Ivy

Can Ivy fly at the end of a long doggy day of play? 

Ivy is a sweet Cavoodle. Her soft ginger coat looks like it has somehow been dragged onto her chunky little body – a cozy, tight-fitting cladding for an endearing little soul. 

Harry, her best pal, looks like a kelpie, but Dachshund’s legs shorten his stature significantly. 

Solomon, a svelte, shiny, tiny Dachshund, is another friend – he has much to say about many things. 

All three can sing. Alarmingly, off-key.  

Ivy enjoys daycare with her two pals every Monday and meets the Doggy Day Out van with tiny squeaks of joy.  

Ivy and Harry enter the same crate; occasionally, Harry becomes a tad overexcited, and I, the driver, wag a finger at him ‘Harry! Stop that! Be a gentleman, please’. Harry looks somewhat mollified but obeys and desists his un-dog-ni-fied behaviour. 

Upon arrival at the kennels, I hurry out of the van as Ivy, Harry & Solomon lead a chorus of thunderous shrieks of excitement. The noise tears through my sensitive eardrums, waging war on the follicles within. 

Who knew that such small canines could crank out so many ear-piercing notes? 

Their day is spent playing, meeting friends, and enjoying the kennels’ smells, sights, and sounds. A paw-fectly reasonable canine way to spend the day. 

Post-play date – all creatures are bundled back into the van for their return trip home. They are subdued after their day’s exertions – I, too, am tired and weary as I pull up at the meeting point. Off goes the engine, and up goes the volume. Harry, Ivy & Solomon have just enough energy to belt out a homecoming verse.  

The ground outside cannot meet my boots quickly enough. 

All dogs are gleefully met by their owners, and they head home to no doubt crash on their respective couches.  

When it is time for Ivy to jump into her escort car, I make time to watch. 

Her awaiting chariot is small, and she approaches the rear door on the passenger side.  A quiver roils through her little body. Her unwavering focus is on the seat. Ivy pauses at the door, prancing like a tiny horse in a dressage ring. Tip, tap, tip, tap, go all four paws. She leans back with her little bottom furiously rotating in a clockwise direction.  Her floofy tail creates a cloud of dust.  

While success is sometimes achieved immediately upon the first try, Ivy often repeats the sequence as she winds up for her short flight. 

Surprise, pride, relief, and joy flash across her dear little face when she understands she is safely seated. A final squeak announces her astonished pleasure. 

Ivy’s peculiar dance warms my soul, and I cannot help but snort out loud with appreciation every time. This clears my eardrums, but I still touch them gently in apology. 

It’s true, dearest Ivy, you can fly at the end of a long doggy day of play. 

Stay tuned for more doggy diary nonsense.