by Nikki Attree
He ignored the slur on his Rottweiler credentials and carried on woofing: “she’s already taken me up to her place to meet all the other animals. It’s like a mini-farm with horses, chickens, cats, and quite a few other rescue woofers from the refuge. She was a bit worried that they might be fazed by me - being a Rottie, but no worries, after some serious butt-sniffing everything was cool.”
It sounded idyllic to me - loads of space to run around and Karen even provided some critters to chase. Feelings of envy started to gnaw at my bowels (blimey, it must be dinnertime soon, surely?).
“Of course the chickens and cats are off-limit, but that’s OK - I’m going to be part of a family again, and this time I know it’s going to work out! Karen is so kind. She’s a real doggie-person - gives me loads of hugs.”
Well yes, I already knew that from our wooftastic walks on the beach. She would have been top of my own list in fact. So all this wasn’t exactly helping my mood, but I tried to stay stoic for his sake.
“Her pooches told me that all we have to do is woof when someone comes near the finca. Well I think even I can manage a growl if it’s some bugger who might harm my lovely mistress, eh Giz?”. I agreed that the job description didn’t seem too onerous.
“The rest of the time we can do what we want: eat, play, snooze on the sofa, anything except annoy the horses, bite the chickens, or chase the cats”.
“Dress up occasionally?” I wondered, but kept the thought to myself and told him that I was very happy for him. It sounded like he’d really landed on his paws with Karen, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer pooch, but when would it happen to me? I must admit I was starting to get a bit depressed. It was enough to test even a Zen Buddhist’s patience.
We woofed our farewells and sniffed butts in our doggedly male way one last time, but really I felt more like howling. He was more than just my best amigo - he’d saved my life after all! Deep down I knew that change is the only constant, and everything ends in the end, but little did I know that the wind of change was about to blow though my own life once again ….
One afternoon, not long after Rambo’s departure, I was woken from my siesta by a very tall male human. He picked me up in his arms and gave me such a great smile that it felt impolite, in fact downright rude, not to give his face a good lick. Amazingly he didn’t seem to mind at all (most humans find our slobbery behaviour a bit ‘gross’, but not the real doggie-people. It’s a sure sign of one). He carried me to the office where a female human was waiting with Marta. When she saw me she exclaimed: “what a beautiful dog! What’s his name?”. Clearly this lovely lady had impeccable taste, but I tried not to get too excited. After all, other people had said stuff like that before, and here I was still stuck in my cage.
Marta said “meet Gizmo. He’s been here a few weeks now and I think he’s getting a bit lonely. All his mates have been adopted, but we’ve been waiting for the right people for him. He’s a really special dog, but his previous owner just couldn’t look after him properly, so he brought him here. Now he needs a good home.”
I soon learnt that the couple were called Nikki and Richard. Apparently they’d only just recently lost their beloved pooch Basil, after 13 years. I thought: “wow If they adopt me, I’m in there for the long haul.”
Marta explained that they could come back and collect me in a couple of days, and then look after me for a bit to see if we all got on together. I thought: “hey of course we’ll get on together, I don’t have any nasty habits … well, not many anyway, unless you count the occasional fart. But hang on a minute, why wait? Why can’t I leave right now?”.
Apparently I needed to have an operation to stop me from having pups. All the rescue dogs had to have it. It was quite normal and the vet reckoned it might even help me to live longer. I have to say that I wasn’t completely convinced: “hang on, just wait a dog-gone minute now. What bits of me are involved exactly? and will this affect my abilities in the impress-the-lady-dogs department? I mean, not to put too fine a point on it (ha, mine has never been that fine anyway - woof woof!) … will I still be able to get it on with ma bitches?”.
I woofed it through with some of the older more experienced woofers and they reassured me that the operation wouldn’t be the premature end of my ‘interaction’ with the lady dogs. It just meant that I wouldn’t ‘be the daddy’. But hey, if that meant that I’d be getting a new human family, then so be it. Anyway, as I think I’ve already mentioned, having pups wasn’t really on my radar. Too much responsibility for a dude like me. I needed to play the field a bit - know what I mean? So bring it on.
After the op I woke up feeling sleepy and a bit sore. I had to wear one of those ridiculous plastic lamp-shade things to stop me licking the missing bits. If humans were forced to walk around with a bloody great lamp-shade stuck round their heads, then maybe they’d understand how humiliating it feels. Anyway wadever … as usual I was stoic about such things, and I soon cheered up when Nikki and Richard picked me up from the refuge the very next day.
I got into the back of their car and Nikki sat beside me stroking my fur. Wooftastic - not a bad start! They’d brought me a new lead and a soft blanket to lie on and I already had the feeling that these guys really understood us woofers. We soon arrived at Nikki and Richard’s pad, and I had a good sniff around the living room. There were a few toys on the floor (grrreat - I love squeakies), and in the corner there was a well posh dog bed. This was getting better and better, and then I saw it … the piece de resistance … and my heart did a little dance. On the floor sat a beautifully crafted ceramic dog bowl! Now, you know how I feel about cheapo plastic bowls, but not this one. Oh no, indeedy-weedy, these people had taste. No rubbish plastic tat for Gizmo from now on. I looked at it in awe, then I noticed the bits of fresh chicken mixed with dog food in it. That’s when it occurred to me that maybe this time I had really landed on my paws.
It was fantastic that they’d bought all this stuff for me, but I had a few more things to check out before I could feel well and truly at home. I jumped up on the sofa, and then went upstairs to the bedroom and leapt on their bed. No objections from my new humans, phew that was a good sign. I didn’t want them thinking they ruled the house after all! So I thought I’d have a bit of a snooze on their bed and see what happened. No worries! Nikki just gave me hug and said that I was probably feeling a bit tired after my operation and all the day’s excitement, and they just left me to sleep.
Because Nikki and Richard had only just recently lost their beloved pooch, Marta had said I was on ‘probation’. They wanted to see how we got on together, and whether we bonded. But I could tell from the look in their eyes, and the huge smiles they gave me whenever I walked up to them for a cuddle, that I wasn’t going anywhere. This was my home now. Yep, I think I could safely say that I’d finally landed on my paws. That night I slept soundly in my own posh new bed in the corner of their bedroom.
The first morning in my new home was wooftastic. I opened my eyes, jumped on their bed, and gave them a wakeup lick. A few polite woofs persuaded Richard to get out of bed, put a collar and lead on, and take me for a walk. So he was a doddle to train, but I soon discovered that Nikki didn’t do mornings. Even if I did the Rumba round the bed, and recited key passages from “Dog Training for Dummies”, she was not going to move. At least not before what she called a ‘civilized hour’. But hey, no worries - she took me for my evening walks, played chase-the-squeaky, and loads of other fun stuff.
So there I was, happily trotting along beside Richard and sniffing the air as we walked towards the beach, when I thought: “’ang on a minute, this air smells familiar. I’ve been here before, haven’t I?”. I couldn’t quite place the exotic aroma of salty sea spray, joss-sticks, whiffy rubber wet-suits, and hundreds of ‘messages’ from Yorkshire Terriers that was blowin in the breeze. Then I got it. The breeze - that’s it! It had to be El Blowo. “Great, now I’ll be able to catch up with all my furry amigos in the town”.
However, before I
had the chance to reacquaint myself with all those exotic whiffs, I caught sight of a little white fluff-ball in the distance. I thought: “I recognise that fur and those cute little paws. Surely it can’t be … but yes it was … Katy!”
Paws please, for the following romantic interlude …
She ran towards me across the empty beach, with the wind sweeping through her fur. I could hear her ecstatic woofing above the sound of the waves breaking, and the film score playing in my head. Richard released me from my lead, and we raced towards each other in slow motion and soft focus. My paws barely touched the ground - it felt like I was flying. The music built to an ear - shattering climax, the waves crashed onto the sand, and the camera zoomed in as we embraced.
So, was this just a clichéd dream sequence from some cheapo romantic novel? Of course not, I was nobody’s Poodle, and nobody was going to spoil our reunion with a few cheap effects. We sniffed butt and licked each others noses like there was no tomorrow. I must admit my eyes were watering, but it must have been the feckin sand and wind.
Katy told me what had happened after she’d been picked up by the dog wardens: “they took me to the refuge and I was adopted by a lady who lives in El Blowo. Sally and her husband Kev have had lots of dogs before, but they were so sad when their last pooch died that they thought they couldn’t bear to go through that again. That’s until they saw me in the cage, and fell in love with me!”.
I couldn’t believe how things had worked out for the two of us. We’d both been through so much, and now here we were, together again on a beach in El Blowo.
She went on: “Sally and Kev are fur-tastic to me. I get fresh chicken and rice every day, I’ve got a lovely pink collar and lead, and loads of toys. They love me so much. I get cuddled all the time and groomed every day. You know how important that is for me. I need to look beautiful.”
“I’m so happy for you Katy” I told her. “I was really upset and lonely when you disappeared into that van. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“Same here” she sobbed. “Its wooftastic to see you again Gizmo. You helped me so much when I was on the streets. I probably wouldn’t have survived without you.”
Anyway, now we both lived in El Blowo we were sure to be seeing plenty of each other. All we had to do was to get our owners to be friends, and that would be easy when they saw what great amigos we were ourselves. So we said our hasta luegos to each other, happy to be living so close, and with such doggie-friendly humans.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I Woof therefore I Am
I settled in well with Nikki and Richard. As I thought, they didn’t need much training to get the hang of the Gizmo routine, which basically just involves regular walkies, food, naps, and a spot of cat / ball / or squeaky chasing. Admittedly there were a few ‘incidents’ when I first moved in. Mostly involving chewing things that weren’t designed to be chewed. After all, I was still a pup then (I’m in my prime now), and how’s a pooch supposed to know which stuff you’re allowed to chew, and which you aren’t?
If you recall (or look back at chapter two), when I was living with Sharon and Trev I went through a phase of ‘Compulsive Chewing Disorder’. I didn’t really care what I chewed as long I could get it into my mouth and alter its shape in an interesting way, or even better, completely destroy it. It eventually led to my “Out-of-Botty Experience” at the vet. This time it wasn’t nearly so bad. My new humans actually gave me stuff that I was allowed to chew. They bought these specially designed chew-friendly items in the pet shop, and left them lying around for me in the living room. The only problem was that some of the other stuff there was rather more interesting than the designated chewable items.
The most expensive of these chewing incidents involved Nikki’s watch. She’d left it on the coffee table - right in the ‘chewing zone’, so what did she expect? But hey, I shouldn’t really blame her. She just needed a bit more training. Along with the watch, there were the three left shoes (for some reason they taste better than right ones), a bra, some swimming trunks, a rucksack, full box of tissues, and several loo rolls (OK, at last count, about forty-five loo rolls). These days I’m not into chewing so much. Maybe the odd loo roll occasionally just for old times sake, but if I see a tasty magazine just lying there on the coffee table, I usually have enough willpower to resist, now that I’m older and wiser.
Not long after settling into my new home I made a fantastic discovery. My amiga Katy was living just a few doors down the street from me! Even better, Nikki quickly became good friends with her owner Sally, so just as I’d hoped, we saw plenty of each other. Pretty soon we were going round to their house for coffee, and Katy and I would sit on the sofa woofing about the adventures we’d had together.
We’d certainly survived some tough times. Those bleak weeks when we struggled to find enough food and water to keep us alive; and even worse for Katy, whole months when she couldn’t get to a groomer for her all-important fur-cut. I kept telling her that she looked lovely even without the grooming thing - the mutt’s nuts, the dog’s danglies in fact … but it didn’t really work, she was still well miffed. This obsession with grooming is definitely a bitch thing, and quite honestly I find them a complete mystery sometimes.
Talking about “ma bitches”, I should tell you about this hot little Spaniel: Mercedes. I met her at the agility class, which is a sort of doggie gym. Nikki decided it would be a good idea for me to socialise with some other dogs and get even more excercise. As if I wasn’t getting enough already, what with all my normal running, jumping and digging, but wadever, I wasn’t bothered really.
Agility class is surprisingly good fun actually, and certainly very sociable. She chats with her human friends, and I get to hang out with my doggie mates and impress the lady woofers with my athletic prowess. We all take turns at jumping over the poles, balancing on the see-saw, and running through tunnels, but the real laugh is watching Nikki try to keep up with me. She’s not exactly an Olympic athlete, my owner. Tries her best, but running is not really her thing.
Nope, Nikki and Richard were more into this funny surfing-the-wind thing that the humans did here in El Blowo. You remember I told you about it when Katy and I first got to the village (back in chapter three). They wore these strange outfits called ‘wet suits’. Skin-tight black rubber gear which smelt well weird. There were always a few of these hanging around the house, and the more I sniffed them, the more I liked them. Judging from the exotic aroma, these wet suits were wet from more than just salt water, and also seemed to be handy when the surfers were ‘caught short’. Woof-Tastically whiffy!
Anyway, I digress. Let’s get back to the agility class and “ma bitches”. So, along with all the exercise stuff there was, of course, plenty of opportunity to sniff new butts and none was more sniffable than Mercedes’ (woof woof!). I’d seen her before at doggie events, but she’d always ignored me. I think she was playing hard to get, but when she arrived at the class we got straight to the sniffing noses (and other orifices) stage, so I reckoned that I might be in there with a chance.
She was always the first on the equipment. In fact the instructor used her to demonstrate how it should be done. She had such style, finesse, and wow what a wooftastic butt! Then I had a go. No problemo of course. As you all know, I’m well fit and agile. After us the other woofers all took their turn, some more successfully than others, and of course there had to be one hooligan who couldn’t help but pee on the equipment. Always has to be one doesn’t there?
Mercedes was a bit of a tease though, and just when I thought I’d tickled her fancy with the combination of my finely tuned physique and super-sophisto ‘new dog’ brain, I realized that I might be barking up the wrong tree. Those gorgeous Spaniel eyes were focussed on another pooch called Sami. He was a great hulk of a hunting dog, nearly twice my size. I knew that I couldn’t really compete with Sami. He was one hell of a mucho macho
muvver, and big in all the right places - no bits missing; whereas as you already know, I no longer had my crown jewels intact. This was all a bit of a shame really. Mercedes and I could have made some beautiful puppies together, but hey ho, some bitches go for the macho, big-in-the-nether-regions kind of thing. They like a bit of ‘ruff’, whereas I’m more of your caring, sensitive, laid-back kind of woofer. As I say: a ‘new dog’ kind of dude in fact.
Luckily the bitches started paying me more attention once I started to get famous, and now that I’m a woofing celeb I have no problems attracting the lady poochettes. Quite the opposite in fact, I have to fight them off!
Ha ha, sprung that one on you a bit suddenly didn’t I? I bet you’re thinking “now hang on a dog-gone minute dude, did I miss something there? Famous? Celeb? Just when exactly did we get from being nobody’s Poodle to some sort of super hero?”. Well if you can just keep yer fur on for a minute, I’ll tell you how it happened (still happening in fact).
The first step on my meteoric rise to stardom came when I took over the role of spokes-mutt for Nikki’s website: TenerifeDogs.blogspot.com. This wooftastic blog aims to encourage more people to adopt abandoned dogs, and helps them find their perfect pooch. It has pages of useful information in the form of FAQ’s, articles, and links, along with some success stories and of course lots of pics of my marvellous self, as well as all the hot news about what I’ve been up to. So please visit and bookmark TenerifeDogs … but be warned - once you take a look at the cute doggies there, you may well find one leaps off the screen and tugs at your heart-strings, and before you know it you might have a new friend sharing your home!
The previous spokes-mutt, my predecessor: the late great Basil, was a hard act to follow, but I’ve grown into the role, and I think I’ve proved that I’m up to the job now. It’s quite a responsibility as I have to be a role model and on my best behaviour all the time. I mean, it wouldn’t do for the spokesmutt to be caught peeing all over someone’s leg or doing some other dastardly doggie naughtiness. OK, admittedly some of that does go on occasionally, but hey I’m only canine and sometimes a dog’s got to do what a dog’s got to do. I’m nobody’s Poodle after all.
