Woof, did I have a Cool Kibbles time with this week’s innerviewees – brothers Frankie, Teddy an Tony Riedesel (RYE-duh-sull). We met at their Mom’s store, where they spend a lotta time. It has fancy, sparkly hangin’ lites an also a fancy fireplace, but no ack-shull fire. An it’s all about dogs.
Frankie, Teddy an Tony were not Up Front when me an my assistant entered. We were greeted by a nice lady called Alyce.
Right away we heard thumping noises from behind a door to The Back, then, Boom! Burstin’ through the door came the Biggest Pooch I’ve EVER Seen. No Woof! He was HUGE, front-to-back, side-to-side, head-to-paws. Pony size. But he was also ELL-uh-gunt. He hadda very thick coat, an a very kind face. He was onna leash bein’ held by another lady who was Much Smaller than him, so I figured he was just bein’ puh-lite, lettin’ her “lead” him.
“Yo! Bonzo, Dawg! I feel like I know you already. You look just like your pick-shur in the pay-per. So, welcome! I’m Frankie. You met our Mom, Alyce, an this is our groomer and fren Samantha. Make yourself comf-tubble. My brothers Teddy an Tony’ll be out shortly.”
“A pleasure, Frankie. A real pleasure,” I said. “Some place you’ve got here. So, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m a Leonberger,” he said an, before I could say, ‘A what?’ added, “You probably haven’t heard of that breed. We’re named after the city in Germany where we’re from, Leonberg. We’re a special mixture of Newfoundlands, St. Bernards an Great Pyrenees.”
“Well, THAT explains a lot!” I blurted.
“True. Leonbergers almost Bought the Doghouse in World War One: Cuz we’re big an strong, we pulled wagons with bullets an stuff in ’em. My breed just barely survived.
“Anyway, Mom was lookin’ for The Biggest Dog She Could Find. A fren had a Leonberger and Mom reelized it was The Breed For Her. We’re not only HUGE, we’re smart, easy-goin’ an gentle. So she researched breeders an found ME. When we first met, I was a 14-pound fluffball. In just a year I gained, like, 100 pounds. Now I’m 3 anna haff an weigh 160, an I’m not even big for my breed. But enough about me, time to meet Tony an Teddy.
Tony’s the Boss, an Teddy’s the Looo-TEN-nut an the stylish one. Always hasta look Just So. Me, I just try to keep things rollin’ along, protect the Famly, of course, but make sure we’re havin FUN, too, ya know?
“Teddy ackshully buh-longed to one of our clients, but he was a rowdy puppy and the client had a liddle kid, who she didn’t want to get bounced on by Teddy, so we adopted him.”
Through the door came a tall, handsome Standard Poo, silvery mocha coat, perfect fluffy top knot, long legs trimmed like he had on Uggs, or fluffy knee sox. Yep, just like Frankie said, Teddy was Stylish. He walked right up to their Mom, stood on his back legs and put his front ones on her shoulders. He was taller than her. They took a coupla steps forward, then a couple back, then he plopped back on all fours and turned to me for a Perfectly Executed Wag-an-Sniff.
“Good morning, Mr. Bonzo. Delighted. Simply Delighted!” He turned to Frankie an the two began tumbling around, Teddy nipping at Frankie, an Frankie playfully shakin’ him off.
“He’s a goofball,” Frankie said to me with a grin, nose-bumpin’ his brother. “My coat is three layers thick. Great insulation against heat an cold. An Teddy.”
While continuing to playfully swat Teddy away, Frankie said, “Tony came from Russia, an was livin’ with two Russian humans who were selling pooches in Hollywood, Florida (not the fancy Hollywood), includin’ Tony.”
Since Frankie had said Tony was The Boss, I expected a Big, Seriously Major Poocheroo. Nope.
Instead, wigglin’ an waggin’ into the room comes this fluffy white, 6-pound Maltese with a blue bow on his topknot. I wisely stifled a laugh.
“Hey, hey, hey, Bonzo! How YOU doin’? Tony Riedesel here! I see you met my Crew.” He turned to Frankie an Teddy, who were still tumblin’ about. “Hey, guys, cut the horsin’ around. We got a Journalist here. You want he should write how dorky you are?”
Frankie and Teddy immediately stopped, trotted over an planted their cabooses next to Tony, who looked like a liddle stuffed toy either one of them could have smushed in a nano-second. Yep, Tony was the boss, all right. The tiny, fluffy, hairbow-wearin’ boss. No doubt about it.
“Whaddya do for fun? Any fave foodstuffs?”
“We throw pooch parties down in Jupiter Farm,” said Frankie. “My fave was the Muddy Mayhem party.”
“Remember when we had a snow machine an an ice hockey game on real ice?” interjected Tony. “An who can forget when we all wore black tie and had fancy snacks and dog wine?”
“That’s when you had a crush on that little chihuahua, Carlotta, who kept calling you Tony Macaroni,” Frankie grinned.
“Hey, Dawg,” Tony retorted, “I seem to recall you mooning over a Golden Retriever. Penny, wasn’t it? When she moved away, you moped for weeks.”
“It was true love,” Frankie sighed.
“Dog wine?” I asked. “Is that even a thing?” Teddy pointed out some fancy little bottles labeled “Fetch Me Noir” and “Pawrignon Rose.” Who knew.
“It’s duh-lush,” said Teddy. “Salmon oil an water.”
“I enjoy turkey heads,” Frankie shared.
“I prefer the amooz boosh experience,” Teddy innerjected.
“It’s tapas for me,” noted Tony.
I couldn’t buh-leave an hour had passed. I coulda listened to those three tell stories all day long. Headin’ home, I was wonderin’ what it’d be like to have pooch brothers or sisters. Probly lotsa fun. On the other paw, I get Grandma an Grandpa all to myself. An I always get the Last Snack. An all the others, too. Then I began lookin’ forward to my evening cup of yoghurt. Yep, I like bein’ an Only Dog.
Till next time,