Brutus – Puppy Temper Tantrums

Image‘But why can’t I play with the cat?’

Puppy temper tantrums – they all get them, all pups go through the temper tantrum stage and it is up to you how you deal with it as in the old saying ‘you make your bed, you will lie in it’ kind of thing.

Now Abdel always puts Brutus to bed in his crate – it is the routine, at about midnight, both boys are let out for a pee in the garden and Brutus is put into a fresh clean crate, nice clean towel to lie on, fresh water and his teething toy.

Last night Abdel got in later than normal so while he was having his shower, I put the dogs to bed. Rocky being a good boy went straight for a pee outside and then went on his bed.

Brutus looked horrified and I mean horrified, one would think that I had smashed his Kong toy and offered it to the birds.

‘You never put me to bed, never – where is dad?’ Brutus demanded.

‘Brutus, just shut up and go to bed’ Rocky growled, he was still pissed off for Brutus biting his genitals earlier (don’t ask but I think George Michael may have been playing on the radio at the time).

Shutting the crate, I went off to bed and only seconds later I heard Brutus barking and shouting his head off in protest.

‘Open the door now! If you don’t I shall shit everywhere and do handstands!’ Brutus yelled – very loudly indeed.

(sounds of metal bowl clanking on cage and newspaper being shredded up)

‘Just ignore him’ Abdel said from the living room.

Except that I couldn’t because I knew from the sounds that were coming from the laundry room that Brutus had no water, he had tipped it up and I couldn’t have him going all night with no water.

‘It’s because you didn’t put him to bed’ I told Abdel and Abdel had to agree with me because it was true – this is the second time he has done this and the last time was because Abdel didn’t put him to bed as well.

I went into the laundry room and sure enough, the nice clean towel was soaked and bunched up, the newspaper shredded, the water bowl upside down and Brutus was very wet indeed.

Making puppy growls and noises, Brutus then stood up and wriggled his entire body in that guilty sheepish kind of way while Rocky sat on his own bed and called him a girly turd legs.

I let them both out into the garden and then cleaned his kennel, put fresh paper, water and a towel in there. I never realized just how precious newspaper and towels would become until I got Brutus, never has my washing machine been used as much as it is now and I have even started to greedily stare at free papers in shopping centers and will think nothing of walking out with piles of them under my arm. That is puppy-hood for you I guess.

Telling Abdel that he could put Brutus to bed, I went back to bed myself and sure enough, when Abdel brought the boys back in, Brutus not only went back to his crate like a good boy but his crate was also immaculate this morning when he was let out.


‘I don’t want to wear brown socks, I want black legs like Rocky!’ Brutus whinged when I let him outside this morning.

Rocky stopped sniffing the garden and looked at Brutus as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

‘Twat, those are your bloody legs and you are stuck with them!’ Rocky snorted with laughter as Brutus gazed down at his long brown legs with white socks on his paws.

‘I want my testicles back!’ Brutus sobbed and then started to bark trying to look tough but the only thing he succeeded in doing was making me giggle and making Abdel laugh from the bedroom as he heard him as well and it is rather hard to take Brutus seriously when he barks as his entire mouth caves in as his tiny teeth don’t seem big enough to support his head.

‘Dear Dog in heaven help me’ Rocky sighed and lit up a fag and blew smoke in funny shapes from his nostrils.

‘Is it tomorrow yet?’ Brutus asked Rocky, he is due to get his stitches out tomorrow and is quite excited about it, only because Sunny the red heeler told him he could get prosthetic testicles like space hoppers which is a total lie but Brutus believed him.

Rocky shook his head and went to sit down by the tree and said that no, it was not tomorrow yet and no, he could not have his testicles back and no, he cannot change the colour of his legs.

‘Are we there yet?’ Brutus asked me and then picked up some stones in his mouth, chewed them for a bit and gobbed them out on the floor.

Rocky took a piss by the side of the fence and Brutus happily stood under him and ended up with urine all over his head. Brutus looked thoroughly over excited by it as well.

As you will see, the curiosity of a young pup is equal to that of a child and you get all the same daft questions that no matter how many times you answer, there will be new questions being asked all the time.

‘My tail doesn’t fit!’ Brutus shouted and then started to chase his own tail until he eventually got dizzy and fell over and looked like Stephen Hawkings in a magnet factory.

Rocky looked at me and shrugged his shoulders and said ‘I was never like that was I?”

Gently reminding him that he herded up some children who were on their boat on the Murray River one time, children I might add that didn’t need ‘saving’, I told Rocky that he would have to be patient.

‘Rocky?’ Brutus squeaked in his high pitched puppy voice.

‘Yes Brutus’ Rocky replied – oh god, what was he going to ask now?

‘Can I sniff your bum?’ Brutus asked happily.

‘Piss off!’ Rocky snapped and as he ran off to get his tennis ball, Brutus stuffed his nose up Rocky’s bum anyway.

Brutus has a thing about bottoms, he likes cleaning Gordon’s bottom and has even stuffed his nose up Sunny’s bottom and Sunny has a bottom like an over ripe peach with a hole in it. Brutus nearly lost his head up there but we won’t talk about that.

The joys of puppy-hood!

Have a nice weekend everyone.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Brutus and the Garbage Men


Brutus officially started his guard dog training today – well I say guard dog training, Rocky is teaching him the ways of the world and who to bark at, who to threaten, who to abuse from the fence – that kind of thing.

Abdel and I were in bed when we heard the familiar sound of the bin men doing the garbage collection – you know the sound of bins being lobbed across the street.

Rocky always barks but he always wait for the dog over the road to start first. Now this dog has a rusty bark that all elderly dogs have that can normally be heard around 11pm when people come home from the pub.

The rusty bark is normally translated into ‘Keep the noise down you piss head, I am trying to eat a bone’ Then all the dogs start yelling for the drunken yobs to be quiet and before you know it, the whole suburb has kicked off in canine uprising.

Well this morning I heard the obligatory rusty dog bark from the senior dog from over the road.

I will make no apologies for the language because if you only knew what your dog yelled at from the confines of your garden, you would be shocked to high heaven.

When you see dogs running up and down through the garden and jumping up at the fence barking at the postmen, Telstra people, religious nutters – they are not just barking. Oh no, just you listen and you listen good because they are shouting things like ‘piss off or I will eat your balls off’

Some of the more rebellious dogs shout out ‘wanker’ at Telstra engineers. Honestly I have seen Rocky do it and even flip the bird at the Water Corp people while Gordon flashed his arse in the window and called them ‘Turd legs’.

Anyway, I digress as usual, Abdel and I were lying in bed with Gordon when we heard the rusty dog bark which was the official signal for all self respecting dogs to stand by their gates and being the wave of abuse that occurs on garbage day.

‘The wankers have arrived!’ The elderly dog barked in his rusty voice.

Rocky ran up to the next level of the garden, his hackles up like the spine of a dinosaur.

‘Oi, wanker! Get off my land’ Rocky yelled. Dog with rusty bark shouted back ‘Good on ya Rocky!’

Brutus is only a baby and doesn’t even get left in the garden on his own as his guard dog instincts have not kicked in yet, whilst Rocky’s are superb and he is an excellent guard dog.

‘What do I do?’ The little brown dog asked Rocky who looked so important as he did ‘wanker’ gestures with his paws to the bin men.

‘Just copy me lad!’ Rocky said and then as the garbage truck picked up our recycling bin, Rocky had worked himself into a pitch of hysteria and shouted ‘Get off my bin you fat twat!’

Honestly, the language was dreadful and now the old woman’s dog next door but one, was joining in and calling the bin men ‘Derro Face’.

The staffie in the house opposite who isn’t the brightest dog on the block, had gone one better and had a moldy bone in his mouth and was yelling ‘Don’t you touch my bone you turd mouth’ in an Italian accent as his owners are Italian.

Rocky I might add, does have to accept some responsibility for the bad language from the dogs in my suburb as he has at some point in their lives, taught them a selection of words that he had learned as a working dog on a farm down South. I mean, how those working dogs talk to the sheep would shock the Pope himself.

In the meantime Brutus had decided that it was now or never, he had to defend his property and even as a baby dog, he still had teeth that he could savage with. Yes, some of those teeth had fallen out and what was left no longer fitted nicely in his puppy mouth as they were either loose or too small but he could still bite the ankles of many and gas them with puppy breath.

Taking a deep breath, Brutus followed Rocky to the next level and said to the black kelpie dog that now looked like a dinosaur with his hackles up ‘What do I shout?’

Rocky sighed impatiently ‘I don’t know, just look and act scary, this is a hostile invasion of our garbage bins’ And with that, he carried on flipping the bird, shouting and swearing at the truck as it picked up the bins from each house, emptied them and threw them back on the ground.

Brutus felt nervous, this was his time to prove himself as a man so he stepped closer to the fence and started to yell.

‘Save your children! Save your families! Burn the bitch, gouge her eyes, drown the fishes, kill the pirates, steal my bones and shit on your floor!’ Brutus sounded almost triumphant and then yelled ‘Turd legs’ (Rockys favourite expression and one of mine as well)

‘Wanker bin thieves…..’ Stopping mid-sentence, Rocky stared at Brutus and said ‘Drown the fishes, kill the pirates, what the hell does that mean?’

Brutus blushed but by now was over excited at his own bravery and promptly pissed himself.

Gordon sat at the window and was shouting his bit ‘Gingers have souls too’ and then added ‘Drown the fishes?, what is he on about?’

(sounds of raucous laughter from other dogs in the suburb, all taking the piss out of Brutus, his puppy voice and what he was saying)

‘You have to swear Brutus, there are no fishes to drown’ Rocky hissed in the little dogs ear. Really he had embarrassed him now, there would be no living this down.

‘Bum hole’ Brutus shouted and then let out an enormous fart that even impressed Rocky.

Nodding approvingly, Rocky did the thumbs up sign to the Italian staffie over the road who then cheered back.

And so the barking went on, Rocky and the other boys yelling violence and obscenities at the garbage truck and Brutus still shouting about pirates and fishes, trying to look like a big dog, not really sure as to what he was barking at but copying Rocky and trying to look as menacing as a baby dog could with milk teeth and legs too big for his body.

Honestly, it was like dog borstal. All the dogs running up to their fences yelling rude stuff and calling the garbage truck ‘shit heads’ and ‘wankers’.

Some dogs took it further and flashed their genitals and bums to the bin men, one dog from over the road – an elderly border collie went one further and said he was assaulted by the garbage truck and now fears for his life.

‘Did I do OK?’ Brutus asked Rocky, he felt totally exhausted after that, it was time to eat some stones and kick up some dog shit – Rocky had done a nice white dog poo from having his bone the other day, although I never let the dog turd dry on my grass, it is picked up as soon as it falls out of their bums.

Rocky who was still confused about the fishes and pirate comments, looked at Brutus and stared at him.

After what seemed ages, he nodded and replied ‘You are getting there lad, you are getting there’

Ten minutes later the suburb was quiet again, garbage bins lay in various positions along the pavement where they had been picked up and dropped. People came in/out of their homes to wheel their bins in.

The dogs were all quiet and it were as though nothing had happened.

Brutus went back to the fence where he could only just see outside.

‘Oi!’ Brutus shouted to a woman who was walking by.

She glanced round to see who was talking – she must have ‘spoken dog’ to understand Brutus.

‘Turd legs’ Brutus yelled and then ran back to where Rocky was, so fast that he fell down the last step.

‘Good lad Brutus, good lad’ Rocky grinned and then nodded to Brutus ‘Next time I will teach you what to say to Telstra people’

Both dogs sat by their kennels, Brutus felt so grown up and aside from his fishes and pirates comments, he felt as though the morning had been a success.

Rocky was secretly proud of him as well – he would make a guard dog out of him yet.

Have a lovely day everyone.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Brutus – just one of those days!


Gordon and Brutus planning ‘stuff’

I am not laughing today, honestly I am not and I don’t want to see any of you laughing either – especially Cath from CJ Animal Rescue as I can imagine her laughing the most.

I got home from work to a nice clean and dry crate and Brutus looking somewhat angelic saying ‘Please may I go and urinate’ He was trying to be polite and reminded me of a child creeping to its parents for stealing food from the fridge.

Opening the garden door I let him out and my eyes set on ‘the scene’ – obviously from early this arvo that hadn’t been cleaned up and I emphasise those words ‘the scene’.

My bottle brush tree had been dug enough to expose a large expanse of the beginning of the roots, several pieces of it scattered around the garden, couple that with the chewed bed and milk bottle – which was fine, the bed and the milk bottle but not the tree.

‘Who the hell did that?’ I demanded to know, Rocky lit up a cigarette (yes he smokes and I have told him not to), inhaled deeply and then blew smoke out of his nostrils that came out in funny shapes due to the shape of his nose.

‘Don’t ask me, I am a fully grown kelpie dog above such childish behaviour’ Rocky sniggered, not giving me direct eye contact, he then offered Brutus a puff of his ciggie, Brutus inhaled rather cockily and then choked on the smoke and looked throughly disgusted.

‘Was it you?’ I demanded to Brutus, he glanced down to the ground and said ‘It must have been the German Shepherd dogs that go around breaking into peoples houses and gardens, trashing them and the resident dogs get the blame’ Brutus said in a rather too quiet voice.

Sighing, I went to look at the tiny bottle brush tree which is the first thing I have ever managed to grow – well don’t count the ivy I planted against the wall of my Mums house in England which nearly ate away the brick and had to be professionally removed as that is still a sore point.

Ignoring the dogs for a moment, I tenderly tried to salvage my bottle brush tree and I suddenly heard Rocky yelling ‘Go on my son, good effort’ and I spotted Brutus taking a shit and my god the size of it, it could have been Abdels.

Not content with dropping the contents of his entire stomach in one spot, he then walks along in the ‘crapping pose’ with his tail stuck out like the handle of a water pump and does another pile further along, looks at me and then with his hind legs, kicks the shit and spreads it in a shower everywhere. All I remember thinking is ‘Thank god that is not diarrhoea’.

‘Beautiful’ I said aloud, ‘Just beautiful’.

‘I suppose you think you are clever, well I can forgive but I won’t forget’ I told Brutus as I picked up various lumps of turd in one hand and held his collar in the other to stop him ripping the bag open in his new found game. I am sure the neighbours heard me ‘talking dog’ and I am sure that they think I need certifying. But don’t judge me, I bet most of you reading this talk to your pets and I bet your pets answer back as well.

When you have a puppy, your life revolves around teething, turd, piss and hopefully NOT vomit, plus picking up dog shit as soon as it is produced because that really is to everyones benefit not to mention reducing risk of infection but for Brutus to enjoy kicking it around the garden, well that is not funny – unless it’s in someone elses garden with someone elses dog of course.

After their ‘garden games’ both boys were brought in and fed, I let their dinner settle and then let both dogs back out into the garden so I could sit down and watch Eastenders on Youtube and have some cheesecake, some rice crackers and an alcohol free beer – yes I know, healthy diet and all that.

Hearing Brutus ‘talking’, I crept to the door to see what they were up to.

Both dogs were by the bottle brush tree and you will never believe what they were doing. Rocky was giving the tree gentle tugs and using his front paw to poke it and Brutus was copying him!

‘You see, when I was a young pup not much older than you, I dug up an entire palm tree from a giant pot and dragged it round the garden’ Rocky told Brutus while poking the tree.

Brutus looked suitably impressed ‘Did you really?” The little brown dog asked in admiration.

Rocky nodded and recalled each and everything in his kelpie life; that he had dug up, chewed up and buried – including Winston the kelpie.

‘Go on, give it a poke’ Rocky said approvingly.

Brutus gave half hearted tugs on the bottle brush and Rocky bloody well joined in, I was furious – since when did Rocky go back to being destructive?

‘You naughty boys! Stop it right now!’ I yelled through the fly screen. Both dogs jumped in fright and Rocky said ‘Shit, she saw us!’, and Rocky actually shuffled off towards the shed and started whistling and pretending he was looking for tennis balls.

Brutus who hasn’t learned to lie yet, just crouched down in the soil and blushed.

There was some further chewing and chowing down on one another, Brutus tried to chew Rockys council rego tag and then made a big show of crouching down to herd up a wagtail which told him to ‘piss off’.

‘You expect me to take you seriously?” The wagtail laughed from the side of the fence.

‘Everything is a sheep’ Brutus said firmly, well as firmly as a puppy whose voice hasn’t broken could sound.

The birds in my garden are all friends with Rocky and Rocky tolerates them very well and even lets the doves come in the garden but he is guilty of telling Brutus that for the sake of making life easy, everything is a sheep unless it is a black cockatoo and that is akin to having the Queen in your garden and should be respected to the highest level.

Deciding that the dogs could come back in, after all Gordon had been fed and I was hoping they would all settle down so I could have some ‘Me time’ – does ‘Me time’ exist when you have a puppy? I don’t know, what are your thoughts?

Sitting down to finish Eastenders which had been paused on my computer, I took a deep breath in and thought ‘Oh God – I can smell shit’ – Gordon was walking round the living room looking a bit lighter so I went to his litter tray and sure enough, there were two nuggets waiting to be cleaned.

Got that out of the way, removed my thongs from Brutus’s mouth and swapped it for a rope toy and sat back down.

I breathed in again, bugger it – I could still smell shit, getting up towards the kitchen I could smell it even stronger and then I saw Brutus playing with something and Rocky was staring at him looking rather jealous. Glancing down I could see another large nugget of Gordon’s turd. Gordon gets them stuck to his bum sometimes and walks around like his arse is a Christmas tree with brown baubles on it, sometimes they get lucky and they fall off for me to pick up. That must have been what happened in this case.

Gordon sat on the chair nodding in smug fashion ‘Nice to know it can have it’s uses’ he said to Brutus as Brutus batted it towards the wall.

‘Oh Jesus Christ that is disgusting!’ I shouted and then immediately carried Brutus to put him in his crate for ‘time out’.

I went back to the offending turd and Rocky was about to start sniffing it and god forbid, even eat it. He used to have a penchant for cat shit but sort of grew out of it but I wonder if it was under his nose would he be able to refuse.

The horror in my voice must have shocked him as he shot across the living room as though that turd was on fire while Gordon was yelling ‘I dare ya to eat it!’

Rocky was duly dispatched to the laundry room with Brutus and after shredding his paper, Brutus is fast asleep and so is Gordon and anything to do with poo has been picked up and cleaned up.

I am so tired, it is one of those days where everyone in my house is naughty, if it can shit then it will, if stuff can be chewed then it will be.

I am beginning to wonder if it is a full moon and if Abdel comes home and takes a dump in my living room then I know it will be.

Now Cath – you had better not be laughing and I bet Cass is as well, I reckon this is karma, because yesterday I was laughing at Cass’s photos of the pups trashing her house and it made me giggle so this is payback.

Deep breaths – I am going to make a cup of tea, oh yes I am – don’t try and stop me. Brutus is fast asleep in his crate and I look at him and think how can something so cute be so naughty.

Later this evening…..

I was watching My Kitchen Rules with the delectable Manu for whom I have a strong garlic fetish for and I saw Gordon and Brutus by the door keeping watch.  I turned around and to look by the dining room table and realised that yet again I had misread the signals that Brutus gives when he needs the toilet as in he is more naughty than usual and wont settle which can be mistaken for a playful puppy.  For there by the table was a large turd steaming for all to see and appreciate should they want to.

‘I did that’ Brutus announced proudly, well there was no point in denying it really – you could almost see his name in it.

Over and out and a bit tired.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Brutus Update

Brutus has taken to picking up lovely pieces of crunchy dirt and stuff and I only ever seem to catch him as he is happily at the end of crunching/swallowing whatever crap he has picked up and although I can open his mouth, I normally only find crunched up soil/grit and try as I might, I cannot get him out of the habit.

Please someone tell me this is normal behavior as Rocky was 5 months old when I got him and was never into that, he loved digging right from the word ‘go’.

So this morning I had a nicely cleaned out 2 litre plastic milk bottle and I removed the lid and put some puppy meal inside and gave it to Brutus. We used to do this with Rocky and enjoy watching him joyously run around the garden with a milk bottle in his mouth barking and then have to pick up the pieces afterwards.

Brutus was thrilled with his new toy and ran around the garden pushing it with his nose so that the biscuit fell out. Unaware that there was biscuit in the bottle, he didnt even see Rocky scooting behind him like a Dyson vacuum polishing up the puppy meal.

‘Ha ha ha, Derro Dog!’ Rocky yelled happily in between eating biscuit – as this was something we used to do for him, he knew exactly what was coming out of the milk bottle.

‘What are you eating you greedy bastard?’ Brutus shouted, his language already become ‘choice’ as Gordon and Rocky swear all the time.

‘Your biscuit – Derro Dog!’ Rocky smirked laughing, his new nickname for Brutus was ‘Derro Dog’.

Brutus bit his bottom lip, stopped for a minute and looked somewhat confused at where all the puppy meal was coming from. But the temptation got too much for him and he muttered ‘Bollocks’ and then carried on shoving the milk bottle noisily around the garden with Rocky continuing to scoot after him picking up the biscuit.

The noise was exceptionally loud and I had to shut the bedroom door as not to wake Abdel but I am sure the grating/scraping sound across the floor could be heard by the neighbours.

Toilet training – another dry night! Brutus actually woke me up yelping at 6.25am telling me that if I didn’t get to his crate pronto, he would piss the bed and not only would he piss the bed, but he would do cartwheels to spread it further. Rocky was snorting with laughter on his bed as he had dared the tiny puppy to say it, in fact Rocky is teaching him to swear as he finds it funny when Brutus swears in a puppy voice. A puppy voice for those of you that don’t know, is a high pitched cute ‘Babe – pig in the city’ kind of voice and the word ‘Bollocks’ sounds hilarious when said by a puppy.

I let Brutus out as one does not argue with a nearly toilet trained puppy with a foul mouth, not to mention the joys of finding a dry kennel, even if the paper has been shredded up by the lean mean shredding puppy machine.

Another bad habit Brutus has developed is once I have done a ‘turd run’ and picked up the shit in the garden which I like to do straight away, Brutus bounces up and down like a springbok and rips a hole in the bag so the turd sprinkles round the garden like a brown shower of shite.

‘Yippee!’ Brutus yells as he does it and Rocky claps from the side of the garden to encourage him ‘Go on Brutus, do it again!’ Rocky is reliving his puppy years through Brutus and is thoroughly enjoying it.

Aside from the crunching of various garden matter, ripping holes in turd bags, everything is going swimmingly.

Over and out from me

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Donkey, Parties and a New Home!


Party Dog – me?

Donkey Dundee has caused a rumpus in his new foster home by having a ‘Project X’ style party and inviting all the hot local bitches, I can exclusively reveal.

Donkey who was initially sent from Karratha to Perth to live with myself, did not get on with my existing kelpie dog Rocky, and due to Rocky being a bit of a ‘girl’ with hip dysplasia, Donkey realized that it was in fact quite easy to wrestle him to the ground which then became a game and one that was fun to play.

Sadly, Rocky being the ‘Tiny Tim’ of the dog world (think ‘calipers’) and a bit of a ‘special needs dog’ was not up to the strength of the young and fit Donkey Dundee and after an incident which left him lame for a few days, it was decided that Donkey would go into foster care in Fremantle until he could find a suitable home.

Anyway, it has been reported that Donkey settled into his foster carers home so well that he had decided to hold a ‘Project X’ style party and invite lots of nice hot bitches and Donkey now has a name for himself as a ‘party animal’.

Now I wasn’t there at the time but I have it on good authority that there were dogs in bikini’s jumping on a bouncy castle, large bones were involved and someone even said that dogs were smoking joints of catnip but how true that is I do not know.

Donkey was found the next day with a severe hangover lying in a laundry basket with no memory as to how he got there.


Donkey with a hangover

The party became so raucous, it was described by neighbors as ‘the party that rocked Freo’.  We spoke to one neighbor who preferred to remain anonymous, he told us “There were bitches everywhere flashing their lady-gardens, and empty cans of dog food all over the garden, I have not seen anything like it in all my 100 years”

When Donkey was later questioned about the event, he replied simply “I partied hard in Karratha and I will party hard in Freo, what can I say, I am a party kinda guy”

A new chance….

Donkey appears to be enjoying the laid back Freo life and although he hasn’t taken up swimming as yet, he does enjoy his trips to the beach and can be sighted on the dog beach checking out the female dogs sunbathing.

beachChecking out those bitches baby!

Although Donkey is loving his foster home, it is hoped he can find a new home to call his own.  It is sad that it didn’t work out with me but not all dogs are compatible and I guess that my Rocky needs a friend that is a better match with energy levels and one that won’t challenge him to defend his position in the house, not to mention Donkey not taking to Gordon which resulted in an argument between them where insults exchanged place and dreadful words being used like ‘big ears’ and ‘ginger bastard’ and my personal favorite ‘no balls’

And finally….

You know that song by Icona Pop ‘I love it’? Well that reminds me of Donkey – hell raising round my garden with squeaky toys in his mouth, bowling Rocky over, causing a storm, a tatty terrier charging into and out of my life in a flash yet leaving a lasting impression in the short time he was with us.

So Donkey – this video is for you:

Donkey Update – News just in!

I have just received an email from Sue from SAFE – Karratha, Donkey has been adopted by his foster mum’s boss and is settling in to his new life!  A further update and photos to follow.

Please continue to follow and support the Donkey Diaries which are now for all SAFE rescue animals and will carry on in Donkey’s name.

If you enjoy these stories and would like to donate to SAFE Karratha, their bank details are as follows:

SAFE Karratha/HQ Bank:
Account Name:
BSB Number:
Account Number: 
Commonwealth Bank 
Saving Animals From Euthanasia Inc
101 488 05

Remember every little donation helps and if I believe that my animal stories can raise money for SAFE Karratha, then I will make them a regular feature.  Interest is already being generated in other countries – Cyprus, USA, UK so I shall make it my mission to keep writing the stories to help their cause.

All I ask, is that if you do donate, if you could reference it as ‘Donkey Dundee’ so that SAFE know who it is in relation to.

Every Donkey has his ‘day’

ImageGood morning! – Donkey surveys his new home in Perth

Donkey’s side of the story

Who is Donkey?

Donkey sat in his cage at Perth airport in the Australian Air Express depot, he could feel his SAFE scarf tied around his neck, his thin canvas collar with a small SAFE tag containing his animal number – that was it, the sum total of his identity.

Even he was beginning to question who he was, all he knew was that he was Donkey, his first owner had died, his second one was unable to keep him, neither had de-sexed him so his burning desire to mate with every female dog in Karratha had blighted his life somewhat.

He knew he had stayed at a couple of foster homes that had cared for him very well, he knew that some things were just too tempting – like Pad Thai noodles and rummaging through everyone’s bins and he knew that Sue’s dog Malcolm was ‘top dog’ and there was only room for one top dog and it couldn’t be him.

He knew that he was going on a plane to Perth where a lady called Samantha had her heart set on adopting him to share her life with a black kelpie dog called Rocky and a ginger cat from the UK called Gordon – and although he didn’t know it yet, he wasn’t going to like Gordon.

So who is Donkey? What does Donkey have to his name?  Well ALL Donkey has to his name is in fact, his name – and his collar, scarf and SAFE tag.

Donkey’s arrival

Donkey was met with hugs and kisses from Samantha, he wagged his tail – he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to but he did it anyway, it was sort of obligatory.  He was sure his previous ‘crimes’ were written all over his head – bin rummaging, being cheeky to alpha male Malcolm dog, escaping, mating with the local bitches, Samantha could see his naughty crimes and he was sure of it.

He wanted to smarten himself up, he wanted to straighten his thin canvas collar and polish his tag and smooth his prickly beard but he looked scruffy, he looked tatty and really at the end of the day, you cant polish a turd.

Suddenly his collar and SAFE tag seemed the most important thing in the world to him, they ware all he had aside from his name, his history was a sad one and hardly something he could brag about and he dare not tell anyone that he was a food thief and a bin raider.  So all he had to his name, was his collar, his scarf and his SAFE tag and of course, his name – Donkey.

The journey home made him feel sick, how long would he be in this home for, how long could he behave himself for – could he resist the bins and the rubbish?  He felt himself being hugged by Samantha and kept giving her a somewhat grateful lick on her face and he enjoyed listening to Tori’s high pitched girly voice as she drove them towards his new home.

Home sweet home!

Donkey was greeted by a sleek black kelpie wearing a nice red collar and a dog tag.  Instantly he felt envious, this dogs collar had a history, it was covered in mud, his tags chewed and scratched – yes, Rocky had a history, he had his name, his collar, his tags and a history.

After that initial walk and introduction on neutral ground, Rocky and Donkey were finally allowed to meet off the leash in the garden.  Donkey had found a squeaky purple bone – that he wanted to claim it for his own, it could be his and the start of his new life would revolve around the purple bone. Unbeknown to him, Abdel had bought him that bone just for him.

Watching the curious young kelpie come towards him, Donkey let out a growl that said ‘bugger off, it’s mine’ – Rocky not being used to sharing his garden and toys and generally being rubbish at ‘speaking dog’, did not read the signals and continued to try and take the bone.

In a flash, Donkey attacked him – he had to, it was survival for this little desert dog to defend what he felt was rightfully his, his primal instincts kicked in and he fought with Rocky who was shocked, surprised and not sure how to react – a bit like a street kid fighting with a posh kid over a train set.

Samantha sat back and let it happen, why did she do that? Because it HAD to happen, boundaries had to be established, both dogs made noise, both dogs were ‘mouthed’ and both dogs had saliva over them and both dogs were visibly shaken after their altercation and stood looking confused as it was over as quickly as it started.

Donkey left the bone, Rocky left Donkey and Samantha checked to see that neither of them were hurt – they weren’t (except for their pride).

Convinced that was it, second crime committed (first was trying to attack Gordon the cat), his copybook was blotted, he just knew he would be sent away, he could feel his thin canvas collar on his neck, he could feel his SAFE scarf and the tag and he knew he still had his name – he was Donkey, ‘they’ could send him anywhere and he would still be Donkey and more to the point, his ‘crime sheet’ was growing and would follow him wherever he went.

New ‘clothes’

Samantha called him over and he felt her hands on his neck, he heard the ‘click’ of his collar and felt it loosen as it was removed from him, he had already removed his SAFE scarf earlier and buried it in the mud so he could pretend that he never was a rescue dog and he could start afresh, providing he wasn’t sent away for being naughty.

In its place, Samantha clipped on a smart thin green camouflage collar on his neck and on that collar was a huge silver heavy tag with the Australian flag on one side and his details on the other and the biggest thing engraved on the collar was his name ‘Donkey’.

Quivering with excitement, Donkey wanted to cry – his very own proper collar with his name on it.  He wanted to stare at it, to touch it, he liked to hear it ‘jingle’ as he shook his head but more to the point, he was also aware of the little kelpie staring at him, confused – why was HIS owner making a fuss of the NEW dog that had already bashed him for trying to take a toy?

The little dog was only too aware of the pressure to try and behave so he could keep his home – the stakes were high and he knew it.

That night

Donkey had his own area – the BBQ area as it was too early to leave Rocky and Donkey together.  He had also been given his own kennel – he had never had his own kennel before, what did he do with this large plastic house with a blanket in it? Did he sleep in it or chew it?

Beside the kennel was a camp bed with a quilt on it and next to that a large shiny silver food bowl and an even larger bowl of water and next to the kennel, a giant hide chew – was that really for him, was he still a foster dog or was this his home?

That night he was allowed in the laundry room, he could see Gordon the cat staring at him through the baby gate, he wanted to chase Gordon – the large fat ginger rat/cat but something about Samantha’s face told him he couldn’t, self control on this issue posed a big problem and Donkey had in fact built his own ‘fence’ to stop him going in to the living room to sit with his family, because quite simply – he could not be trusted.

He could feel his tummy rumbling, he was hungry, he glanced round looking for bins to empty and food cupboards to look through and wondered if there were any tasty morsels he could find?

Samantha came into the laundry room, she looked upset as though she had been crying.  What had he done aside from fight Rocky and go to attack the cat?  Surely his naughty thoughts could not have been discovered by Samantha, he was terrified to move, he was scared to be a normal dog so he did the typical rescue dog thing, where they don’t know what to do or how to behave so they do nothing.

Donkey sat down and wagged the tip of his tail, he wasn’t sure whether or not he should wag it, but he did anyway.  Samantha sat beside him and she was crying – what had he done, had he upset her? He licked her face frantically to say ‘sorry’ for whatever it was he had done since he arrived.

He felt her arm go around him and he wriggled his small tan and white body and pressed it against hers and washed her face – it tasted salty, he would say ‘sorry’ anyway as he may have been naughty and not realized it.

‘We have a rule in this house’ Samantha said in between wiping her eyes, ‘And that rule is that no animal should ever go hungry, so do you know what I am going to do now?’

Donkey didn’t know, so he licked her face again.

‘I am going to feed you again’ and with that she placed some biscuits in his bowl. Samantha had heard of Donkey’s habit of bin raiding and knew of his food issues.

Should he eat them? Was it a trick? Was he meant to eat them? And more to the point, were they Pad Thai noodles?

Temptation got the better of him as he sniffed the gravy dust from the large dog biscuits and within a few seconds, the bowl of biscuits were gone and the bowl was clean.  He licked her face again, his beard brown from gravy dust and damp from drooling.


Donkey sat on his camp bed, not sure whether or not to go in this kennel that was supposedly now his, he had decided to sleep on the camp bed instead.  Rocky was kept inside that night to allow Donkey to relax in his new environment.

The kookaburras made their noisy call, the last call of the magpies and the odd Carnaby’s cockatoo could be heard and then aside from the cars going up/down the main road, it was silent – just Donkey – and his collar, tag and the purple bone which had magically reappeared by his kennel.

Donkey curled up to make himself as small as possible, it wasn’t cold but he shivered anyway.  You see dogs that have gone from home to home including foster homes become unsettled and separation anxiety can set in, it is nobodies fault, just one of those things and each new home can add to the issues and Donkey had some issues.

He could feel his collar around his neck, his SAFE scarf had gone – buried in the mud somewhere, but he could feel the weight of his new tag and that weight was heavy, he had to be on his best behavior.  This place was cold compared to Karratha, it was new, it smelt different, even the dogs looked different and whom, I ask, gave a cat THAT many rights that it could live in the whole house and not be confined like Donkey?

The little/big dog did a loud sigh, his purple squeaky bone was held tightly between his paws, and even in his sleep, Samantha could periodically hear him squeaking that bone as if to remind him where he was, or was it to remind him it was his toy, or that he was in his new home?  Donkey – he now not only had his name, his new collar, his tag and his new home – he had a new toy as well, his identity was growing.

Donkey’s story – to be continued

Samantha’s Story – Donkey Diaries


Donkey and I get acquainted

Tori and I were at Perth airport, waiting to be seen by AAE, we stood outside and peered through the gates to see if we could see Donkey.

‘There he is!’ I yelled to Tori as I spotted this little/big dog sitting in his cage, appearing as chilled out as can be, with his paws crossed and a bottle of water between them.He wagged his tail and then just stared at us, did he want to come home with me – he barely showed a reaction.

We were taken through to the holding pen where I had to remove him from his cage, his whole body wriggled and his tail wagged and I felt him lick my neck as though I were his long lost owner.  He smelt of bones, meat and ‘dog’ if you know what I mean, we all have our own smell and that was Donkey’s smell.

He wore a thin black canvas collar, a blue SAFE scarf tied neatly round his neck and he had a SAFE dog tag on with his animal number.  This was my new dog – Donkey.

I won’t bore you with the journey home, I am sure Donkey has told you his version and that will do for me.


Gordon was sitting on the sofa as we walked in and although Donkey was on a tight leash, he made a very quick grab for Gordon, no growling – nothing, just opened his mouth and lunged at him, tapping him on the snout and saying ‘No!’ in a loud voice, I removed him from the living room, feeling shaken – I mean everyone loves Gordon and now I had brought in an animal that wanted to eat him.

‘That is not a good reaction’ I said to Tori, feeling upset, Gordon however had refused to run away and stared Donkey straight in the eye and told him to ‘piss off’ but I think even Gordon was rattled at how quickly Donkey went for him, basically had Donkey been off the leash he would have killed him.  Trouble is, Gordon was right by the door when we walked in – but anyway, it’s over and done with.

Now as many of you know or if you read my ‘Sjogrens Diaries’, you will now that I am quite sick with an auto immune disease and I take steroids, anti malarials and a low dose chemo drug to suppress my immune system so I am not that best equipped to deal with stress really.

The build up to getting Donkey had been so intense and picking him up the day after my methotrexate injection (which always leaves me tired), had sort of brought things to a head. As you can imagine the reaction with Gordon had left me shaken with feelings of ‘what the fuck have I done’ – how could I keep them separate, I had even worked through the scenario of Donkey killing Gordon and what would I do as it would all be my fault.  I had lived and played out every possible scenario and to be quite frank, I was exhausted.

With regards to Rocky, I had expected a fight to break out, it is normal canine behavior to establish boundaries but I never realized how much it would effect me seeing my kelpie have to defend his patch, when in fact I should have also realized that Rocky is not a dominant male and one of them has to be and really, Donkey is the better candidate for the role.  The only thing that Rocky dominates is his rubber chicken and even now, the head has been bitten off that (thank you Donkey).

So seeing my new dog go for my cat and establish himself as new pack leader in my garden all in the space of two hours was not only upsetting, but exhausting as well for me.  Normally the day after my Methotrexate injection I usually rest, not act as referee between animals and the whole day had left me feeling drained, both mentally and physically.

What have I done?

I don’t know about any of you that have rescued animals but have you ever had the ‘what the fuck have I done?’ moments when you have got your new pet home?  The excitement of actually acquiring the cat/dog has worn off – he/she is home, it is now down to you to iron out bad habits, raise them, discipline them and get them to blend in with your family.

It is also worth remembering that when someone is in your home or you in theirs, you are all on best behavior because you know how to behave.  Well a rescue dog doesn’t know how to behave and just because he/she is in your home, bad and undesirable habits can often be displayed quite early on in the relationship and instead of earning your trust and respect, you have to earn theirs – despite the naughty stuff that incidentally, falls down to you to sort out.

I fell asleep on the sofa and woke up some hours later, my mouth was so dry, my eyes itchy and burning, my joints swollen as I had some sun exposure that day and it was typical Sjogrens syndrome symptoms of waking up feeling shit.  Then I had that moment of realization – there was an extra dog in my garden, my new dog and he had a tag with his name and my address on it, he had an identichip that linked back to me and his council rego papers had been paid for – Donkey my new dog that had already tried to eat the cat and fight Rocky.  What the fuck had I done?

And with those thoughts, I burst into tears (well I don’t produce tears but you get my drift) and I cried like a baby until my ribs ached, my throat hurt and my arms went numb – the past few weeks had caught up with me and let’s just say those emotions – well they well and truly kicked my arse.

I crept to the laundry room where Donkey was lying down with his hind legs splayed out in a frog like pose behind him, he looked up at me nervously – let me tell you now that dogs pick up ALL of our feelings, our own behavior and emotions, even our bad moods.

Donkey’s tail wagged a little and as I looked into his eyes, he sat up and washed his empty food bowl and then looked at me.  I felt this overwhelming feeling of sadness that I was not up to the job of giving this little guy a good home and that he had already been through so much, he was better off somewhere else.

Donkey looked down at his bowl, licked it and looked up at me again.


Please Sir, I want some more

I went in to the laundry room and sat on the floor and started crying again, I felt ill, I felt exhausted, I felt tired from the Methotrexate injection, I was tired of all the medication I had to pump into myself in order to function and now I had adopted a problem dog that hated my cat and had ousted my kelpie from his position in the household.

And with those thoughts I carried on crying for some time until I felt Donkey washing my face frantically and giving me one of his huge, chunky and rather deformed paws.  ‘What the fuck have I done?’ I kept repeating in between Donkey face licks.

What did we both have – I had a problem dog, my ill health, my home, my husband, my kelpie and my cat and my temp job, Donkey had his name, his tag, his collar and at the moment – his new home, everything and I mean everything seemed so damned fragile.

Trying to compose myself, I stared at Donkey and told him that in our house no animal ever goes hungry and then placed some biscuits in his bowl, as I watched him hesitate and then hunger get the better of him (rescue dogs often have food issues if they haven’t had a regular mealtime or have been in a few homes, it does NOT always mean they have been made to go hungry), he wolfed down his biscuits and then said thank you with a damp and smelly kiss and wiping his gravy dust beard on my face.

Later that night Abdel came home and met Donkey and it was agreed that he was cute and also agreed that he must be kept away from Gordon at all costs.

Donkey was put to bed in the BBQ area with a few more biscuit and his hide chew and his new purple squeaky bone, Rocky was cuddled and reassured that he was the ‘Number one boy’ and I had a shower and cried some more because I felt so ill from medication, and emotional from the entire day.

It was 2am when I heard it – the squeaking of a toy, every half an hour or so that purple bone would squeak – not very loudly but enough to hear it.  And even I knew that it was probably Donkey using it to comfort himself and tell himself that he was still here – in a strange place that was meant to be his home.

6am the next morning

I woke up feeling better, heaps better, I had a mouth full of ulcers and my eyes were sore but that is the nature of my illness.  Then it hit me – shit, I had a new dog that hated my cat and those awful visions of potential problems that had not occurred yet were still haunting me.

Creeping out to the garden to let Rocky out, I nervously peered over the BBQ area and was shocked to see Donkey still fast asleep on his camp bed, he had made himself so small it wasn’t true and in between his paws held quite tightly, was his purple rubber bone.

‘Donkey’ I said calmly, and then repeated it a little louder ‘Donkey’

He opened his eyes, looked somewhat confused and then jumped up to greet me, I opened the gate and he ran out to the lawn to play with Rocky, both dogs seemed to forget that I was there and proceeded to play for a few minutes, chewing on each other, posturing and sparring together.  Donkey glanced up at me, then ran over and licked my hand and went back to playing with Rocky.


And from that very moment I decided to take one day at a time, Donkey was here living in our house, Gordon was still OK and it was down to us to protect him, Rocky had accepted Donkey as the alpha male and we were all about to go on a steep learning curve.

I stared at Donkey for some time after he had finished playing, do we look like his owners, are we up to the job and does he look like ‘our dog’?

ImageDonkey, with his collar and his tag (and his name)

Who knows, but it is a case of one day at a time and friendships are not built in a day, nothing becomes ‘home’ in a day and everything worth having takes time and effort.  Besides, if I am honest, the only thing that Rocky was in charge of was his rubber chicken and was never ‘top dog’ material so perhaps it is me that is more upset at him being ‘ousted’ as top dog and not Rocky who admittedly was in dire need of canine guidance.

And you know what? I think we just might be OK – baby steps and all that.

Until next time..

Note: I am not asking for opinions on dog training – I am taking advice from my vet regarding this.   I am just writing this diary to express what I am feeling and how I am finding this process as I am sure I am not alone in the roller coaster that is involved in adopting a new pet.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Desert dog ‘Donkey Dundee’ to get a new life in Perth

Crocodile Don-key


‘Donkey’ flying high to his new home in Perth


SAFE rescue dog ‘Donkey’ will be flying his own plane from Karratha to Perth to meet his new family; the Karratha News can report.

‘Donkey’ who is a mixed breed dog and thought to be the result of a Staffie, Kelpie, Jack Russell and Alpaca, has caught the eye of Perth resident Samantha Rose.

Image‘Donkey’ – The first ever dog related to an alpaca

When we asked Samantha what it was about Donkey that she loved so much, she replied simply “I liked him the moment I first saw his photo and feel he will be great company for my Kelpie – Rocky, plus I have never seen a dog crossed with an alpaca before”

Donkey is expected to make the flight on Saturday 12th January, flying his own plane called ‘Air Donkey’ – he is expected to be wearing those aviator special sunnies that pilots wear and will fly across the desert at great speed, where at Perth airport, will be met by his new family.

“Strewth I am bloody excited, I have heard that those dogs on the beach are pretty hot and I won’t be short of a girlfriend or two” Donkey said last night to our reporter.  It must be emphasized that Donkey does not have testicles so any relationship that he will have will be purely platonic.

209678_b0dce_340x340Donkey contemplates his new life in Perth

Donkey will be sharing his new life with a kelpie called Rocky and a large 8kg cat called Gordon who flew from the UK to Australia and thinks nothing of dominating any dog that enters his house and if necessary, swiping it on the head to put them in their place.

ImageExisting resident pets – Gordon and Rocky make their position quite clear

We wish Donkey all the success in his new home

Donkey Donations

SAFE Karratha have done a fabulous with the homing process for Donkey, their efficiency in processing the adoption and sending out the paperwork has been excellent, not to mention the support that they offer with the rehoming process.

Donkey’s stories are going to continue as Donkey becomes a part of our household, thus making up the ‘3rd family member’ with Rocky and Gordon.

If you enjoy these stories and would like to donate to SAFE Karratha, their bank details are as follows:

SAFE Karratha/HQ Bank:
Account Name:
BSB Number:
Account Number: 
Commonwealth Bank 
Saving Animals From Euthanasia Inc
101 488 05

Remember every little donation helps and if I believe that my animal stories can raise money for SAFE Karratha, then I will make them a regular feature.  Interest is already being generated in other countries – Cyprus, USA, UK so I shall make it my mission to keep writing the stories to help their cause.

All I ask, is that if you do donate, if you could reference it as ‘Donkey Dundee’ so that SAFE know who it is in relation to.

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright 2013

Creative Photography by Adam Limbert (C) 2013