I am now three human years old. I came from the RSPCA in Ballarat when I was eight weeks old. Mum says she chose me because I:
looked like a Border Collie,
was very quiet in the animal shelter (Ha! Ha!),
had little feet.
However, my hair didn't grow long, but my nose did. Mum soon discovered that I was not very quiet and that puppies with little feet do not necessarily grow up to be little dogs! Gosh, some humans are stupid!
Suzie is my older sister and she joined the family when I was twelve weeks old. She is a Maltese cross bitza. She loves balls too, but cannot play flyball because she has crook legs. Suzie is the one who taught me when I was a pup to pick up balls and bring them back.
Dad and I started obedience when I was six months old. Dad is not a very good handler, and the only reason we got to class four is because people felt sorry for him, and the instructors wanted me in their flyball team. So they kept giving dad a pass in each class.
I started flyball twelve months ago with the Ballarat*eureka Flyball Team. Dad thought the exercise would do me good, but he didn't realise that I love flyball anyway. Actually, I think dad loves flyball more than I do.
When I first started flyball I would get the ball and then run around to say hello to the other dogs. But the other dogs ignored me and then people would jump all over me. What the heck!
Those motivators aren't very appealing, so dad now gives me choc chocs when I bring the ball back at the flyball competitions. I think dad looks like a dic.. er .. I mean silly when he runs back yelling out "choc choc", but I return to him just to keep him happy. Besides, the choc chocs are nice.
It was not until my second competition that I got some title points. A whole three points! We were so proud. Now I have my FDX title, and also my FDCh title. I'm a champion, so there!!
Dad has started taking me to a "tricks" class. He likes to show off. He has taught me to bow (he thinks), so if you see me bowing at a flyball competition please keep dad amused by clapping him. I am really trying to get that bit of choc choc he has in his hand!
At home, I love it when the lawnmower comes out of the shed. I drop balls right in front of the lawn mower and dad comes around and kicks them out of the way. I chase them and bring them back and drop them in front of the mower again. Dad is too silly to realise that I am having fun.
I also love it when dad weeds the garden. I drop a ball right behind him and he throws it away. Sometimes he acts like he doesn't want to play and leaves the ball there. I think it is because he doesn't like that ball. So I go and get another ball and drop it right behind him!
He is very fussy which ball he wants to play with. Sometimes, there are six or seven balls behind dad before he finds one he likes to play with... and then it might be the one I put there in the first place. Stupid dad!
The best part of the day (apart from flyball ) is when dad comes home each night. I go and get a ball so we can go for a run in the reserve across the road. We have to wait at the kerb while dad crosses the road. He then calls us across. I then practise my obedience (Ha! Ha! ...that's what the old fella thinks!) as we walk across the reserve.
When we get near the blackberry bushes, I then go sniffing around for rabbits. Sometimes I find one. They are faster than balls. I am puffed when we get back home.
It's cold here in Ballarat and I am feeling sleepy. It must be time to have a snooze in front of the heater, or even on dad's knee. He thinks I am a lap dog. You know what it's like... ...anything to keep the old human happy!
See everyone at flyball!
Love, Meg.
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