Jaquenetta German Shepherd Dogs
It's a Dogs Life !
Greetings to you all. I was right the lone pup is long coated, looks just as lovely as me at that age. It was lucky really, because when she was five weeks old the humans received a telephone call from a couple, who had owned a sister of the show bitch. They had bought her from the original purchasers at six months of age, who had sold her on without notifying the humans even though asked to do so. The couple had never owned a German Shepherd before, having previously been breeders of Chihuahuas ( were they in for a culture shock! ) Unfortunately she developed a vaginal discharge after her third season. The vet prescribed antibiotics for a couple of weeks with no success. He then said it would be best to spay her. She died while under the anaesthetic. The owners were heartbroken. They decided to get another German Shepherd bitch being now converts to the breed. They looked at a few litters of puppies but the dams looked very different from their bitch. They described her to one breeder who told them it sounded like the German type. They did not realise there were different types of German Shepherds. So they contacted the humans on the off-chance that they might have a litter, because they desired one of the same type and temperament as their beloved bitch. Squawk told them they had one bitch puppy from the same dam, but a different German import was the sire. ‘If she is short coated we will be keeping her, but if she is long-coated we will let you have her.’ At eight weeks Growler took the puppy to the vet for her first injection and to have her checked over. Deciding she was going to be long-coated, Squawk rang the couple that evening. They rushed down early the next morning to collect her and meet the rest of the family. They telephoned the next day to say how pleased they were with her. They had been feeling a bit depressed since losing their other bitch and at a loss as she had been the centre of their lives. Now with this little bundle they had something to look forward to again.
“So there you are” Squawk said to Growler. “Where would we be without dogs to brighten up our lives?”
“We would be with a Tom Walkinshaw converted Jaguar XJS, instead of a Transit van fitted with special stainless steel purpose built cages for their comfort and a mediocre car; a social life; holidays; a lawn; no dog hairs over everything; extra couple of hours in bed every morning……..
Alright Growler we get the picture there’s no need to go on and on and on. It was a rhetorical question it didn’t require an answer thank you. I don’t know why the couple didn’t take the show bitch. They said she was very like the one they had lost, so she would have fitted in nicely, and she doesn’t seem to be doing much at shows. Then we wouldn’t have to put up with her superior ‘I’m a show dog and you’re only a pet dog’ attitude. And her pontificating on why she isn’t doing any winning, her latest theory being, “I have it on good authority from two pillars ( though I think one may have toppled off their plinth ) of the breed, that mainly Trienzbachtal bitches like what I am take a long time to mature, and I’m not likely to do much in the show ring yet.”
“And what will be your excuse when you’re three years old and still a scraggy specimen? And what qualifications do these ‘pillars’ have anyway?” I snorted.
“Years of experience and collated knowledge. There are people who have an ‘eye’ for a young dog and can visualize the adult. They don’t necessarily need paper qualifications to know a good dog when they see one.” She retorted.
“True,” I agreed reluctantly. “I have heard it said that some of the best judges of horseflesh are Gypsies. Apparently there was a man from a Gypsy family who lived in an old railway carriage near here. Mick Jagger saught him out for his advice when he was purchasing a pony for his daughter. Squawk read it out from the local paper. This chap never learned to read and write, but he was well-known among the gentry for his ‘eye’ for a good horse.”
“What’s that got to do with it? I’m not interested in horses” she snapped.
“Well you’re built like a colt, leggy and streamlined,” I sneered. “The principal is the same is what I mean.”
I was listening to Squawk reading out loud to Growler, ( I’m not sure if the male of the human species is taught to read, she’s always reading bits out to him! ) about Sue Belfield’s comments concerning dogs eating grass. We are fed on tripe and wholemeal biscuit, bone-meal and vitamin and mineral supplements, and a variety of vegetables and fruit. We eat grass, couch grass for preference, but other grass will do, either to make us vomit or to prevent us from vomiting or as a laxative. Sometimes we also eat dandelion heads. The show bitch favours goose-grass, I suppose couch grass isn’t refined enough for her tastes. The class one bitch’s stomach starts to heave occasionally after a meal. When this happens she goes around the garden eating lots and lots of grass, leaves of plants, greenery and drinking a lot of water. She is never sick and the food passes on through her system with no ill effects. She also demands dandelions to be dug up and eats the roots when she is in whelp or thinks she is, but at no other time. The German import eats grass sometimes to bring up bile and when she is in whelp and suffering morning sickness. One morning she began eating copious amounts of very rough couch grass. Squawk always inspects our stools, she says you can learn a lot about our health from them. With the import’s stools the next morning was one made up entirely of grass. Squawk investigated it with the aid of a stick. She found the grass had been encasing a stone the size of a bantam’s egg. She had read somewhere that dog’s will eat grass to wrap around foreign objects they have swallowed by accident, so that they pass through without injury. It sounded a bit far-fetched at the time but apparently proved to be correct. We’ve always used nature’s plants for medicinal purposes. We don’t have any money to spend on expensive man-made medicines. We have to make do with freebies! It’s a dog’s life.
P.S. Did you hear about the dyslexic philosophizing atheist with insomnia? He lay awake all night wondering if there really was a dog. ( And if there is, all those involved in Welfare will get their just rewards. )
Copyright J C Hiscox
Previously published in the GSD National Magazine Aug 1997
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