MEL BUTTLE

“One dog is one dog but two dogs may as well be six dogs”

Ihave two dogs, Ruby and Coco, one is big and one is small, one has anxiety and the other one soothes her by, brace yourself, licking the inside of her ears clean. Ew. One dog is one dog, but two dogs may as well be six dogs. I should just give in and put a run of kennels in the yard, fill my pockets with treats and give in to the fact that although they’re not co-signatories on any official household documents, they run this house.

I’m merely a powerless onlooker who yells things like, “Who ripped up this pizza box into a million bloody pieces?”

That’s not the real issue though, the problem is that I wait for the answer.

It was Coco, but as I then find myself uttering, exasperatedly, “and you did nothing to stop her did you Ruby? You didn’t think to say anything?”

Again I pause for an explanation that will never come. I use my powers of deduction to solve the crime, Ruby can’t look me in the eye and Coco is panting with exhaustion. Case closed.

Once again it was the jack russell cross. I’m not sure what she’s crossed with, but it’s like she’s got a kelpie’s mind trapped in the body of a dog who’s the size of a very big sweet potato.

Coco is the brains of the operation. The wheels turn behind her eyes and you can see her scheming. Ruby had a thought once, it wasn’t for her.

Ruby is more the muscle and the heart of the outfit. I suppose if I had to pin down one of her strengths, I’d say it’s knowing when you’re a bit unsettled and bashing her Besser brick of a head into your knee until you pat her and forget about your issues for a fleeting moment.

I used to think she could be a therapy dog for her excellent intuition around human emotions. She’d be all right as long as it wasn’t windy, raining, the place didn’t have curtains that flapped, and no one dressed like a postie.

If I was pushed for an additional strength, I’d say it’s quite possibly sounding scary enough to deter a baddie from flogging your sneakers off the front porch. Thank you Ruby, you and my “CCTV recording in this area” sign were solid investments.

I bought my house for these dogs. This home stood out over all the others, as the previous owners had dogs, I could tell. They’d closed off every little gap in the back yard; they’d blocked off pretty much any form of escape a tiny jack russell could dream of. Once I saw that I was sold.

Save your patter about the deck and 130-year-old windows Mr Real Estate, it’s actually the chicken wire wrapped around treated pine poles that run along the entire fence that caught my eye.

Despite the previous owners’ Fort Knox-style back yard, Ruby has escaped a few times. She jumps next door to Tamara’s place when it’s raining, on the off-chance that the storm is localised to just our yard. Yes she’s that clever. Is there a Mensa for dogs?

Sometimes I think about adding a third dog, a dog who can read the room and play with Coco, but not step on Ruby’s bed while doing so.

Then, as I empty the vacuum bag I come to my senses, I don’t need a third dog. What was I thinking?

“Where does all this hair come from?” I say, as I bang the dust and fur into the bin while trying to hold my breath.

I’m not getting a third dog, because when I empty the vacuum and cough and splutter, I remember that I’m allergic to dogs. Oops.