Well Bred

The kids are now back at school after the longest holidays ever and I am slowly starting to release my shoulders from my ears. Settling into the new house has been quite easy and discovering the new neighbourhood has been both delightful and polite.

Dusty Springfield, the wayward cat, has taken to sitting on the fence between our house and the neighbours joint, causing their dog much excitement. Isobel, the neurotic shiteranian, (shitzu pomeranian maltese blended variety) has enjoyed the change from our recent sleepy street to a busier location and is also barking quite a lot. But the barking is more often joining in on the chorus of howling that comes from the canine residents of the road.

Animals. They are the great leveller, don’t you think? I always believe that people who don’t like pets are very strange. I cannot walk past a dog without smooshing them, which is apparently the most embarrassing thing to do according to my teenagers. I also tend to do the same to babies in the supermarket.

So yesterday, the day presented itself in this glorious Sydney sunshine and I thought it was time to crack the top off that time honoured tradition of taking the dog…

To the dog park.

Four years ago, I made my Dog Park Debut and wrote about it here. I eventually ejected myself from those fucking snobby assholes people and found a more inclusive dog park that was much more friendly and welcoming.

My thinking is that people in dog parks like dogs, therefore, should be good people apart from people who own golden retrievers. So I wandered a few blocks, grabbed a coffee and entered puppy nirvana.

While my old suburb was home to many Labradors and Poodle Cross specimens, this new area is all about the French Bulldog and Sausage Dog. I figure this is because the houses and gardens are all much smaller.

Took the shackles off Isobels neck so she could dance, and took a sensibly social distanced seat on a bench next to a young lady. This young lady took one look at me, gave me a glare like I had just farted, and went to sit on the path.

Things were not looking good.

But then another lady came though the gate with a poodlesque situation and she looked at me before commenting on the weather.

DISCO. GREEN LIGHT.

And thus began the opening conversation with a potential new buddy. I identified myself as a newcomer to the area. We moved through the usual topics of kids, dogs, whether, where the good coffee places were. We watched on as Isobel fended off a particularly frisky miniature schnauzer who was doing his best to dry hump her. It was just a tad awkward.

Then she pointed at the young lady sitting on the path and asked if she was my daughter, making me rethink my whole anti-ageing skincare regimen before her mate arrived with two coffees and swept my new friend away. And before you ask, the friend had a Scottish terrier.

The whole thing got me thinking about dog breeds, and why certain suburbs lend themself to certain types.

If your suburb was to be a dog breed, what would it be?