Woof was I lucky this week! I had decided to head over to the Dog Park to see if I could find a pooch who’d like to be innerviewed. Most of you are probly fuh-MILL-yer with the Super Cool Kibbles park: a fenced grassy riverside field with wader bowls; fancy fire hydrunts an shady places for us pooches to rest when we’re pooped from zoomin’ all over the place, an our humans to hang out an yap (they call it ‘SO-shull-eyes’).
Just as me an my assistant were pullin’ up, this bee-ooti-ful white poodle with legs-up-to-here came prancin’ through the gate behind her human an gracefully leapt into her car.
“WOOF!” I thought cleverly. “I’ve gotta innerview HER!”
I grabbed my notebook, hurried over, an politely asked the poodle’s lady whether they’d be intrested in bein’ in the PAY-per.
They WERE! The poodle gracefully exited the car, flashing a small smile as we walked back into the park an got settled in the shade. I fluffed my ruff an switched from Doof Dog to Prufessional Journalist Mode.
“I greatly appreciate your time. I’m Bonzo an this is my assistant.”
The long-leggedy pooch came right up for the Wag-an-Sniff an replied, in a clear, soft voice, “Entirely ma pleasure, Mr. Bonzo. Ah’m Maddie Ganas. (Ma fancy pay-pers name is Georgia-On-My-Mind but nobody calls me that.) This is ma principal human Sharon. Ma other principal human, Art deLemos, is at home. Ah have nevah been innerviewed so you’ll have to tell me how it goes.”
She said up straight, next to the lady Sharon, an continued to smile. She had those Cool poodle puffs, including the top knot, which was just fluffy enough to show off her long, graceful snout and bright eyes.
“It’s pretty simple,” I told her. “Talk about how you found your Forever Famly, what your life is like. Perhaps a bit about your background, where you’re from uh-riginally.”
“Well, ah will be duh-LA-ted, Mr. Bonzo. Ah’m a Standard poodle. Ah was born in at-LAN-ta, a place called Red Hunting Poodles …”
She must have noticed my surprised expression because she laughed and said …
“Ah KNOW what you’re thinkin’. Ah’m obviously not red. An you’re probably thinkin’ Ah’m not a hunter either.”
“My apologies, Miss Maddie,” I said. “You are entirely correct, I admit. With your beautiful snowy white coat and very feminine doganalit y…” I trailed off, feeling seriously doofy.
“No worries. Ah was one of only three white puppers in mah litter of 11. Just one of those things. Ah do have one teeny red patch. Mah liddle secret.” (She smiled demurely.)
“Anyhow, as often happens, Mah Furever Humans’ buhloved Standard Poo, Charlie (a grrrl) hadda go to Dog Heaven at 15. It took 2 years buhfore Sharon was ready to find another Poo. She wanted a red one but ah was the only one left by the time they found mah breeder. Nine of the humans wanted hunting dogs, only two, including Sharon an Art, wanted a dog jus for come-PAN-yun-ship, which was A-OK with me.
“You see, Mr. Bonzo, even though it’s in mah breed’s DNA to hunt DUCKS an leap into the water an re-TREEVE an things of that sort, ah apparently was absent when that puh-tick-ular DNA strand was passed out. Ah Don’t Like Water! Ah mean, ah CAN swim. Ah’m ackshully good at it. But ah don’t LIKE it. Art put me in the pool a few times an ah immediately swam to the steps. Ah think it’s the part about my paws not touching the bottom. Maybe in a duck pond situation it’d be different. Ah don’t know an Ah Do Not Intend To Find Out. Ever!”
“Anyway, Sharon-an-Art drove to At-LAN-ta to fetch me. The breeder person told them to be pruh-PARED cuzza ah would Toss My Kibbles all over them. Which ah Did, cuzza bein’ a nervous 7-weeks-old pupper. But that was the only time.
“Ah don’t wish to brag, Mr. Bonzo, but we poodles are known to be Highly Intelligent.
Possibly the tiniest bit independent, but ah consider that a PLUS, don’t you?”
What could I do but nod in agreement? I nodded in agreement.
“When ah was a pupper, ah did, well, devour a pair of Sharon’s Very Good Sandals. They were duh-li-shus. Chewy.
“Another time, ah was puppyin’ around in the nightstand after dark. Art-an-Sharon were sleepin’ an ah was a liddle bored. Ah found these funny liddle thingys perfect to bop around and chew on. Next morning Sharon said, ‘ART, MADDIE GOT MY HEARING AIDS!’”
An Art said, “Well, look on the bright side. Next time you call her, she’ll hear you.”
We laughed.
“So, what’s your typical day?”
“Ah play with Joey an Gracie here at the park. Ah get lotsa leash walks. Chasin’ squirrels and rah-butts is pretty fun. Ah’d never dream of catchin’ ’em tho, even if ah could.
“Ah looove Ben an Jerry’s Chocolate Peanut Budder Ice Cream an sometimes Art gives me a smidgeon of chiggen. Admittedly, ah’m most comf-tubble bein’ where Sharon is. (That’s what’s called a Mommy’s Grrrl.) An she is STRICK. She Does Not Allow Beggin.’ So ah don’t.
“She plays tennis a LOT, an we watch it on TV together. Ah don’t think ah could watch her play tennis in person cuz ah would want to ree-treeve the ball, an all us pooches know THAT is a Major in-FRACK-shun.”
I nodded.
“Art is teaching me to dance,” she continued. “He’s from Central America an Woof can he dance! Now ah’m learnin’ to dance backwards without fallin’ on mah kazoo. He says we’re like Fred-an-Ginger, whatever that means.”
Headin’ home, I was picturin’ snowy white Miss Maddie, gallopin’ across the grass in slo-mo. An tellin’ myself to snap outta it. Fortunately, by the time I got home, I was thinkin’ about my evening dish of yoghurt and wonderin’ whether there might be a carton of Ben an Jerry’s Chocolate Peanut Budder Ice Cream somewhere in the back of the fridge.
Till next time,
