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Woke up this morning to pouring rain and I had to turn the heat on. Yesterday Auntie Michelle and I took the dogs to Barrowtown and were sweating in our t-shirts. How?

I mean I even took off my socks and sneakers and pulled up my pant legs to get in the river and (impotently) attempt to scrub the fish stank off of SOMEDOGS who think that rolling in slimy dead fishes is more fun than anything else on earth.

*ahem*

As irritating as that was, a certain fish-smelly beast KNEW I was going to scrub him off and catching him was an exercise in futility, and was hilarious. He did salmony drive-bys at top speed while I lunged ineffectually this way and that way trying to catch him without getting too fishy in the process. I do love that at 11 years of age, he still plays a joyous game of keep away like a naughty (and slimy. and smelly) puppy.

He still kinda stinks though.

I gather it’s spawning time, and the river was literally rife with fishes. You could see them swimming all over the place. Because at heart I am a 12 year old boy, I spent some time trying to catch one with my hands (I failed). Because Auntie Michelle is a grown up, she rolled her eyes at me and remained on shore doing that thing with her knees that growns up do when trying to avoid letting a fish-stinky dog from leaning against their pants.

Maisie decided to pretend they simply did not exist.

La la la, not looking

Scary fish will not keep a dedicated ball dog out of the water though.

Kept a careful eye on them though, in case they were thinking of touching her, or maybe stealing her precious ball.

I’m actually a little offended by that “precious ball” tbh – all the money I spend on price Chuck It balls and she picked up this manky tennis ball on our walk and refused to play with anything else (this is another way she is like Tweeders; there is One Ball in the universe and it is the Only Ball that can be fetched). In general, tennis balls are my current nemesis; someone left one right outside the entrance gate before our last run at the trial last weekend, and when Miss Craisie espied it on her way in, she could think of nothing else. The run was a disaster! Someone had a case of the fuzzy green brain.

Now FaeFae aka Tiny Rage was going to take those fish on and teach them a lesson!

Just kidding. With Tiny Dog comes Tiny Brain and she was oblivious to all things Fish (except the dead one that she ate). She was actually chasing the waves left in the wake of a passing speedboat. Mysteriously, she finds waves extremely offensive. There’s a lot of ferocious barking and much chasing.

Peetie is too stupid to care about fish. Smart enough to know that stealing the Coveted Tennis Ball brings her a moment of petty glee though.

Wootie got in the water and was SHOCKED at the number of fish swimming around him.

SHOCKED I TELL YOU

You know, until he started thinking about how delicious they would be, maybe with a little lemon and some pepper.

He was pretty tired after our outing and fell asleep outside in the yard while I scrubbed stank out of the Seasons’ fur. He needed a little “help” going up the deck stairs afterward (by “help” I mean he wanted me not to touch him, but walk behind him just in case he fell over backward) and he had some trouble hoisting his back half off the dog bed when it was time for dinner, but I gave him some Tramadol and he was soon back to his old lumbering self.

I hope he lives forever, but he’s very old and I am very lucky that he can still do a two hour outing with us without it taking too much out of him.

Saw Addy once or twice.

She spent some time obsessed with a plant pot someone had discarded at the river’s edge and buried and unburied it several times. She spent some time running away so that I’d have to call her back and reward her (she has worked out THAT game quite thoroughly). But mostly she spent her time ignoring me, because she is an ungrateful little shit. She didn’t even listen to me long enough to stay for the obligatory family photo.

We are clearly out of practice. I think this is the worst one I have ever taken!

I kinda wish Twooie was still with us though. He would have caught one of those fishes!

Just kidding. This is her SOMEONE GOT THE FRISBEE AND IT WASN’T ME face. Beneath her sweet countenance lays an angry little toy hoarder.

This is who got her frisbee.

Maisie is no fool. She knows Peetie doesn’t WANT the frisbee, she only wants the cookies that come from getting the frisbee and returning it to the Food Lady.

She looks keen, but it’s all an act.

Then she got it again.

OH THE RAGE

And another frisbee-loving imposter. This one likes the cookies that come from returning the frisbee, but she also likes just having whatever it is some otherdog wants. Pound for pound (and she has lost some lbs and is now nice and trim, incidentally) she is the biggest bitch in the pack.

Does not want the frisbee even a tiny little bit:

Another small dog who has trimmed right down ever since I remove the accidental step stool that gave her free and unencumbered access up and over the laundry hamper and into the buffet that is the cat food in the bathroom. She’s a little miffed that she’s once again getting two meals a day instead of four, and she’s doing it with nine fewer teeth since her dental $urgery (ouch) but she remains her irrepressible self, even if it takes her a bit longer to masticate her (two) meals.

FINALLY GETTING IT!!

Now this guy wants the frisbee almost as much as Maisie does. But only if nobody else is trying to get it at the same time, since he can’t hear them coming. I find it fascinating that the same deaf dog who apparently does not understand the simple hand signal for “come here DO NOT RUN OFF INTO THE FIELD AND TRY TO SNEAK INTO THE AGILITY BARN” can glean instantly from the set of my shoulders relative to the gravitational field of the planets aligning with some kind of future visit from an alien race whether I have told Maisie to stay so I can throw the frisbee for him WITH HIS BACK TURNED TO ME. He remains, going into his 12th year, an enigma.

Isn’t quite sure what a frisbee is:

Just kidding. Noodles is still holding his own and doing remarkably well for 16! He is a little slower to get up that he used to be, and he trots back with the frisbee (and eschews retrieving balls on land mostly altogether) but he can still keep up on a hike. He even swims every day, which is why you get a bonus photo of him swimming back with the ball. Because it’s adorable.

OMG OMG OMG I CAN LITERALLY TASTE IT

This girlie has about two frisbee chases in her and then she is off hunting whatsoever is scurrying or slinking or hopping around on there for her to find. At the pond she has recently taken to standing in the pond plants up to her chin and remaining motionless, hoping to fool some hapless bullfrog into thinking she isn’t really there. The problem is that she can’t help wagging her white tipped tail which is held aloft and thus is basically a semaphore transmitting to bullfrogs near and far that she is here to Eat Them. She has even more recently gotten so frustrated that her ninja technique has failed to net her a single frog that she now just swims around through the pond for as much as half an hour at a time while they use the pond plant highway to evade her and she paddles frantically after them. This amuses me the most because for 10 years I have had to reteach Spring how to swim every spring, and now she’s turning into AquaDog. I guess it’s all about finding the right motivator.

BUT – bullfrogs can dive and she’s not mastered that yet, so her quest for frogs legs remains unrealized to date.

There are no photos of Winter. Which is a blessing really. I love the little needy, snuggly, huggy, conflicted-and-gets-growly-when-I-smooch-him-sometimes guy, but he is just not photogenic.

GOT IT! AT LAST, ALL THE FRISBEES OF THE WORLD ARE BELONG TO ME

SOMEONE will never be a real frisbee dog, because SOMEONE thinks frisbees can only be carried when folded in half, a belief system I blame solely on floppy Kong frisbees. Auntie Stef lent us this “real” disc and it takes her about two and half minutes and some serious contorting to return it, because it doesn’t like to fold in half and if it refuses it is otherwise unreturnable. Apparently.

She remains a skookum little agility dog though, despite her old, fat and lazy handler who never trains with her. Now that dog sports have come back into our collective lives as The Plague of the last year and a half (sort of) recedes, my weekends are slowly filling up with dog sport shooting gigs. I photographed a CKC Sprinter even that was wildly successful and lots of fun. Dogs running fast is always cool to watch.

Then I photographed an agility trial that was less successful, if we’re talking in terms of the amount of time and effort that I put and the returns on that investment. Because I have so little free time, I am going to be more discerning about what I will and will not photograph on my weekends going forward. But it was successful for us personally, as my Crazy Maisie earned herself another Q with a first place in Speedstakes. I was especially proud of her not only because we NEVER train but the course involved back to back tunnels, which she has never seen. I still remember entering Tweed in a Tunnellers event a gajillion years ago and after like the third tunnel in a row he literally stopped on the course and turned to me to give me stink eye, as he assumed I was lost on the course because WHERE IS THE OTHER EQUIPMENT. I kind of expected Maisie, who is basically a reincarnation of Tweed, to do the same thing, but she has more faith in me / is less skeptical that her predecessor and she went for it whole heartedly. She really is the best girlie!

If I can get it together to train on a regular basis (which is probably going to happen regardless because The Sadist growled something terrifying at me about how he WILL be training at the building regularly and I WILL be expected to join him) she is going to be amazing. She will only be handicapped by me. And it’s a pretty big handicap, alas.

I am so lucky to have such good doggos.

And she was crazy. And she jumped off the bank into the lake-y**.

(*not a lake, actually a pond
*I know it doesn’t really rhyme)

It was summer-time hot this weekend, like standing-around-sweating-and-complaining-that-it’s-so-hot hot. So of course we went swimming. It appears that the property behind us, with the pond, is being turned into a large-scale grow op, so we’re mostly just hoping to not get, you know, shot.

Her Royal Emo-ness was in a mood today, and didn’t want to fetch the ball, didn’t want to swim really, didn’t want to do anything except sit around looking mopey. It might be because I’ve changed her name to FatFat – because she is a CHONK. Her diet is like 80% green beans, but somehow she is still packing on lbs. She kinda reminds me of me, TBH (except not the green bean thing, and also my diet is 80% chips, Twizzlers and ice cream sandwiches, so at least I have an excuse. I eat my feelings, as it turns out).

I did finally convince her to go swimming by promising her cookies, which I know is counter-intuitive, but at least they are 3 calorie Charley Bears so IN THEORY they aren’t contributing (much) to her weight gain.

She even looked angry while swimming.

The one who SHOULD be mad is Addypants…I had to go buy new windshield wipers today (according to the guy at the oil change place: ‘this one is going to fly right off if you try to use it!’) and I brought The Pants because the store is dog friendly and it’s one of her favourite places to visit because it’s full of PEOPLE and in the warm weather those people are often wearing SHORTS which means Tiny Dog can lick their bare legs in greeting. Once she had firemen (they were all men, so I can call them that) down on the floor playing with her, because she is full of charm. So imagine my surprise when we’d been in the store for all of about 45 seconds when some twatwaffle masquerading as a a human woman walked by and looked at her and said “What is THAT thing doing in here?”

I shrugged and said “I was just going to ask the same thing about you.” That stopped her in her tracks and she just stood and stared at me. I like to think her mouth was agape (typical of morons and mouthbreathers) but as we were all wearing masks it’s impossible to say for sure. I said “She’s here because she’s allowed to be, asshole” and then Addy and I wandered off the find the windshield wipers. Because I tell you, dear readers, I am about UP TO HERE with bullshit, since my life right now is basically just me swimming in a tank of the stuff, and there is no room for any more.

Anyhoo. Several people in the store who were not assholes wanted to stop and pet “the greyhound” and the cashier gave her a chewy milkbone the size of her head, and Addy doesn’t hold a grudge, because she is a better little person than I am. I’m still holding a grudge.

Thing. Hmph.

Other than that little blip, the rest of the day was just fine and enjoyed by all. Let Wootie demonstrate.

I honestly didn’t think it was possible to love Wootie more than I have for 16 years, but it turns out that it IS in fact possible, and all it takes it shaving him down. I love me a shaved Wootie so much. And I think Wootie loves himself more when he’s nekkid too. He’s so much lighter and free-er, he runs around more, he’s less reluctant to swim … he’s just an all around happier Noodles. Oodles of Noodles Happy. In fact he is so light/free/happy sometimes I think maybe my wish will come true and he will actually live forever. I mean, how many 16 year old dogs do you know that are running around like this?

He did a two hour walkies on Saturday and had no problems at all keeping up with the gang and it’s not like he was down for the count afterward either. He’s my little machine!

Whereas THIS is my cross to bear.

I think she was dropped on her head as a puppy, bless her. I want to say she tries so hard but … she, like, doesn’t. She’s just her, in all her vacant glory. At least she’s snuggly. And she’s not humping my leg as I type this MAISIE. Why does my otherwise perfect girlie insist on humping my leg every time I sit down? I just shooed her off my leg and she wandered off, walked back over to me and said “UHHH UH UH,” sighed and laid back down. She is so delightfully ODD.

But she is not hiding behind 3 blades of grass like her big brother, who is the oddest of them all.

And I can’t believe this guy is almost 12. And not just because of all the “where did the time go” feelings that go along with it, but because he is still a goofy, dorky too-much-legs puppy bebopping around like a lunatic. He’s got a permanently bum shoulder, but otherwise I swear he hasn’t changed at all in years and years. I remember when I worked at the shelter and we’d have these old decrepit dogs come in and when their people came to collect them, we’d mention things like how their dog’s nails are so long, or they were very arthritic, and they’d say “oh well he’s very old, you know, he’s 10 now” (or 11 sometimes) and I look at Dexter trying to convince me to play fetch with a yogurt container and I think how’s that now? I guess I did something right with my gang of merry idiots, that they are slow to find old age and that they basically secrete youth out of their pores everywhere they go. It makes me feel a little better about the pickle we’re in now, where I feel every minute like I am letting them down, because we can’t find a home together.

There are no photos of The Seasons because there are RABBITS and rabbits make The Seasons both deaf AND capable of vanishing into thin air and reappearing full of pokies and mud and looking a lot less hungrier than they did when we started on our adventure.

Instead, enjoy this photo of 7 one week old kelpie puppies that I got to snuggle this afternoon, because the other gal who lives on the property is smarter than me and got cute dogs that can make copies of themselves (mine just make a mess, and sometimes lots of noise). How cute is this conga line of little future shit machines?

I’m partial to the little feller that decided to go his own way, because I appreciate a contrary doggo :)