My heart grins when I see it. Is it a cat? Is it a bird? No, it’s Superdog … Rudi loftily surveying the neighbourhood from the edge of the yoga studio roof. Cock of the roost.
Rudi’s gene pool is a mystery: Scottie and long-haired Daschhund , warthog and baboon. Cheeky, charming and so undisputedly a boy dog – and very much his own man – he has one weakness. He unaccountably fails to find a biscuit dropped between his paws, just centimeters from his nose, shnuffling frantically around in all directions before stumbling upon it.
By contrast his “big brother” Beavis is a handsome, intelligent, thoroughbred Africanus who can catch even a tiny pill in mid-air.
Last Wednesday I was on my way down the pathway to take the dogs for a walk. They were already prancing about on the driveway, vocal in anticipation. Then there was a loud thud and Rudi dashed past me into the kennel, a large rack of ribs in his mouth.
Overhead a crow squawked and screamed his indignation.
Beavis ran around schnuffling frenetically, looking for his portion of the manna from heaven, to no avail. Doggone it!
Eventually the sounds of greedy grinding and chomping in the kennel abated and we were able to set out on our walk.