All I want for Christmas

Well it's nearly time for the fat man in the red suit to arrive again. Personally I think he would look more stylish in a white suit with brown spots on it. Just saying.

To tell the truth it has been so long since I last saw him - must be about a year? I'm not that good with time - that I had nearly forgotten all about him, until my favourite person started channelling Mariah Carey/Justin Beiber Christmas songs and bringing home mysterious parcels that she stashes in the back bedroom.

I managed to follow her in there last week and some of the packages smell wonderful, I hope they are for me! Last Christmas I got a stocking filled with doggie treats which was OK, nothing special. Mostly because I can cute my favourite person into giving me treats at almost any time of the day or night anyway. I did receive another present that I had high hopes for, however, those hopes have remained largely unfulfilled.

Imagine my excitement when my favourite person presented me with my very own, special new best friend. She (I could tell it was a she from her curling eyelashes and sweet smile) was a very beautiful dog, white with black spots. She didn't say much and just lies around like a stuffed mullet. Or a stuffed Dalmatian, which is what she looks like. I have to confess I am a little disappointed with the lack of action, you know... down there. My favourite person tells me the vet made that happen. No wonder I hate going to vet, he takes away all my fun.

So the only enjoyment I get with my stuffed best friend is to tease that big lump of brainless muscle. You know who I'm talking about, that Bundy. I make out like my special spotted stuffed lover dog is the best thing since sliced bread. Licking and humping her and running around the house barking joyfully. After a while of this, lump head Bundy can't stand it any more so he chases after me and grabs my spotted lover dog off me (I play hard to get and keep it away from him for a while to create even more suspense). So then he gets my spotted lover dog, and... well, he doesn't know what to do next. I looked like I was having so much fun with her, and now he can't work it out. She just lies there. After a few exploratory licks and bites he gives up and goes back to his bed. So I start doing it all over again with my stuffed spotty lover.

Sometimes THAT MAN intervenes and yells at me for running around the house teasing Bundy. Let me tell you this is also enormous fun and probably my next favourite thing. He takes my spotted lover off me after chasing me around the house for a while. Usually he puts it on one of the stools at the kitchen bench. Of course next time my favourite person walks past she takes it off the stool and gives it back to me and encourages me to tease bonehead with it again. Aah, happy times.

I tell you it is hours of fun, after a whole year of this boofhead still hasn't worked out that my spotted lover dog is just a stuffed toy and won't play back to him. Good times. Making Bundy look stupid has to be one of the best feelings in the world. Well maybe not the best but I guess I am never going to know if sex is better because the vet took that away from me. Oh well.

I hope your Christmas has more sex in it than mine will, and that your stockings hold more that dog treats.

yours in cuteness and playful stuffed toy fun,
Kenny the spotted wonder dog.

It's all about ME

I am delighted to share with you all that a new suburb of Canberra is to be named after ... MOI! Kenny is in Canberra's north, near the racecourse. Of course when the powers that be in Canberra that name suburbs were looking for a new honoree, they would have found it difficult to go past my humble self. See map here

After all, numerous other things have been named in my honour, for example that 2006 Australian movie (which I have never really understood, not using porcelain bowls myself for my ablutions, although I believe Shane Jacobsen is probably a pretty good bloke).

There is also a character on a comic TV show who keeps getting killed off, called Kenny. This guy has a tragic fashion sense, wearing hoodies all the time (so unlike the very stylish spotted coat that I wear).

There is also a beer that THAT MAN says is named after me. It is apparently an Irish beer (well, an Irish cream ale if you want to be picky) and THAT MAN talks about it when he is cranky with me. (My favourite person usually covers my ears and tells me not to pay any attention. Possibly becaue I am too young to drink?)

Which in turn is, I presume, named after a place in Ireland. Which is somewhat strange to me because I come from the lovely Dalmatia not Ireland, but possibly news of my wonderfulness travelled to Ireland and they decided to name a place after me? I wouldn't be at all surprised.

So I am expecting to be invited to the opening or launching of Kenny in Canberra, the guest of honour so to speak. Hopefully it is not a dog day afternoon when that happens. I will try to ensure that you, my loyal fans, get an invite, but really, the guest list will be so big in that case that the ACT government wouldn't be able to cope. If you don't get an invitation, I suppose you will realise I don't really care about you at all. Oh well. That's what happens when you are as fabulous as me, I can't know all my fans personally. Don't take it to heart.

yours in surburban legend,
Kenny the spotted wonderdog.

PS I have a new friend who arrived for Christmas. She doesn't say much. More information to follow, with pics.

My coat of many colours

Many people remark upon my beautiful coat, because I am a liver (or brown) spotted Dalmation, rather than the common black spotted variety. Think of smooth rich melted chocolate pouring into a glass of milk, or glistening espresso in a glass cup with milk swirling into it, or the brown of Oreo biscuits contrasted with the cream filling.

Some dogs have a double coat, made up of a soft undercoat and a coarse topcoat, or a single coat, without an undercoat. The terms 'fur' and 'hair' are often used interchangeably when describing dog coats, but in general, a double coat, such as that of the Newfoundland is called a fur coat, while a single coat, such as the poodle's coat, may be called a hair coat.

Some (invariably handsome) dogs are spotted. Most often dark pigmented spots on a light background. The spotting on dalmatians is unique as it involves mutations in at least three different spotting genes.

My Dalmatian coat is short, fine, and dense. I shed considerably, and shed year-round. The short, stiff hairs I shed weave their way into clothing, upholstery and nearly any other kind of fabric. While consistent grooming with a stiff brush can lessen the amount of hair that I shed, nothing can completely prevent the shedding. One of the joys in my life is listening to THAT MAN curse and swear when we come back from the coast. I like to take it as a personal challenge to coat the entire back of the car in white Dalmation hair during the 2 hour drive home. The length, intensity and volume of THAT MAN'S reaction is my guide to how successful I have been.

Sometimes I do feel a little guilty about my favourite person's clothes. She wears quite a bit of black - trousers, skirts, jackets, coats. She looks pretty good but invariably - and often where she can't see them - she has numerous white Kenny hairs that she takes to work with her.

Dalmatian puppies are born white, and their spots come in gradually over the period of a couple of weeks. It must be quite disturbing for puppies to think that they are going to be a sickly, pathetic, ordinary looking white all their life. I am sure that all puppies are born with a secret desire to be spotted. I shudder to think of myself as a poor little newborn, looking at my dozen brothers and sisters and whimpering in terror at their whiteness. Luckily the spots arrived for us and we were saved from a lifetime of monochrome white hair. I hope this doesn't sound coat-ist.

The most common colours for Dalmatians are black or liver spotted on a white background. Other spotting colors, although rare and not permitted for showing, include blue (a blue-grayish color), orange or lemon (dark to pale yellow), brindle, mosaic, and tri-colored (with tan spotting on the eyebrows, cheeks, legs, and chest).

Patches often occur in Dalmations and are a disqualification in the show ring. Patches are present at birth, and consist of a solid color. Patches can appear anywhere on the body, but are most common on the head and ears. Patches are not to be confused with heavily spotted areas on a dog, however. Spots should be around the size of a dollar coin. Some people think my right ear is a patch. Phooey to them, I say. My favourite person thinks that my right ear is one of my most endearing features.

I love my handsome liver spotted coat and am glad every day that I don't have an ugly curly coat (poodle, ugh) a brindle coarse haired coat (even though my favourite person loved her previous dog, Aussie, I can tell from from photos he did have an ugly coarse coat) or, heaven forbid, a coat with a backward facing spine like that dolt, Bundy (a Rhodesian Ridgeback). I am sure the reverse spinal hair is somehow linked to slower brain functioning.

While I love my coat, I have to confess that I have another favourite coat. That is the fleecy thermal coat that my favourite person puts on me to go to bed each night. Sometimes she even puts it over the heater vent for an hour or so before she puts it on me - aah, bliss. THAT MAN certainly doesn't do that when she is away. He takes perverse pleasure is either not putting my coat on at all, or putting a cold coat onto me and then expecting me to be able to sleep. What a beast he is!

That's why I take whatever opportunity I can to put my cold nose into his warm places when he is least expecting it. Revenge is sweet!

with love and big licks, Kenny

1 Dalmation

I watched a movie the other night with some of my favourite people. It was called 101 Dalmations, not sure if you have heard of it, it is a 1961 animated Disney movie. It was quite interesting but it gave me an idea about a movie of my own, (because I am such an interesting dog, after all).

I think it could be called 1 Dalmation (which is a little bit like the movie I watched, 101 Dalmations) but really, what is the point of 101 of them? They all looked the same! Whereas I am a very handsome liver spotted Dalmation with loads of character.

I was thinking that I could play myself (of course) although they would have to find an actor Dalmation to play me when I was very small. How hard can acting be? I can play dead, surely I can play myself alive as well?

Casting the other major characters would be a challenge, though.

Probably someone extremely good looking and talented for my favourite person. Maybe Jessica Lange or is she a bit long in the tooth (boom boom, get it?) So maybe Cate Blanchett? at least she is Australian.

For THAT MAN I imagine someone like Jim Carrey. Not that I particularly like Jim Carrey, but I don't particularly like THAT MAN either. Jim Carrey can be funny (and so can THAT MAN, especially when he is not trying).

Casting of my room mate, Bundy will also be difficult. You'd think he could play himself but I don't think he's actually bright enough to know how to be himself, he would probably end up acting like some stupid little Maltese Terrier or something, overacting badly and trying to please everyone, or a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, stressing out with nerves and trying to steal the limelight for himself. No, I don't think so, Perhaps best to write him out of the story early. Perhaps he can go away on holidays, or...

Yes, I know, Bundy could get get dog-napped, perhaps to Dalmatia, which would then give me a chance to go over and save him, meet up with some long lost relatives, try some local food, hmm, sounds pretty good. And while over there I could meet up with a love interest, perhaps another beautiful liver spotted Dalmation (although I have a sneaking suspicion that one of my trips to the vet means that my new friendship may, alas, remain platonic).

In the 101 Dalmations movie there was a baddie, Cruella De Vil - just thinking about her makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up! Whet a piece of work she was! Although we could probably re-work THAT MAN into the baddie, perhaps played by Anthony whats his name that did those cannibal/hannibal movies. Scary. But so is THAT MAN sometimes. I would have to check that the shoe size is right, because I know quite clearly that THAT MAN is a size 12.

Of course I would have to get the better of him in the end and emerge as the hero of the piece. Possibly involving car chases and explosions, and saving my favourite person and my new love interest from death (or a fate worse than death, whatever THAT is). Perhaps banish him to the dog house for a while so at the end of the movie I am the one who gets to sleep in the big bed with my favourite person, instead of him! YeSSSS1!!!!

You'd pay to go and see that at the movies, wouldn't you? After all, if Milo and Otis can do it, surely anyone can!

Let sleeping dogs lie

My favourite person bought me a lovely bed. It is big and soft and warm. It is in the family room inside the house. The other 4-legged friend in our house, Bundy, who is much bigger than me, also has a bed that looks pretty much the same, only smaller. I think he would like the big bed but since I am patently more important than him despite the difference in our sizes, I insist on having the big bed.

I have another bed downstairs in the workshop. In fact it is an armchair. It too is big and soft and warm and I really really like it because it has flowers on it, it smells like me, and it makes me feel more like a person (which is probably what I should have been born as, but by some freak of nature, turned into a DOG!) Bundy also has a bed down there, a mattress thing, which is OK, but I insist on having the armchair even though he would like to have that too. Really when will he learn that it is all about ME!

So in the evenings when my favourite person lets me inside the house, I curl up in the big doggy bed and it is sooooo toasty warm. I sleep and dream of chasing rabbits, and digging holes all the way to China, and suddenly THAT MAN gives me a bit of a poke and insists that I go outside in the cold, downstairs to the workshop and onto the cold armchair! Really it is sooo unfair. No-one makes HIM get up in the middle of the night and move to a different, cold bed. When will he learn that I deserve to sleep inside (although I have no qualms about him putting Bundy outside, that big lug wouldn't know any better.)

I am making my plans. One day, I am going to push THAT MAN inside the cold dark workshop and lock the door on him for the night and see how HE likes it! That'll show him. Although I imagine I will have to keep right out of his way for a few weeks or else I will come into close contact with his size 12s.

With little shuffles and yips from my rabbit-chasing dreams, kisses, Kenny

Contradictions

THAT MAN is always telling me not to pee on the grass. He doesn't like brown patches on his lawn. I don't understand this. After all, I have brown patches and I am very cute and handsome. So what's he talking about?

But then when I "lift my leg" somewhere else, he doesn't like that either.

Case in point: on the weekend he let me out of the house, so I ran downstairs to his workshop and peed there. There was a bad smell in there because he had been painting, but it smelt much better after I had "gone for a tinkle". But he wasn't happy.

Another example: last night he let me out of the house and shut the door. It was really dark and cold outside. We are talking Canberra cold here. So I "spent my penny" on the back step (if he had wanted me to go further away, down the stairs - but NOT onto the grass - he would have turned a light on for me, wouldn't he?)

I wish he would make up his mind. What he is telling me is, don't pee on the grass, but don't pee anywhere else either.

Why doesn't he just let me go in that big white basin inside the house? He doesn't want me to wee there either, every time I go near it he chases me away. There's no lightpole or fire hydrant in our backyard to use (and he would probably yell at me for using them too) and the cars are locked away in the garage so I can't use their wheels.

Sigh. What's a dog supposed to do? Any suggestions?

love and big licks and watch your trouser leg because if it is still for a minute, I might pee on it, Kenny

Sniffing around

I love to smell things. Using my nose I can create a mental map of what's going on in my neighborhood, and what's happening with my favourite people (well, person really, but I am trying to be tolerant of THAT MAN. It's my resolution of the day. Usually my resolutions are things like: "Dig up that old bone in the backyard under the maple tree" or "run around in the pond" or "bark like crazy all day", so I am feeling pretty virtuous about today's resolution.)

My sense of smell is so much better than my eyesight (that's why I bark, sometimes - I can see something a few metres away, but I am not sure of what it is so I bark to show them I am not frightened of it). Also, my hearing isn't that good, one ear is worse than the other.

But what is important is my abilities, not the things I CAN'T do; and I am very good at lots of things. Like: running, eating, jumping, eating, barking, eating, digging, eating. And, I have my sense of smell, which is up to one million times that of a human's.

The smelling receiver is made up of a mucous, a labyrinth of innumerable folds that could cover a surface of 130 m² compared to the 3 m² that humans have. A dog has 120 to 220 million cells next to man's 5 million cells. So, I can detect the change of character of other dogs or humans around me, just by detecting the slight increase or decrease of their hormonal levels and their sweat. This has nothing to do with a sixth sense: dogs can just detect certain signals that go unnoticed by humans.

That's why dogs sniff other dogs, especially their butts. SOOO much information can be gathered! Same with people's butts. Its like a computer check on their mental and physical wellbeing, with a police check and a few character references thrown in for good measure. Which is why I don't understand when THAT MAN tells me off for sniffing. It's perfectly natural, and very helpful, and really I just can't help myself, I HAVE to do it.

So my sense of smell means that I know when my favourite person is happy or sad, I can tell when other dogs think they are the boss of me (they're NOT, see previous post), when humans feel sick, when THAT MAN is getting my food ready. Did I mention I'm very good at eating?

Anyway, the great sense of smell is why dogs are used to track other animals, to find missing people, to track down criminals, to hunt for drugs or money, and find mushrooms (truffles).

So while humans use a handshake to greet people, I'm sticking with sniffing the other dogs' butt. Or the human's butt. It's a lot more informative, you should try it sometime.

with a sniff and a lick, love from Kenny the wonderdog