Hi, Pet Buddies! I headed south on A1A this week to yap with a beach dog, Reggie Vance, just 10 months old and one of the happiest, friendliest, nuzzliest pooches I’ve ever met! Reggie’s a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, nice, square middle-sized body, and a great face, smiley, fluffy, but tidy, too. He’s the color of, well, wheat (but that’s just a coincidence).
I hadn’t even jumped out of the back seat when Reggie burst out of the front door, stretching his leash all the way out, pulling his dad Newton across the yard to greet me. They both had really big smiles.
“Top o’ the morning!” he called.
“Oh, right,” I remembered. “He’s Irish!” I’d Googled him, since he was the first Wheaten Terrier I’d ever interviewed and I wanted to be READY. His ancestors have worked with Irish farmers for 200 years. This was going to be fun!
After a bouncy wag-and-sniff, Reggie led the way into the house. We all sat in the living room, with a nice view of Reggie’s yard. Lots of grass, bushes, and a pool, too. Sweet!
“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “You’re still a pup, right?”
“That’s true, Mr. Bonzo. But I already know lots of stuff. Plus, I’m a rescue!”
“Shut the doghouse door!” I was surprised. I mean, he was snazzy purebred.
“Well, actually, my human mom and dad, Newton and Karen, ‘rescued’ me from being a showdog. And I’m glad they did.”
“You had me going there for a minute.”
“Yup! They ordered me from a fancy kennel in Tallahassee. My fancy name was Canopy Road’s Victory Celebration. Can you believe it? I have nine brothers and sisters, and they’re mostly all doing the crazy dog showbiz circuit. But mom and dad turned me into a beach dog. The ocean’s practically in my backyard. Nothing I like better than RUNNING. I run all over the place. The beach is best. Me and my dog buds go to a special, dog-friendly beach and play for hours. Mom says I’m a social butterfly. But we have to be sure not to poop when we’re there, so I always go at home first.”
I was admiring his nice coat and hairstyle. He had short curls all over his body, soft as a bunny. (I know cuz I chased one once, and picked it up, but the hair got in my mouth so I put it back. Man, was it soft!) Anyway, Reggie had a dark beard and mustache, and bangs that swooshed from his top knot all the way down his face to each side of his black nose. His eyes were sort of hidden by hair.
“I bet you have to carry a comb, right?”
“This,” he shook his head, “is called a ‘fall.’ It sort of grows like that. Cool, huh? Mom says once when I was playing at Paw Prints day care, I got all muddy and the attendant was washing me off and kept scrubbing and scrubbing my beard cuz she thought it was dirt. But it was just my color. Man, I thought I’d never get that soap smell off my face. And see how my ears are neatly folded over?” He shook his head again. His ears stayed put. “They pasted my ears in place when I was little.”
“They what?”
“Special glue. It didn’t hurt. It just keeps ‘um from flapping around. It’s a breed thing. Most of my family are famous show dogs, tons of points, travel all over. Me, I’m a laid back kinda pooch, just like my humans. They’re from Key West, so …“
“Well, there you go,” I nodded. “Whaddya do for fun?”
“Run with my buds at the dog park. Go for walks with mom and dad. Hang out in the pool. I sit, shake paws, you know, the usual tricks-for-treats drill. Mom and dad call me Dennis the Menace cuz I like to hide and seek, mostly hide – hairbrushes, the remote, glasses. They got me a dog bed, but I ate it. Their bed’s wa-ay more snuggly. When I was a pupster, I thought it was so-ooo fun to sit in the dishwasher.”
“Are you woofin’?”
“There’s lots of interesting stuff in there. See, here’s a picture. That’s me!”
There he was, sitting on the door, nose in a cup. It was hilarious.
“Did you ever have your appendix out ?” he asked.
“What? My appendix? Um, I don’t think so.”
He gave me A Look. “You know. Your ‘Appendix.’“
“Oh, THAT. Yes, I did.”
“Me too, and for like a week or something, I had to wear this goofy cone around my neck so I wouldn’t break my stitches.”
It gave me the willies, just remembering.
“I couldn’t play fetch so I figured out how to grab the ball with my teeth, fling it up and catch it in my cone, and fling it up again. So I could at least have some fun while that stupid thing was on my neck.”
“Wow!” I managed, recalling my own appendix adventure. Uck!
Reggie walked to the car with me. “As my Irish grandfather used to say, “May Lassie watch over you, your sheep follow you home and the wind stay at your back!”
“Thanks, Reggie!” I replied, “have fun being a laid-back beach dog.”
