This week I thought I’d check out the dog park, the one by the river, for an interview-ee. An woof, did I find one: Daisy De Long. She’s a pretty Border Collie, slim with a silky black an white coat.
I spotted her runnin’ around with several pooch pals. She was with a lady, an she’d run off for a few circles with her pals, then bound back to the lady. She was Very Graceful, I thought (then reminded myself I was there On Business).
I approached an introduced myself an she trotted confidently right up for the Official Dog Park Meet-an-Greet Wag-an-Sniff.
‘Hi, Mr. Bonzo! I’m Daisy De Long. This is my Mom, Akana. My Dad Ryan’s at work. I don’t think I’ve seen you here buh-fore. Are you NEW?”
I’d been syrup-TISHUS-ly admiring her soft brown eyes an happy smile.
“Snap outta it, Bonz!” I told myself. “You are a happy BATCH-lur!”
“Oh, er, well, NO. I’ve been here several times, but mostly over on the other side of the park,” I replied, returning to my Serious Journalist mode. I asked her if she’d like to be in the PAY-per, with her PICK-shure, an explained the process.
“SURE,” she said. “Sounds like fun!”
We got sit-chew-waited atta bench in the shade; my assistant poked about in The Satchel an presented Miss Daisy with a dush-lishus bacon treat (after obtaining per-MISH-un, of course). I opened my notebook.
“Well, Mr. Bonzo, I am ackshully Bi-coastal. I was born in Oakland, Cally-FORN-ya, which is wa-aay far over THAT way! (She pointed.) You keep goin’ an goin’ till you get to a big buncha wader.
“Anyway, Mom an Dad had always wanted a Border Collie pupper so Dad picked me from my litter when I was just 8 weeks old. (I’m 7 months old now.) Dad does a lotta work with cows an sheeps, an he has a horse in a place called CAWL-uh-RAH-do, which I hope to visit some day. So I learned about what’s called HER-ding when I was real young.”
“Um, ‘HER-ding’?” I asked.
“It’s when you make a whole buncha cows or sheeps go where you want ’em to. It’s WAY FUN. An (not to brag) I’m REALLY, REALLY good at it. Well, cows anyway. I wasn’t around sheeps until recently, brut Mom says I’d probly know what to do even if I never laid eyes on an ackshull sheep, cuzza my IN-stinks. See, HER-ding’s in my JEANS. My pooch Mom’s a strong, workin’ grrrl: She herds cattle onna ranch, an she’s PAW-some. Now I train at a sheep farm right near here called Draxen Farms. For me, it’s more of a hobby.”
“Woof, that is SO Cool Kibbles, Miss Daisy,” I replied. “So, when did you first meet your Mom?”
“I was 5 months old. It was my first time flyin’ an I was totally fine with it. It’s like a big metal sorta bird, but no feathers or flappin’. An louder. I flew under the seat at first. I’ve been back-an-forth lotsa times that way, but then I got too big to get stuffed under the seat, so in September I hadda fly in Car-GO, which is UNDER the human part of the plane. Ackshully, it was pretty easy-peasy.
“Anyway, me an Mom got along right away. Ackshully, Mr. Bonz, I’m happiest when I’m as close to Mom and/or Dad as poss-ubble At All Times. I do have toys an stuff, of course. I hide ’em under the bed. My fave’s my flat fox. He wasn’t always flat. I unstuffed him right away.”
“Any pooch or human pals?” I inquired.
“Oh, woof, yes. Looch is my pooch pal out in Cali: He’s a Border Collie mixture. He’s gettin’ Up There. My BFF is my human brother JOE. He’s 7 in human. My other famly peeps are Gramma Dana an Opie Clay; an, out in Cali, Gramma Monique an Grampa Linden.
“Me an Joe are learnin’ how to speak in Spanish, an he reads to me, too. In English. Mostly from a way Crispy Biscuits buncha books about Dog Man, who’s a HEE-row. One of ’em’s called ‘Fetch 22,’ an another one’s called ‘A Tale of Two Kitties.’ They’re way fun.
“Mom’s also teaching me to sorta talk,” Daisy continued with enthusiasm. “But not barky talk.”
“Say wha-aat?” I blurted.
“I KNOW! Right? See there’s this board thingy with rows of speshul buttons. Your human records a word or a cuppla words onna button, and then pushes it while showin’ you what it means, like the door to go out, or a ball or your food dish or a cuddle. So then, we learn which button to push to tell our humans what we want. There’s even a button for ‘I Love You.’ The first time I pushed it was with Joe.”
“Woof, Miss Daisy, that’s uh-MAZE-zing!”
“Sometimes I get a liddle FUSS-traded, cuz my paw hits the wrong button, so you gotta be, you know, PAY-shunt, which isn’t easy for us poocheroos.”
“Troo dat!” I agreed.
“Plus, you gotta have an uh-TEN-shun span longer than 2 seconds,” she noted. “But we’re comin’ along.”
“So, do you come here a lot?”
“Yes! I have a lots an lots of energy: puppy energy fer sure, an also cuz I’m a workin’ dog breed and have a very large amount of energy. Mom takes me here every day so I won’t go nuts at home.”
“Where do you sleep?” I wondered.
“Oh, in my crate. I’m most comfy there. I’ll also takes nap in there. An at night I snuggly up to my pink blanket with flowers on it.”
I couldn’t buh-leeve an hour had passed. Headin’ home, I was tryin’ to figure out a legit reason for returnin’ to the dog park: After all, a responsible journalist such as myself is OB-luh-gated to follow-up on an ongoin’ story, right? So I HAVE to return to the dog park to find out how Miss Daisy’s sheep herdin’ training is progressing.
