Sascha is skinny and bow-legged, lumpy and bumpy. She is certainly not as beautiful or perfect as she was in her younger years. In fact, she is a prime example of growing older disgracefully. She lurches up the hallway like a drunken sailor. Her method of lying down is to drop with an almighty thump. She enjoys her early morning strolls and is becoming quite well known on the main drag. She farts like a brewery horse and is prone to old lady accidents if she can't get out the door immediately. Noah's flood would sometimes be preferable. She also has cataracts and either her hearing is reducing or elderly willfulness is increasing.
Yet she is adored by all, especially us. Pip has been her shadow for the past ten years. Way back in 2007, Sascha would howl piteously when I went to work. So, I hit upon the idea of a companion for her. Due to space constrictions, a smaller canine playmate was necessary. A match made in heaven; they looked at each other and fell in love.
Ruby, who wandered absently into our lives as an adjunct to Michael in 2009, usually gives no opinion or expression at all. With concentration and intelligence similar to Dory the fish, Ruby gives little clue as to her emotions. Unless Sascha is absent for any length of time. Upon reunion, Ruby becomes as close to animated as is possible for her. Quite extraordinary.
Madame Cat grew up with Sascha, hence she is far more tolerant of her as a compatriot. They even would sleep together as a young dog and kitten. Once Pip was on the scene, she withdrew into a fairweather fickle feline. Ruby's arrival was greeted by the Cat with utter contempt and continues as such to this day.
An ongoing source of exasperation and amusement has been the issue of bedding for Sascha. Back at Brooking Street, the dogs had graduated into double doggy bunk beds due to space constraints. No such luxury in the Residence. So we have been using a mixture of old cushions for their sleeping pleasures. Gradually these have all fallen apart from repeated washing, chomping or disintegration from overuse.
The climax to this issue was earlier in the week. Sascha was insisting on poking, prodding, nuzzling and nosing a cushion the size of a postage stamp on which to sleep. She would gaze at me with her wide pleading eyes, trying to convince me to solve her dilemma and magically materialise a larger cushion. After exposure to both her expression and her endless pacing I crumbled. She now is the chief recipient of a very large dog bed. Needless to say, the other two dogs hop up with her as much as possible.
Sascha has appeared to settled into the chaos of our temporary accommodation and the progress of our building site with consummate ease. In fact, out of all of our four legged children, she is by far the most placid in the face of our current living conditions. Maybe old dogs can learn new tricks.
Yesterday she had additional treats for her birthday. Today, after closing the Gallery, we will take all three of the Stooges to the oval. And there, she will lope inelegantly away from us with a joyful burst of sheer pleasure.
Happy birthday, Big Dog. To infinity and beyond.
In The Beginning, there was Sascha...
And then Madame Cat came into our lives...
Followed by Pip...
And Finally the Problem Child.
And all was well...
Except for the Cat...
Who made her feelings known...
Until she became Michael's Mistress...
And Behold, the Double Dog Bunk Beds...
Now replaced with one jumbo-sized shared arrangement
And Pip remains on guard whilst the Ladies sleep...
And Madame Cat is still not amused.
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