Sunday, 8 March 2009

Monster Baby is growing up

Look, I know that putting pics of your puppy on your blog is lazy and skanky, and hey not all of us are animal lovers (and at least Janet Street-Porter can now settle back with a glass of well-wooded Chardonnay and say ‘I told you so’ - okay, I know her rave was against Facebook, but let's face it, these ether-socialising sites are all the same), but I can’t resist. Balu, the Monster Baby, has doubled in size in the five weeks we’ve had her, and that’s only physically. Her personality – well formed at four weeks old, when she wriggled under the fence and ran after our car when we went to ‘view’ her and her litter-siblings – is just gigantic.

This is a dog who, although no bigger than your average guinea-pig, not only barks (in a laughable soprano) at the various big fierce alsation-boerbul-staffie hounds in our street, snarling and snapping through their perimeter fences, when I take her for a walk; she actually gets down there and growls, paws the earth, yanks at her lead and is ready – nay, willing! – to take on all comers. (Compare this pic, right, with the similar one I took on 15 February - my, how she's grown, hey?!)

This is a dog who, at all of 10 weeks, fell into the dam on a walk, then, while I was shrieking hysterically from the bank, took a leisurely swim out to the middle before turning around and coming back. (I wept – wept! – with relief when she got back on dry ground and shook herself all over me.)

This is a very small but extremely cocky little dog who cornered the Ruling Rooster (a nasty bully who looks exactly like one of those Pick'n'Pay-bag chickens - the only word that describes his truly bizarre appearance is 'exploded' - that were once sold at traffic lights, but whose lack of handsomeness never stops him raping his females indiscriminately – maybe this is the way of chickens but it traumatises me – and who viciously pecks the babies when they’re trying to get their share of grain), and ran him into one of our fences, keeping him there with little puppy yaps and playfully damaging sharp-toothed lunges until I came and rescued him. (I seriously considered not doing so.)

But, aw, bless her, this is still the baby dog who finds the beach walk at the seaside flat a bit too far for her little legs, and will finally sit down and cry until I pick her up and carry her (then she buries her tiny sharp Womble nose in my neck and makes snuffling noises that melt my heart).

And she is also the puppy who, at about 8pm – like any baby – is so worn out from the excitements of Yet Another Day On Earth that she goes all on her own to the bathroom, settles down and waits for me to bring her her teddy so she can go to sleep.

I think Balu is shaping up to be a sterling dog.

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