BONZ: Siberian husky has way to deal with Florida’s heat

Hi, pet buddies!

I interviewed a dog last week that just impressed the woof out of me. I mean, I am a cool poocheroo – obviously. But I gotta tell you, this pooch took cool to whole new levels. His name is Scout Cavalla and he’s a Siberian Husky. I wondered if he’d be all Russian and mysterious. Then I wondered how a dog from, like, the coldest place on the planet, managed in Florida.

My assistant had set up the interview with Scout, accompanied by his human, Anthony, at Anthony’s folks Gail and Rocky Cavallo’s place. Rocky is Scout’s Official Dogsitter and Walker when Anthony’s at work. So I knock, and I hear this voice, “Hold on Scout. It’s the Bonz.” Then I heard, like, bouncing noises. The door opens and Rocky introduces himself and he’s all, “Hey, Bonzo, come on in.” And Anthony’s holding on to this big good-looking dude. With a name like Scout he had to be a real dog’s dog, right? Then Anthony stands up and Scout bounces over for a Wag-and-Sniff.

“Bonz, my Man. What’s the woof?” he asked, leading the way into the living room.

Hey, I thought. That’s MY line. But he was friendly enough.

“Have a sit down. Can I have my human get you anything? A Greenie, perhaps?”

“Thanks, I’m good,” I replied. I realized I was staring and HAD to ask, “Has anybody ever told you, er, you look like a wolf?” He was cream-colored with pointed ears, an athetic build and a tail that could clear a coffee table. And his coat was the thickest I’ve ever seen.

“I get that all the time,” he said, very offhand. “And the human ladies always say how beautiful I am. It gets old after a while. I’m sure you know, Bonz, that I am a very ancient breed. In Russian, we’re called сибирский хаски.”

I thought he’d choked on a Greenie.

“My ancestors pulled sleds, and herded reindeer. But, I’m not any more related to a wolf than you are, or any other dog is. ‘Course we ALL have that inner Wolf, hey, Bonz?”

“Oh, right, Scout. Sure thing. I’m always having to keep my inner wolf in line. Yessiree.” Changing the subject, I asked how he came to live with his human family.

“If you can believe it, I was in an animal shelter. Me! Anthony saw me and absolutely insisted he was going to be my human. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was nervous at first, but pretty soon I became king of the house. I guess I can be a diva, but, hey, I just want what I want when I want it. But my family is No. 1 with me. I’m NOT,” he stressed, “a watchdog. I am way too cool for all that.”

“Whaddya do for fun?” I inquired.

“I hang out on the patio, and I have play dates with my cousin Riley, a Boxer-Bulldog mix, as long as he remembers who’s boss. But my FAV, coming from a long line of athletes – all those sled dogs – I love to go for walks. I mean LOVE to. And not sissy little sniff-here-sniff-there walks. My Official Walker weighs in at 240 and” he stretched his front legs, and looked at Rocky. “I can pull him along easy as barking up a tree. I’ve even helped him lose weight. BUT, if I DON’T get to go for a walk when I want to, I give ‘em the scary wolf face, or I’ll pout, or whine, whatever works. Because if it’s a choice of missing a meal or missing a walk, you can have my kibbles and bits every time.”

“Seriously?” I said. Missing a meal? It was too horrible to contemplate.

“Better believe it, Bonz, old buddy.”

“One last question,” I said, “What’s with that big thick fur coat here in Florida?”

“I get a lot of that, too,” he said. “My coat insulates me from all sorts of extreme weather, not just cold.”

“You learn something new every day,” I said cleverly, wishing I had boned up a little more.

Til next time.

The Bonz

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