Last Story Home Local Next


by Vicky Chapman, NSW, Australia


I have now absolute proof that my dog, Fluffy, is an idiot. We're not talking a little bit slow, a few eggs shy of an omelette, or as thick as two short planks. No, we're talking about complete and utter gormlessness.

Fluffy's basic stupidity first came my attention when she started trying to be friends with the cat, Shmoggleberry. Shmoggleberry is usually a fairly placid sort of creature, his favourite activity bar eating is sleeping. He's old enough to fine tune a truly noxious attitude, and his grump is so well developed that it will soon be used as a landmark. Sure, he'll play when he wants to, is often affection and is exceptionally adorable when he wants or needs to be, but both Joel and I have the scars to prove that one should not mess with His Highness unless invited and given permission to proceed (permission being the lack of any aggressive moves on his part)

Apparently I am supposed to have a dog that has been borne from two "smart" breeds that produced my Fluffy. Instead of getting the good & smart genes from her Border Collie mother and Cattledog father, she's obviously inherited their worst characteristics, as her other littermates took up all the good genes (she being the runt). All I can say to those who think genetic engineering is a good thing is "just look at Fluffy as an example of cross-breeding gone horribly wrong". With her genetic background, she apparently supposed to be easily trained, independent, and active. Wrong. After six months, we have yet to achieve potty training, she is as clingy as a spiderweb and hates hates hates going walkies.

Despite all that, though, you would think that even the thickest creature has a basic sense of survival and an instinct to avoid pain. Not Fluffy, apparently. You would think that in the two months we have had her, she would have learnt that although cats look soft and cuddly, they are actually harbouring 20+ of the sharpest razors in the industry. Not so. When not climbing over Joel & I, Fluffy is forever trying to make friends with Shmogg. To give Shmogg his dues, he is a long suffering cat, and will only bring out full clawage when absolutely necessary, but Fluffy has been whopped on the nose so many times, more than daily, you would think that even she would have worked out that Shmoggleberry is Not To Be Messed with. Behind her cute speckled muzzle, I'm sure there is an intricate pattern of cat induced scars, but she seems not to care.

Last night, Fluffy was yet again harassing Shmogg. Shmogg had given her a few warning whops, had hissed, and had started to bare teeth.. Fluff had taken this as an invitation for more play, and had continued. Shmogg was now in full ears flat, back arched, full fluff, tail hooked, standing sideways position and spitting violently. At this point, we leapt into action, knowing that there was going to be a full-on fight, and although Shmogg now weighs less than half of Fluffy, he would still easily slice & dice Fluffy in a second.

"Fluffy!!!!!!!" Joel screeched, hoping to avoid the inevitable, while I tried to crash tackle the hissing hell-spawn that had possessed my cute little kitty cat. Too late, and Shmogg had got at least two claws into Fluffy's eyebrow. Fluffy yelped pathetically, and tried to pull back, while Shmogg did his level best to extract the pound of flesh he thought was his due. It was not a pretty site with Fluffy yelping and bleeding and Shmogg spitting and bristling. With complete disregard for my own mortality, I grabbed the offending daemon paw, and extracted the razor of death from Fluffy's face.

The heinous monster that seconds before was pussy-cat was thrown unceremoniously into the bathroom, followed quickly by a cup of blessed water thrown in his general direction in the hopes of exorcising the daemon. Fluffy was grabbed, calmed, and Joel actually licked Fluffy a few times (ewww! He loves her more than I do!) in an attempt to soothe her. Her face wasn't bleeding as much as we first thought, and she seems OK after milking our sympathy for a bit.

As I went to wash my hands a few minutes later, Shmoggleberry had returned to his body, and darted out of the bathroom before I had time to shut the door again. Seconds later there was another yelp. I moaned. I stuck my head out of the bathroom and moaned "what now?"

"Fluffy went straight back to the cat and tried to sniff him again. Shmogg just whopped her another good one." muttered Joel.

She'll never learn. The rest of the night, the next day, and I suspect for the rest of her happy, fluffy little life, I think The Fluffster will just put up with being whopped and scratched and hissed at and hated while she perseveres in making friends with absolutely everyone, including the cat, no matter how grumpy they are. How can you not like something as playful, as innocent, as completely gormless as Fluffy, and the great big brown puppy dog eyes are just an extra added bonus.


Editor's note:

Last Story Home top Local Next
Top of