This week I innerviewed a coupla sleek, snazzy German Short-haired Pointers, Jeff an Abby Krieger. I was super happy to find out they weren’t gonna ackhully be speakin’ German, cuz the only German I know is “Blieb weg vom Brot!” (stay away from the bread!) Don’t ask.
They greeted me an my assistant at the door for the Wag-n-Sniffs. Jeff was taller an very Dog-About-Town. They were both long-leggedy an had great poss-chure.
“Come on in, Mr. Bonzo. I’m Jeff Krieger, I’m 7, this is my adopted sister Abby, she’s probly 5. This is our Mom, Gillian. Our Dad Jason’s at work.”
“Great meeting you both! I gotta say, you look like the models in those fancy dog bed ads.”
“Ree-lee? That’s so sweet, Mr. Bonzo,” Abby said, tossin’ her long, floppy, brown ears.
Jeff trotted over and sniffed my notebook. “Thanks! We’re built strong an streamlined so we can run ’n hunt ’n swim an not get pooped out.” He friffled the pages with his nose. “So you’re gonna write all about us in this? Cool Kibbles! Oops. Sorry about the drool.”
“No prob, Jeff. It always dries out before I get back to the office. So, how did you all find each other?”
“Well, Mom an Dad loved German Shorthaired Pointers, an already had two they got from Florida Pointer Rescue. When one of ’em went to Dog Heaven, the other one, Gidget, was real sad an droopy. So Mom an Dad decided to get another rescue pointer for Gidget. An they picked ME! Dog, was I happy! At that time, my name was Bodie. Not a bad name. But, guess what! One of Mom an Dad’s human sons was Brody, an even I could see how confusin’ that was gonna be. So Mom an Dad let Brody an his brother Colin pick my new name.”
“How’d they come up with Jeff?” I wondered.
“Because they’d never heard of a dog named Jeff.”
“Cool Dog Biscuits!”
Jeff continued. “I don’t remember anything before I got to the Pointer Rescue place. I don’t think I’d been treated bad or anything. It musta just been Unforeseen Circumstances. Anyway, me an Gidget got along great, but she was lots older, an went to Dog Heaven at 13. There I was, mopin’ around, missin’ Gidget, so Mom an Dad went online to find me a Pointer Pooch Pal, like I’d been for Gidget.”
Abby spoke up. “I’ll tell this part. Sometimes I wish I couldn’t remember my story either.” She sounded very serious. “I was what humans call a ‘breeder’ at a Dog Business in Georgia. I was a purebred so, as soon I could have puppies, I did. Over an over. But I never got to name ’em or cuddle ’em or teach ’em anything, cuz they got sold soon as they didn’t need Mommy Milk any more. Then, I guess the humans went outta business or something, cuz Mom an Dad saw a pickshure of me for sale on Craigslist at the low, low price of $65. Woof, was I lucky. Mom an Dad bought me for Jeff an I was SAVED.”
“What was it like with your new famly at first?”
Jeff an Abby looked at each other. “Um,” Jeff said.
“Well,” said Abby, “since I hadn’t had any normal interaction with other pooches, on a long-term basis, I wasn’t what you’d call well socialized.”
“To say the least,” Jeff laughed. “You just wanted evrybody to know who was boss. An it sure wasn’t me. But, hey, it worked out fine.” He turned to me. “I’m an easy-going, laid back kinda poocheroo, an she’s a take-charge, energetic liddle gal.”
“We got it figured out pretty quick,” Abby said. “At first I did have a liddle problem with what humans call house training. I’d never been outside. All I knew was concrete and cages, but I finally got used to the tickly feel of grass. An Jeff helped me learn where to Do My Doody. Mom an Dad were REAL happy about that.”
“Fer sure,” Jeff said. “Pretty soon, her hunter in-stinks kicked in. Now she chases lizards, rabbits, squirrels. She wants to play All The Time.”
“On land only,” said Abby.
“True. Me, I love swimimin.’ When I see Brody getting’ his swimmin’ pants, I go Crazy Kibbles. I grab my favrite ball, an we jump in the pool an play fetch: back-an- forth, back-an-forth, back-an-forth, back an …”
“Bonzo gets the idea,” said Abby, then, to me, “Jeff’s a total water dog. I mean TOTAL. Soon as we go out in the boat, he leaps in and starts paddlin’ around. He likes to fish. Me, I don’t like to be WET. It’s ickky.”
Jeff nosed my notebook. “Are you getting’ all this? Should we talk slower?”
“You’re good, thanks,” I said. “Seems like you two get lotsa exercise.”
“Yep,” said Jeff. “Plain ol’ runnin’ around. An two 3- or 4-mile walks a day.”
Abby innerupted. “We always pick our Walk Sides. I HAFTA be on Mom or Dad’s right, an Jeff HASTA be on the left. Always. If us hunting dogs don’t get enough exercise (I’m embarrassed to admit), we sometimes might, kinda tear stuff up, cuzza all that unused energy. It’s juh-NED-ic. But Mom an Dad make SURE we get enough.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“We have our own beds. We also like sleepin’ with Brody in his bunk bed. But it’s getting’ a liddle crowded since we’re big dogs now and he’s growin,’ too,” Abby said.
“Any pooch pals?”
“I have lots, but Abby prefers just us two hangin’ out.” Jeff lowered his voice an said, behind his paw, “I love my liddle sis to the moon, but I do have a girlfriend, Lucy, she’s a Vizsla. Don’t tell Abby.”
Heading home, I was thinking about rescue pooches like Jeff an Abby, an all the places where humans can find Wunnerful Dogs in Need. I was also hopin’ all the Carolina pooches who got lost in the hurry-cane an floods get found again.
You an me are Lucky Dogs.
Till next time,
The Bonz
