The Long and Short of It.

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We're half way through our time in a house under the flight path in Adelaide's suburbs. We have two dogs in our care while their humans are off gallivanting and enjoying a winter Christmas/New Year with a dose of Northern Lights thrown in.

One dog has short legs and the other has long legs, which causes a distinct mismatch of ability on their daily walks, and they refuse to walk alone.  Short becomes hysterical with excitement when walks are imminent: he breaks into paroxysms of delight when a person collects doggie bags and  struggles to be still long enough for application of his lead and harness. He pulls like a steam train all the way to the end of the driveway and gallops at double pace while Long takes a leisurely stroll, sniffing at this and that and gobbling up anything that is vaguely food-related.  And then, half way along the first block, Short runs out of puff and the walk finishes at glacial pace. Long is very patient. Short, I suspect, has trained his humans to carry him at these moments, and I am not playing the game correctly.  

Short.

And Long.
 

Short suffers from anxiety and finds solace and comfort in a battered and chewed tennis ball.  Long, fully aware of the importance of said ball, cannot but help herself from stealing it and taunting Short by staying just out of reach.  Around the yard they go, Long cantering just out of Short's reach, Short galloping at full pelt and yelping at the top of his voice.  It all happens at 0700 as I enjoy my first cup of tea in the back yard.  I'm sure the neighbours love it.

Random people recognise the dogs as I (very slowly) walk the streets.  "Short!" They shout, and come over to say hello, waxing lyrical about what a special dog he is.  Long, ever patient and usually ignored, busies herself seeking for edible gumnuts.  I make amiable and (possibly) intelligent noises.  It's a good thing to be recognised out doing dog-centred activities as I'm quite sure that it's all reported back to the owners on their return home.

They are fixated on toast. Roger is marked as the soft touch when it comes to toast in the morning.

The ringing in of the New Year terrified them both.  They came quaking inside at the first pop of distant fireworks.  They attempted to crawl into bed with us when midnight brought a fusillade of light and sound which, while distant, wasn't distant enough.  Short still leaps out of his skin should one of use sneeze too loudly and without sufficient warning.

Thankfully almost everyone who was on their Christmas/New Year break went back to work today, so celebrations and midnight fireworks have ceased.  Long and Short have gone back to sleeping on their owners' bed.  We have to get ourselves organised to plan our 2025 lest we end up in December with our heads back in February having somehow missed an entire year of opportunities.

I'll leave you with some pictures of the fireworks in Adelaide City, taken from the weir on the river Torrens at 2100 on New Year's Eve.






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