect me if another one pops up. I hear you can get sick if a rat bites you.

There are also a lot of possums in my neighbourhood. I like hunting possums.

I don't think I'll ever catch any though. They are too high up for me.

Sometimes, the possums are on the ground. This is when they're dead. A ranger told my out-at-work human they get killed by feral cats and foxes. There are some dangerous animals living in our parks.

My humans always scream very loudly when they see dead possums. It could be because they're scared of dead things. It could be because they don't like me rolling in the possum bits or eating them.

Last weekend, my out-at-work human put a curtain up for me so I won't get any m.e.l.a.n.o.m.a.s while I'm sleeping.

I love him for thinking about me.

Perhaps my stay-at-home human will remember to put some sunscreen on my belly soon.

I hope you're having

a *gReat  *summ*Er too!

Some fun summer reading:

http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/bugs/cicada.html

http://frogs.org.au/frogs/ofNSW/Sydney


Some important summer reading:
http://vetmedicine.about.com/od/summerheathhazards/tp/summerhazards.htm

http://vetmedicine.about.com/od/diseasesandconditions/qt/petsunscreens.htm

These ones are specially for my out-at-work human:

http://www.kingcounty.gov/healthservices/health/ehs/rats.aspx

http://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&q=cache:CpscqKXiYswJ:www.ufaw.org.uk/documents/GuidanceonhumanecontrolofrodentsFeb2509V19.pdf+how+to+kill+trapped+rats&hl=en&gl=au&pid=bl&srcid=ADGEESgu_-4-TB6NgjVzp6ZkXyy0zHhk6eqY_Fa0MJnCadpDbi4Qv8P6se9EhpYNVCYbQsm13SX1Nlce-7bJeI9hy8JkdhyYzEC3DpkSWUHBYVFA1X22NpSXNhMcPWsMwjB2ikwR2GeB&sig=AHIEtbRlwJJab9CJCt3mnodG4naSa4iZOQ&pli=1 

Some stuff from the last link:

"Release of an animal elsewhere is not necessarily a humane thing to do - translocated animals may fail to adapt to or integrate into new territory and may suffer and die as a result (Mason and Littin, 2003). Killing is much less likely to carry a risk of causing suffering than release in an unfamiliar area, and release of some species may be illegal."

"The following methods are considered to be humane:

• Destruction of the brain by a strong and accurate blow to the head with a suitable implement

• Lethal overdose of appropriate gaseous or injectable anaesthetic (this technology is not available for general use)

• Destruction of the brain by shooting"

???

Oh dear. Do we even have a gun? Only this one.

"Please don't hurt me. I just had a bath."

I think my stay-at-home human might just have to get used to sharing her mangoes with the rats.

The purple collar.

Kammy went to sleep yesterday arvo. She was very tired, her body hurt, and it felt lovely to close her eyes and rest.

When she woke up, she felt different.

"Hmmm..." Kammy thought to herself, yawning and stretching. "That must have been a really good sleep because I feel SO MUCH better now."

She opened her eyes and saw she was in A Place She'd Never Been Before. In front of her was A Very Big Dog. He was plumpish and frankly, looked like he might have eaten too many XL butterfly cupcakes with extra cream and extra pink sugar icing on them. He had white whiskers and a white beard and long white hair. He looked a little like the Dulux dog on telly.

"Where am I?" Kammy asked, strangely not afraid of this Very Big Strange Dog. "Are you the Dulux dog I sometimes see on telly?"

"I am The Dog Upstairs." replied the dog [that nevertheless looked like the Dulux dog on telly]. "But you can call me Bob if you like. Welcome, Kammy, to heaven!"

"Heaven?" asked Kammy, somewhat confused. "What's that? Is it a good place to be? And how did I get here?"

"Hmmm...you have a lot of questions for a dog that just woke up. But I shall try to answer them for you," said Bob patiently. "I hear, Kammy, that you threw a party in the park yesterday morning, on your way to heaven."

"It's true. I did." replied Kammy. "It was lovely even though it was raining, and many of my friends turned up."

"More than 10 friends?" Bob asked.

"Of course!" Kammy replied. "I have a lot more than 10 friends!"

"And did they bring you presents?" asked Bob.

"They did!" exclaimed Kammy. "Biscuits and liver. Snuffles and licks. Pats and cuddles. Kisses and good wishes. They were very good presents and I liked them all!"

"AHA!" exclaimed Bob back. "That sounds to me then, like you've been A Very Good Girl who has A Family That Loves You and Many Friends That Love You Too. And THAT, Kammy, is how you got to heaven."

"Oh." said Kammy, still unsure, "but will I like it here? And how will my family find me? I seem to have lost my purple collar. I'm not allowed out without my p*u*r*p*l*e collar, except when I play with Georgia Little Pea."

"Georgia Little Pea," said Bob sternly, "will have to work very hard to get to heaven. But pshaw! Kammy, PSHAW!" he laughed, "No one wears a collar in heaven! Not even a purple one!"

Kammy took a look around and saw that Bob was telling the truth. There were 100s and 1000s of dogs, as far as the eye could see. They were running and wrestling, climbing trees and swimming. They were eating double cream cake and fat sizzling sausages, and drinking fizzy lemonade. Not one of them was wearing a collar.

Kammy was amazed! "How is that possible? Aren't they worried they'll get lost? How will they ever find their way home again?"

"Oh Kammy," said Bob, suddenly looking very much like The Dog Upstairs, "they're not worried at all. Can't you see? They're already home. And so are you."

Kammy looked at Bob. She thought maybe she had some more questions. She was sure of it. But suddenly, she couldn't think of any at all. 

"I'm ready for a sausage and some lemonade now." she said instead. She gave herself a great big shake. She gave Bob a big wet kiss. And off she went, running up the hill for a bite to eat and to make some new friends.

*****

Sometimes, life hands you a bunch of sad days, all strung up together and that's just the way it is.

The last story, I had meant to write for a while because I wanted to remember how I came to fall in love with dogs. It was coincidental timing that it got posted on the same day that Kammy's email went out.

This one, I had to write because we'll all have to face a day like this, when we need to believe that our dogs have gone to a better place.

Kammy went away yesterday and won't be coming back. Lately, her dog friends have been going up to her for a gentle sniff then leaving her alone. Without a doubt, they knew she was not well.

Yesterday, after coming home, Georgia became very quiet and down. She went to her bed and slept most of the day. Apparently she didn't even greet the man when he came home. Did she realise that she'd lost a friend? We have to consider that possibility.

I know I said in my last story that I wasn't sure if there's a heaven. But Uncle STeve has assured me that there is [at least for dogs]. Who am I to disagree?

Love and peace.

I am the 10th dog.

This is a story my stay-at-home human told me.

A long, long time ago, when she was little, she had a 1st dog. She called him Cookie,  after Kookie from 77 Sunset Strip. Back then, she wasn't too good at spelling. Most of you have probably never heard of this show. It's very old.

Cookie had lots of brothers and sisters when he was born. But they all died young. When Cookie was a puppy, he had short shiny black fur. As he grew up, his fur grew longer and wiry. It became black and grey and sandy and brown. His tail became feathery. So he wasn't just a scruffy mutt, he was also a very unusual one.

My stay-at-home human knew he was her dog and no one else's because Cookie only ever listened to her.

Every day after school, my stay-at-home human would rush home, throw her schoolbag down, get on her bicycle and ride far, far away. No one ever tried to kidnap her because these were the old days when people smiled more, were kinder and looked after each other. Cookie always ran after the bicycle. He never wore a leash.

Together, they climbed hills and explored caves. She pretended she was one of The Famous Five and ate funny fruit she'd never seen before. Miraculously, she didn't get sick and die. Her mother and father would have been very angry if they knew, so she never told them. My stay-at-home human was a lot braver then. These days, she won't even let me have a piece of chocolate or a peanut because she's afraid it'll kill me.

Cookie and my stay-at-home human played in deserted rubber plantations, and tempted death some more by following railway tracks. They got wet catching tadpoles and fish in puddles and streams. They got very dirty thinking a sewer was a stream [and she got big boils from it too].

Cookie and my stay-at-home human were Very Best Friends.

My stay-at-home human taught Cookie how to come, sit, lie down, shake hands, beg and stay. Cookie taught himself how to kill snakes and climb fences to get out of the backyard. And Cookie taught my stay-at-home human how to eat fresh grass and dog biscuit-mud pies and smoked pig bones. They shared the bones and Cookie always let my stay-at-home human have first go.

But Cookie was a sickly dog. You remember I told you all his brothers and sisters died young. Cookie was still young too, when he had to make his first Very Important Visit to the town's Dr Dog.

Dr Dog told my stay-at-home human's father that Cookie was sick and would have to be put to sleep. When my stay-at-home human heard this, she started crying and begged Dr Dog to please save Cookie. She cried so much, Dr Dog and her father got worried and said, "Okay, let's take him home and see how it goes."

Over the years, Cookie had to visit Dr Dog many times. But each time, my stay-at-home human cried and cried until he was allowed to come home. She was a real crybaby.

Then, as always happens, my stay-at-home human grew up. She stopped sneaking into Cookie's kennel and smuggling him into her bed. Maybe it was because her nanny found fleas in her clothes and she got a scolding. But it was also because she discovered Donovan, love poems and boys.

When Cookie was about 10, my stay-at-home human got sent away to a boarding school in a bigger town. She was really sad that she had to leave Cookie behind. She cried some more, and she promised him that they would one day soon be together again.

If Cookie was lonely at home without my stay-at-home human, she was never told. At any rate, she was a teenager now and had more important things to think about than a little old dog far, far away.

Months and months went by. One day, her father came to visit. He told her that he'd put Cookie to sleep because he couldn't be saved anymore.

My stay-at-home human got very angry. She started screaming at her father and calling him names for killing her dog. She scolded him for not telling her before he'd done it. She scolded him for having done it. Then she ran away, crying because she suddenly remembered how much she loved Cookie.

She cried for days and nights. She didn't care that all her friends and teachers thought she was mad. She didn't care when her eyes ballooned up and she couldn't see anymore. She kept on crying because she didn't know how to stop.

There was just no other way to say goodbye.

Cookie's been dead more than 35 years now. My stay-at-home human doesn't cry much anymore. She's become a Grumpy Old Woman Who Eats Too Many Passionfruit Tarts. She's had 9 dogs since Cookie. I am her 10th.

But she's never forgotten her 1st Dog. She only has one small black and white picture of him. He's looking up at her and you can only see his bum.

She doesn't know if all her dogs that are gone are now hunting rabbits in heaven, because she's not sure there's such a thing as heaven. But it's alright, she says, they're all still here, in her favourite memories. All she has to do is close her eyes and take a deep breath. Smell that?

"It's Cookie and me sharing a great big smoked pig bone. Yum."

I think that's what you call love.

*****

For the other Georgia and her dog, Kammy.

IMPORTANT UPDATE

As some of you may know, Kammy has been suffering from lymphoma for a while. 3 minutes after publishing this post, I received an email that she has taken a turn for the worse and will have to be put to sleep.

If you'd like to say goodbye, please be down at Mort Bay around 8am this Thursday 2nd December.

Kammy is one of [our] Georgia's oldest friends and will be missed.

*****

Some helpful thoughts:
http://willmydoghateme.com/pet-net-family-event/pet-loss-grief?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+WillMyDogHateMe+%28Will+My+Dog+Hate+Me%3F%29