Daredevil Danny

The first couple of days he was here, we didn't need a fence to stop Danny from going places. All we had to do was to place him in the kitchen balcony, and the two steps down into the dining area were enough to frustrate him. He would stand right at the edge of the steps with his ears pricked up and neck craning in our direction.

He would look desperate enough for us to walk over and pick him up. Unfortuately, he wasn't one for planning ahead. Something would entice him to run up to the balcony and then he'd realise that he was stuck again.

The bright side was that I was getting some much-needed exercise. The downside... well, actually there's no downside.

Anyway, on Day 3, he decided he had enough of it and bravely attempted to head downwards. He ended up slipping, tumbling and bumping his head on the floor accompanied by a loud yelp.

On Day 4, he was stuck on top of a short flight of stairs, and my mom was ignoring all desperate whines. He plucked up enough courage to try again. This time, he only half-slid down. When he hit the bottom, he immediately shot up the stairs and tried again.

By the time I reached home, he had figured it out. It goes like this:

Step 1: Do ground survey

Step 2: Get into position

Step 3: Have a break before repeating process

So everything's good, right? Actually no. Our friend is getting cocky. Today he was sitting on my lap when he decided to jump off. That's right. The height was like three times his.

He slammed his jaw into the (thank God) carpet, and then made a whole lap around the house yelping away. I thought he broke his jaw.

Think he learnt his lesson? Yeah, right. Half an hour later he was happily sniffing the balcony railing and he placed one paw on the slopping roof!

Tomorrow the wire mash goes up EVERYWHERE.

A puppy for Mother's Day

Mother's Day began like any other day. Mum woke up bright and early and was gushing about how clean the house was without a dog around. When I commented about what fun they are, she immediately told me to go do something more useful with my money like take up the violin or something. Being Mother's Day, I didn't say a word and just went back to my paper.

The propect of having a fuzzy one in the house again never looked bleaker.

Also, we got round to discussing this a couple of weeks back, and everyone had their criteria for the new dog. When I compiled everything, the new boy needed to be *ahem*: a free 3-month-old puppy of a unique, manja, non-aggressive and easy-to-train breed with minimal health problems, needing little grooming that will grow up to be a small dog which won't shed but isn't so small he will fit through the bars of the front gate.

Easy, ya? While I'm at it, I'll wish for a billion dollars and a castle in the sky.

Even after eliminating the "free" bit, no dog breed selector on the Internet could suggest a suitable dog. Still I wasn't in a hurry and decided to take my time to look around.

When my dad reached home on Sunday afternoon, I casually mentioned as he was removing his socks that mum didn't want another dog. He jerked his head up, leaving half a sock dangling from his toes, and said, "Who said they don't want another dog?!!?"

He proceeded to announce that Mother's Day or not, mum was out-voted. To prove it, he packed mum and me back in the car and headed to a few pet shops just for a look.

Mum was sleepy but she wanted to make sure we weren't going start liking some "boring ol' breed". As adament as she had been in the morning, she really seemed to like all the puppies, but one in particular stood out. "Ooooh, what's that? It's so cute!"

Me: "Er? Oh...that's a schnauzer."

Mum: "Ah? A what? How to spell, ah?"

Me: "Nevermind. It's an Ah Pek dog. Next."

But there was no "next" for mum.

"So cute! I like the colour!" "So friendly! Is it trainable?" "Does the fur grow like that normally?" "Such pretty eyes!"

Me and dad: "..."

Pet shop owner: $$$

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By 8pm, we were on our way home with brand new 3.5 month old mini schnauzer with a load of accessories and puppy chow in the boot.

Danny loves to be carried and thinks moving toes are fun teething toys. He loves to eat and of course what goes in must come out, right?

Unfortunately, yes.

This morning he was so happy to see me, he was dancing in his own poop. Good thing he's cute.

Neighbourhood bully wannabe

Chassard was a big dog with big ambitions. His number one goal in life? To be the top dog in the neighbourhood.

He started off small, picking fights with a couple of collies who took walks past the house and terrorising the postman. The poor man finally took to parking his scooter at the start of the avenue and delivering the mail on foot so as to minimise the noise level. It must have worked pretty well cos he started doing it throughout the neighbourhood (aka dog central).

"It's the postman, I tell you! I need to go out and bark!"

One fine day, with his ego boosted from past successes, he decided it was time to take on the neighbourhood stray.

How he slipped out I have no idea. All I know is that I was on the way back from a nice relaxing stroll, when I saw a familiar black dog with ears down and tail between his legs racing straight for me. Giving chase was the leaner, meaner, street-wise stray.

And do you know what that gung-ho, geh kiang dog did? He ducked behind me and hid!

I jumped away, leaving him very exposed and equally confused. For one moment he had the safety of a pair of thighs, and the next he was in full view again.

As unglamourous as his strategy was, it worked. Confronted with a new albeit unwilling entrant into the foray, the stray stopped, took a couple of seconds to size me up and then decided I wasn't juicy enough to sink his teeth into.

Once he left, Chassard gave me a mopey look and spent the rest of the night feeling sorry for himself.

Ever since then, he wouldn't go near the stray. He figured dedicating his life to annoying the postman was a lot less risky.

I agree.