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Tag Archives: aussie


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mushes for him. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i am a mush for him.

the owner of this gorgeous paw, dogga has us wrapped around it. he wrapped around our hearts the moment we saw him, a gangly puppy just three months old.

and on his least favorite day – the day the entire world around him sets off loud fireworks – he will celebrate his birthday. eleven. and where did the time go?

this is the dogdog who traveled innumerable miles in littlebabyscion, particularly back and forth to florida while my sweet momma was ailing in her last year and a half. this is the dogdog who was in love with his babycat, bowing to his feline alpha-ness. this is the dogdog who stared at the front door – not moving – waiting for his babycat to come home after his best friend died. this is the dogdog who chewed our kitchen table legs and the trim of my mom’s kitchen cabinetry (which we cleverly replaced with trim from behind the fridge). this is the dogdog who didn’t do well in elevation, the dogdog who fell in our pond and never really liked the idea of water since. this is the dogdog who has sat with us for happy hour in the driveway in LBS with the air conditioning running. this is the dogdog who loved the giant number of ukulele band rehearsals and gatherings and parties at our house. this is the dogdog who earned himself an official, full-size european traffic circle sign in our backyard. this is the dogdog who used to eat goose poop but has lifted his palate to chips and aged cheddar and carrots and – mostly – any kind of peoplefood he is offered. this is the dogdog who adores digging holes and checks on the bunnies in the ornamental grasses. this is the dogdog who protects d – running the perimeter – when he takes out the garbage. the dogdog with amazing amber eye contact. the dogdog who will convince us to gear-it-down by retreating to the bathroom. the dogdog who anticipates our every move. the dogdog who will go on any errand at any time, who backs-up when asked (thank you to daena for this!), who has clearly-beloved people (20, his girl kirsten), who spins and speaks and shakes and gives “five” and says “love you” back and won’t touch even the treatiest treat if you tell him not to. this is the dogdog who likes to lead – not necessarily “heel”, the dogdog who barks like a maniac when his favorite dachshunds are out, who will stand in the yard – right smack in the middle of the backyard, bark and wait for an answer – like he watched 101 dalmations and knows about the bark chain. the dogdog who leaves tufts of aussie fur everywhere he goes. the dogdog who loveslovesloves his chicken-and-rice-and-peas-and-caaarits for dinner, peoplefood we now make him and package for dinner every night. this is the dogdog who lives for belly-bellies, the dogdog who runs out of gas about 8pm, the dogdog who loves sleepynightnight and its rituals.

THAT dogdog.

on his birthday we’ll do the best we can to reassure him – our neighborhood, unfortunately, is a fracas of fireworks.

i’ve seen on social media where people post suggestions – donate dogfood to a shelter instead of purchasing fireworks and other such goodnesses. i wish the people in the ‘hood would do that. there are beautiful big displays put on by the city they could attend. it would scare fewer domestic pets and certainly be less of a terror for all the wildlife.

as a person who grew up with sparklers as the end-all of fourth of july celebrations, i would think that grownups could defer to what’s best for pets and birds and squirrels and chippies and deer and, well, anything out there that doesn’t know what to do in the middle of those explosions.

but – maybe they don’t have a dogdog who has stolen their heart forever. maybe they can’t feel the fear or anxiety of another living creature. maybe they don’t feel the love. maybe they don’t care. they sure didn’t learn that from a dog.

we will be home – inside – hugging on our dogga on the fourth. wishing him a happy birthday and wishing for quiet to come outside as soon as possible.

because we are mushes for him. always will be.

*****

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our wagawag. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and soon, he’ll be eleven.

his shadow on the wall has kept us company – each morning – with the east sun streaming in through the window – reflecting his perch on our bed, the furry top of his head tousled by many good-morning pets.

time has flown by and his muzzle is grey. he is slower at evening’s end, retiring earlier and earlier – maybe a little bit like us. he groans a bit, getting his body moving. but his amber eyes…they are the same. they belie the time that has escaped our noticing. the aussie puppy is still in there.

while d is setting up coffee for the next morning and i am turning down covers and getting ready for sleep, dogga is laying on the bed. there’s a routine. in these quiet moments i sit next to him and we talk. he loves belly-bellies so it is without question that is part of the conversation. there are times – as he looks up – that i am struck by his very being, this dog who trusts us for everything. what a responsibility we all have with these furry family members. what a privilege i feel…the experience of dogs and a cat who love me or have loved me like i love them.

but i am floored by the time. and i realize that in the way i have less time ahead of me than behind me, so does our sweetboy. we – the people in this equation – both tear up anytime we even allude to this, even in the vaguest of ways. but dogdog doesn’t. he just holds a steady gaze, wags his tail, spins and gives kisses, sneezes when we ask and opens his mouth in a silent “love you” when we say “i love you” to him. his amber eyes reflect back his life with us.

and so – now – he goes on more errands with us. he gets even more pets. he has chicken breast with rice and peas and carrots for dinner. we keep him close.

because like really anyone – two-legged or four – we are whirling through space faster than ever – and there is never enough time to be together, to share life, to love each other.

our old wagawag reminds me of this every single day.

*****

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when we dance. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

he invariably joins in. dogga cannot just watch us dance. he stands on his strong aussie legs and joins with us. it is utterly one of the sweetest things. he’s like that with hugs, too. he wants to be a part of it.

since we love to dance together – even a few steps here and there – he has plenty of opportunities to watch (and join). we dance in the front yard, on the back deck, in the living room, in the kitchen. there is nothing like a slow dance to (literally) slow you down, tune you inside, make you feel like everything-is-going-to-be-ok in the world. maybe that’s why we’ve always danced together – from the very beginning.

and to think that dogdog is right there, with us, makes me realize that – actually – he must love when we dance.

so do we.

*****

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our whole world. samesies. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

his amber eyes are mesmerizing. his double coat of hair is as beautiful as it is plentiful. his heart is huge and his sensitivity is tuned in. his quirks are numerous and his dedication is steadfast. he is always present and only rests when he feels like he is finally off-duty at 8:30, his self-chosen bedtime. he’s taught us more than i could possibly write about.

he’s been central since he arrived. in everything. it’s one of those miracles that he’s here – with us. it’s one of those time-warpy things we realize it’s been ten years. already. and so soon.

what our dogga doesn’t realize, maybe, is that he is our whole world just as much as we are his. samesies.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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blueberries. [d.r. thursday]

back in the day, chopper, our black lab, was crazy about grapes. he would do most anything for a grape and was not discerning about whether it was red or green, though i believe he mostly ate green grapes. one of his favorite i-may-be-rewarded-with-a-grape tasks was to run out the front door and down the driveway to retrieve the newspaper, usually wrapped with a rubber band or, on rainy florida days back then, in a plastic bag. the most hilarious youtube-worthy moments were the sunday papers – the st. pete times complete with a galore of ads – unraveling itself from the rubber band, his snout unable to contain it, papers strewn about the driveway and chopper-whopper-dinkus-baby running after all of them, shredding, shredding, totally frustrated. mostly, i think, he was worried about his grape.

since those days, i have learned that grapes-are-not-good-for-dogs. fortunately, we never had any issues with chopper over them, but dogdog has had nary a grape in his life. never. he is, however, a blueberry boy.

i told him about chopper and the newspaper, but dogga pointed out that 1. we don’t take the paper and 2. they toss it up to the front door here anyway. he scoffed a little at chopper’s obedient paper-fetching and suggested other tasks he could perform to get a treat such as: eat neatly out of his bowl, bark at people passing by, dig holes in the backyard, poop. he is totally adorable, but he has a tiny cynical-smarty-pants-aussie side.

it’s funny how things change through the years. my sweet momma used to tell me about how, when she was little-little in the 1920s, she had a tendency to chew on windowsills. lead paint and all. of course – now – we do all we can to get-the-lead-out – of paint and water and anything lead-contained-worthy-ish. she lived to be an amazingly sharp 93-almost-94 year old, so i guess that lead didn’t do much harm. not that i am suggesting i would recommend chewing on windowsills. i wouldn’t. just like i wouldn’t suggest feeding grapes to dogs.

but as the rules change – should babies sleep on their tummies or backs? are eggs good for you or not good for you? does wine help or further inflammation? is black coffee a life-changer? – there are at least some small things that stay the same.

there is nothing like a bowl of cold fresh blueberries. a superfood.

dogdog agrees.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

NAP WITH DOGDOG & BABYCAT 36″ x 48″


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hosta extraordinaire. [k.s. friday]

ordinary. perennially ordinary. hostas are intrepid, robust, shade-tolerant, adaptable plants. they are patient with human-planting errors and magnanimous with dogs who run amuck through their early sprouting. these plants seemingly have boundless energy to reproduce and spread and fill-in gardens in shadow. with low maintenance personalities, they happily populate yards and our hosta garden out back is an easy joy.

right next to the hosta is a garden of ferns. these are a different story. they are, indeed, more particular than hosta and, in our experience, much higher maintenance. they are beautiful, willowy and tall and a gorgeous green that changes in the light. still pretty ordinary but with a little more sass.

there are a few peonies in our backyard gardens. they are more specific about their needs. they like the sun and well-drained soil. they like a little space. they have a short-lived flowering season, but their wafting scent is remarkable. they are still ordinary plants, but need a smidge more attention than the ferns and quite a bit more attention than the hostas.

they all, however, live in community and, were we better garden-planners and were we not to have an aussie running circles in our backyard grass, would present a lovely picture. despite our lack of garden design and despite dogdog’s propensity for a bit of ruin, we are grateful for each of these living plants out back. the extraordinary of their ordinariness doesn’t escape us. they are there, they are steadfast, even without us worrying about them, fussing over them, micromanaging them. they seem to know what to do.

i recently interviewed for a job. it didn’t require a masters degree in the field, but i have one. it didn’t require experience in the area of expertise, but i have forty years. coming away from the interview, i noted to myself that it also didn’t seem to require a sense of humor or a sense of who people on either side of the call really were. is this ordinary? i’ve read many articles recently about leadership and management. the best of the best leaders and managers are human, appreciative of those they work with, looking for potential and collaboration, leaning on a bit of community warmth and pushing back at haughtiness and agenda in the workplace. the best of the best remember we are all extraordinarily ordinary, together.

i suspect i was too old for this job. that thought takes my breath away, but, these days, it seems to be true. i watch as garden centers work in our neighborhood and others we pass through. they carry in plants of great variety, design architectural gardens of varying heights and species and colors. i wonder if these gardens will require owner-vigilance or if they will propagate and grow toward their potential with the freedom that years of gained wisdom and savoir-faire and insight have granted. or if, perhaps, it will be a respectful collaboration, a chance to, in community, laugh at the breeze, bask in a bit of sun, cool off in late afternoon shade, soak in the rain and grow leaps and bounds. ordinary extraordinaires.

just like our hostas.

“it’s the ordinary people who give extraordinary love. when you sit back and look at it all you know this is what life’s made of. it’s not the stuff you accumulate or the title on your desk. it’s the people around you who make living life the best.” (song – this is life: ©️ kerri sherwood)

*****

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY


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hold kjeft. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

i never asked where the deer head on the den wall came from. we were not a hunting family and we were verymuch a mammal-loving family, but it must have never occurred to me to ask. this old deer head, hung on the paneling of the room with our black and white tv and giant rock fireplace built stone-by-tedious-stone by sven, ruled over the garage wall side of the room and was somewhat opposite the back door.

if snoopy, our modell’s sporting goods $10.20 dog (of which i paid the 20 cents), got to barking incessantly, my sweet dad would point to the deer head and, in his brooklyn-voice, taunt her, “you wanna go on the wall?” somehow she understood this empty threat and would mostly stop barking. but if she didn’t stop, my dad would bark back at her, “hold kjeft!!” my sons-of-norway norwegian lessons were not long-lived, but they were comprehensive enough for me to know that meant “shut up!”. spoken in a different language, it didn’t seem as rude.

when they were growing up, i never allowed the girl or the boy to say “shut up!” to each other or anyone. it just seemed like an unnecessarily aggressive way to ask someone to be quiet or at least quieter. i never thought to use “hold kjeft” as an alternative back then.

but now, as dogga runs the backyard looking for the rest of the cast in 101 dalmations to bark back at him, “hold kjeft” is my command of choice. as we pass people in the car and he is suddenly aware of a dog on the sidewalk out the car window, “hold kjeft” is my command of choice. as the neighbors get him riled up, with fifteen kids or so in the backyard all screaming at the top of their lungs and their dog barking-barking, “hold kjeft” is my command of choice. every time i say it, i see the deer head in the den and i can hear my sweet poppo’s voice.

it doesn’t necessarily do the trick all the time. but it conjures up precious long-ago memories of a different time, when i watched black and white tv with no remote, sat on the hearth with hot chocolate and sit-upons, paid no attention to decor or other adult-riddled-responsibilities and laughed when my dad stared at our underbite-blessed-boxer-mixed-breed-mutt and pointed to the wall.

*****

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an independent dog. [merely-a-thought monday]

independent dog

jen pulled the sliding glass door open for the fourth time (within a short visit of potlucking time around the kitchen island) and we all laughed.  sweet henry and chester wanted out.  wanted in.  wanted out.  wanted in.  this is a familiar tune.  dogdog finds it irresistible to demand to go out and then not want to miss anything and want back in.  on repeat.

andrea and scott have two golden retrievers.  impeccably trained, they wait for a sign or a word to do most anything.   they are not the in-and-out-ers that dogga and henry and chester are.  i remember them as calm and happy and i vowed that one day i would have a dog as well-behaved.  this is not that day.

but dogdog is, yes, dogdog-ish.  his sweet face watches our every move, trying to anticipate to which room we might be moving, trying to assess why we are feeling what he knows we are feeling.   he doesn’t like conflict; he doesn’t like the sound of metal touching metal.  it took him a while to warm up to the ukulele (which he now loves and wishes he could play) and the piano draws him into the studio.  he won’t touch food on the counter or the table or really anywhere unless given permission, but his direct eye contact begs for a bite every breakfast.  he destroyed very few things as a puppy (well, the kitchen cabinet door and the table legs count) but de-heads every toy he is given and un-stuffings them.  he bows to all things babycat, yet loves to drag him around and taunts him until babycat asserts his ruling paw.  his aussie-ness makes him intuitively try to keep track of all people and animals in the house, a tiresome and difficult chore when one is peculiarly averse to going upstairs or downstairs.  he is quirky.

on island he was quiet.  here at home he is a barker.  i guess he knew the littlehouse wasn’t his.  he loves errands both places.  he ecstatically runs miles in circles in the backyard and certain names will make his eyes wide and his australian-shepherd-jumping-bean-dog-heart jump with glee. he clocks out of all responsibility late at night, content to quietly languish in whatever room we are in, happy to have pets and go sleepynightnight.  sweet, sweet dogdog emerges from constant-motion dog.

i don’t remember the story we were talking about around jen and brad’s island.  i’m sure it was one of tripper’s many idiosyncratic tales.  we rolled our eyes and laughed.  and brad said, “you should be proud that you raised an independent dog!”

riiiiiight.

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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dogga-chip-head [two artists tuesday]

DoggaChipHeadwithwords

what you can’t see in this picture of dogdog, his gaze intent on me taking his picture, is that he has a chip on his head.  a tortilla chip.  a mission tortilla chip, to be specific.  gluten free.  dogga loves chips.  he loves to have chips on his head, staying perfectly still with the “leave it” command issued.  even more, he loves when “leave it” is released and he can bend his head down and eat his treasured chip.  he prefers it sans salsa.  good thing, because his aussie hair would be a total mess WITH salsa.  and i hardly think salsa is on his doggadiet (for that matter, neither are chips.)

i have to say, dogdog and babycat pretty much run the show here.  not just merely sponsors, they are producers, directors, screenwriters, actors and extras.  we laugh every time we wake up after a fitful night sleep because babycat has taken up 2/3 of the bed, snoring his way through his peaceful slumber.  we could move him, wake him up, nudge him, anything…but instead he just rules over his two-thirds and we deal with it, yawning and complaining about cramped legs all the next day.

dogdog, on the other hand, sleeps in his crate next to the bed.  he loves loves loves sleepnightnight (his word) time and makes sure that everything happens in the “correct” order.   he goes out.  he runs back in.  jumps on the bed.  and listens.  he waits to hear the water-in-the-fridge spigot filling the coffeepot.  waits to hear the coffee grinder.  waits to hear d put a small amount of nighttime kibble in babycat’s bowl.  waits to hear the container on top of the fridge opened from which d gets his cookie.  waits for his bellybelly (also his word) on the bed and kisses on his sweet head, chipcrumbs mixed in with his messy fur.   day’s end for a dogdog.

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everybody has their thing. [two artists tuesday]

so, we were trying to have a nice backyard.  the pond, the deck, the grasses, the hosta, the barnwood planting stand, the old piano….we were headed in the right direction.  but then there’s dogdog.  he has this THING.  every time we let him out and michele and john’s dogs are out, he races around in a circle, digging into the grass that was there, creating a velodrome (kenosha is known for its velodrome, only not this one.)  we tried various ways to address this, to try and dissuade him from running around in the circle, from ruining the grass that we had painstakingly planted.

finally, we decided it would be far less painful for us to just embrace it.  i went online and ordered an actual highway sign (the european roundabout sign, because he runs clockwise every time and the roundabouts in our country are counter to that.)  we planted a few grasses, put up temporary rope to help the grasses have a chance, pounded in our new sign and sat back to watch.

i mean, EVERYbody has their thing.  sometimes it’s just easier to not fight it.  it’s easier to just, well, laugh.

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dogdog roundabout ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood