Life of a Dog

Yes, yes, I know, it has been quite some time since I graced these pages. But that's basically because I've decided to only write when I get the 'urge'... which pretty much means I have to have something spiralling around in my brain writing itself until I can't stand the waterfall of words anymore. Which is where you lot come in.

Where was I? Oh yes. The Puppy. We have a Jack Russell Puppy called Wilson. And yes, before you ask, he was named after the brand of volleyball from Castaway. Why? Because as Tom Hanks stood there, yelling for the ball to come back to him after he'd thrown it away in frustration, we realised that it was ideally suited to a dog. 'Wilsonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!' we giggled at the time. 'How quaint' we mused.

A dog that would no doubt get yelled at in puppy stages.

A dog that would probably take off with special toys of the children, run around the yard manically, all the while two small children crying out in terror for their toys while their bemused parents try not to laugh.

A dog that would crawl under the bed, barking madly as we tried not to wake the sleeping giant above, all the while brooms and assorted dog extracting paraphernalia utilised with little success.

And finally a dog that would apparently develop quicker than other dogs his age and proceed to hump everything in sight. 

Including our other dog. 

And the cat. 

Which brings me to my Dad's dog, Jabba, who has just left this mortal coil at the age of 17 - not bad for a red heeler. Jabba had a strange attraction to soft toys, cushions and saddle blankets. Yes, correct, Jabba could regularly be found in compromising positions with any number of teddy bears or satin sheened cushion covers. We rest assured he's up there in doggy heaven now, happily humping away for eternity, that big lolling smile letting us all know how happy he will forever be.

So, um, question: have you ever found yourself frowning at your dog as you wonder what he's doing then too late realise that what he's doing isn't really what you want the children to see him doing?  And not only is he doing it freely and with no shyness whatsoever, he's also got your other dog in his grip but unfortunately upside down... yes, poor Maisy was being unceremoniously graced with the rampaging hormones of a pubescent teen puppy who had no idea which end was which.

But once again, it gets worse. As I was sitting here just now, I saw a whisker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Lo and behold, the pumpee had become the pumper! It pains me to say this but my poor innocent little spayed female dog was BOLDLY HUMPING THE SKULL OF THE HUMPER! 

Okay, so now I'm the confused one. The dogs obviously have no qualms whatsoever with acting out their fantasies, however perverse to the human eye.  But should I put it down to her getting her own back for his unceremonious attempt to mate with her left ear or do I laugh it off and say 'dogs will be dogs'... I don't know. *wrings hands* 

But one thing I do know is that if I come home and find our 11 year old spayed male cat in on the act, it is the pound for the lot of them!! 

Wax on... Wax Off!

Okay, apologies people. I've been slack but honestly, I've not had a thing to write about. Until today.

My mother, who is about to go overseas on the Queen Mary II to the Far East (her words, not mine) was doubled over in hysterics by the time she'd finished telling me this story. She was clutching so hard at the sides of her red brick Ben Chifley style house that I thought she was going to remove mortar, the tears poured down her face and I had trouble deciphering her words through her screams of laughter.

In short, this is a story about waxing. Waxing is a lot more popular these days, with the deforestation otherwise known as the 'Brazilian' taking over youth, middle classes and those who don't mind looking like a prepubescent child.

But how old is too old to wax? Well, apparently 83 is always a good age. Yes, you read correctly. Turns out mum knows an 83 year old woman who has, at Christmas every year, popped down and had a hedge trim! Not that I'm expecting Peter Cundal to jump out from behind an Azalea and ask her if she wants Seasol with that, but you know what I mean, down she goes, whips off the Reg Grundies and asks for a little off the sides.  Good on her!

Personally, if it were me I'd be asking for some tinsel, lights and a sprig of holly just in case because you just never know...   But, I digress for our story doesn't end here. Ooooh no. This is the part where I say 'Gentlemen, hold your chestnuts'.  

So after a while Mum drew a breath and squeaked out that whilst this conversation was taking place at her women's sewing group (you're horrified, how do you think I feel?!), another woman piped up with an episode in life her husband would rather forget.

You see, apparently the said husband had continually told his wife that waxing couldn't possibly hurt and he didn't know why she complained. So she offered to wax him and he said 'Okay...'. Bad move. Very very bad move.   

Because not only did she apply wax, she applied it to his testicles... and then quickly ripped the strip off, removing not only follicles but part of his scrotum.  

He promptly passed out and quite frankly,  I couldn't understand a word Mum said after that so I can't tell you anymore. Last time I saw Mum, she was still doubled over with laughter, still clutching the side of the house and I don't think she'd finished packing for the 'Far East' yet... 

Motto of the story:  Girls,  you're never too old to wax and guys, you're never too stupid to try it.