Jaquenetta German Shepherd Dogs
It's a Dogs Life !
Greetings to you all. The owners of the long-coated pup rang the humans again to let them know how she was doing. They keep ducks and at nine weeks of age the pup was rounding them up and shepherding them into their sleeping quarters, ( in the middle of the day ), even though she was smaller than them, they still obeyed her. She behaved like a proper sheepdog skirting around them crouching. Her owners were amazed. It just goes to show that we German Shepherds are born clever. Her owners are also fascinated by the transformation of the puppy week to week. “The nose has grown longer,” they inform the humans. “The ears are moving about, the pale colour on her front legs has turned to a dark gold and spread up to her shoulders and along her chest.” I think they were a little dubious that their puppy would grow into a similar version to that of their beloved bitch. She has also picked up my endearing habit of waking the humans at four thirty every morning to be let out to toilet. She has never toileted in the house so her owners don’t mind the disturbance.
The show bitch was pleased with her performance at the two day show. She told me her handler gaited really well. She was a bit worried when she first saw him, it looked as though a pack of dogs had got hold of him and ripped the legs of his jeans off and tore the sleeves out of his T-shirt. But then she realised he had the same fashion sense as her humans, ( refugees from the sixties era ), so she felt comfortable with him,
“I was leading the group,” she bragged.
“You were first in your class?” I asked amazed, thinking ‘oh no! there’ll be no end to her crowing now.
“Well no, not leading the class, we were divided up into batches because there were so many of us, and I was the first out of our twelve,” she expostulated.
“Were you in the cards?” I questioned.
“Yes, I got a very good,” she retorted.
“What placing is that?” I demanded.
“Well it’s not actually a placing it’s an assessment,” she replied.
“So you got a prize card?” I said exasperated by her obtuseness.
“No, a grading card,” she mumbled.
“So you didn’t win anything?” I growled relieved.
“No,” she had to admit.
“So you’re still not good enough,” I sneered.
“Oh! Shut up,” she snapped. “At least I was there, and I’m on film so lots of people will watch me and I’ll be famous.
Just as well she didn’t win as I overheard Growler telling Squawk that if she had won her class, he would have stayed the night to celebrate. Them celebrating is not a pretty sight, they get out of hand, and indulge in that peculiar human pastime, when they have imbibed too much liquid refreshment, of laughing uproariously at anything remotely funny, ( even your jokes Larry! ) and we miss out on our early morning walk and have to keep quiet all the next day.
Last year Growler found a wasps’ nest in the garden and decided to burn them out. Not a good idea, there were wasps buzzing angrily around the bottom of the garden all day. The following morning Growler went to investigate the nest. The show bitch went with him; she’s always creeping around him and following him about. He poked the burnt nest with a stick; loads of irate wasps flew out, mostly in the direction of the show bitch. Growler rushed inside out of their way, the show bitch followed but several wasps were already crawling over her. She fled around the downstairs rooms, raced upstairs and around the bedroom with the wasps hanging on. Growler managed to get her back downstairs and knocked most of the wasps off with a newspaper. Then Squawk had the bright idea of combing them off of her. She had been stung a number of times and had several lumps over her body, all confined to the hindquarters. Squawk covered them with bicarbonate of soda, and then chucked vinegar over them for good measure. The show bitch thought the wasps were still there because of the discomfort. She tried to lick the lumps and the bi-carb and the vinegar made her look as though she was foaming at the mouth. Squawk made her lie quiet and wrapped a quilt around her. She did look a sorry sight. I felt quite sympathetic towards her until Squawk would not let any of us go out in the garden to play, as it would not have been fair to the show bitch to expect her to stay in on her own. It did not take her long to get over her ordeal, but she was wary of buzzing things around her back-end for months. I used to tease her by creeping up behind her making buzzing sounds. She’s become used to it now so it doesn’t aggravate her anymore, but I’ve found out something else to annoy her instead. I overheard Squawk tell Growler that at the two day show the bitch CC went to the winner of the Junior class, and the dog reserve CC to the winner of the Special Yearling class. So when she comes out with her usual spiel about it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t win the youth classes it’s only for practice, because the CC winners are chosen from the adult classes. I can mention the winners at the two day show and ask her what her excuse is now. That will shut the little baggage up. It’s a dog’s life.
Copyright J C Hiscox
Previously published in the GSD National Magazine Oct 1997
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