Snoopy Snippets

I was very proud of my baby’s refusal to be intimidated by three creatures many times his size.

Published 1st February 2024 By Tony Barnett
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At the age of 15 weeks, Snoopy thought he was a greyhound. I fondly remembered telling Toby that “It’s a walk, not a sniffathon”, when it took us 20 minutes to complete the circuit of Jenanter Drive. From his very first walk – the day after his graduation and third vaccination –  Snoopy raced me round it in 15 minutes and, had I let him off the lead, I’m sure he could have done it in less than ten. And my expectation that he would need a rest after each of our twice-daily walks was badly misplaced.

Near neighbours had three large dogs, which barked furiously at anyone who passed. On our first walking day, I had to pick a scared Snoopy up and carry him past their property; on our second day he summoned the courage to walk past it – albeit somewhat apprehensively; and on our third day he barked back at them. I was very proud of my baby’s refusal to be intimidated by three creatures many times his size.

At about the same time we had two, consecutive, accident-free days – a first. Sadly, my relief was short-lived: jumping ahead of my narrative, when he was six months old, his record was a mere five accident-free days. I blamed it on unseasonally wet weather, but time will tell.

On a hot day I put an ice cube in Snoopy’s water bowl. My intention was to cool the water, not to provide him with a new source of entertainment. Silly me! In no time he managed to extract the ice from the water, take it into the lounge room and play with it. And, when it scooted under a lounge, and he was unable to reach it, I was of course expected to recover it for him.

As I had responded to Snoopy’s disembowelling of the base of his day bed with merely mild rebuke, I suppose I have only myself to blame for his turning his attention to a much more expensive item – the padded skirt on my queen-size bed. And unfortunately, as Snoopy soon worked out for himself, my bedroom door doesn’t close properly, and he wasted no time in pushing it open whenever I wasn’t watching.

In time Snoopy discovered that the sides of his day bed were also stuffed, and so my regular collection of white fluff resumed. I don’t know if he thought he was saving me the trouble of doing that, but one day he dragged the bed through the dog flap, and resumed his assault on it outside. At least that was closer to my garbage bin, and so I suppose he was saving me some exercise.

Snoopy is evidently a devoted follower of Murphy – he of the law which states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. As I’ve mentioned, I am an opera lover, and look forward to the Opera Show which is broadcast by ABC Classic from 3pm to 5pm on Saturdays. On one such day Snoopy was snoozing throughout the early afternoon, and at 3pm I switched on the radio and lay on a lounge, looking forward to listening to at least part of the program in peace. Some hope! Snoopy immediately woke up and demanded that I play with him. I shut him in the laundry, until I thought he’d break the door down. So I shut him outside. Even through two closed doors, his complaints created a discordant accompaniment to the music. So I gave in, and faced the challenge of enjoying the music while playing tugs of war with Snoopy.

At least I’d been forewarned about his evening behaviour, having read that the most active time of day for a puppy started at dusk. That prediction certainly proved accurate for Snoopy. Unfortunately, it meant that, in Spring, his most boisterous period started at about 6.30pm, at which time I sat down, with my first drink, to watch the SBS news. It continued while I was preparing my dinner in the kitchen, eating it at the dining table, and drinking my coffee back in my armchair. Then, when I was free to play with him, he’d usually go to sleep.

One day, when having my lunch, I was distracted by the sight of Snoopy dragging his day bed right across the lounge room. I thought he just wanted a change of scenery, and went back to eating and reading. By the time I heard a slight crunching sound, I realised that he’d taken advantage of my inattention to move his bed next to my bookcase, so that he could chew one of my art books in comfort.

Almost from the beginning, Snoopy slept through the night – an unexpected pleasure for me. When I woke up in the morning I’d take him outside, where he’d dutifully do what was expected of him. I’d then make myself a cup of tea, return to bed and read for half an hour. And Snoopy would obediently go back to his own bed… until the day when he was exactly four months old. He insisted that I’d celebrate the occasion by lifting him onto my bed and playing with him, which thereupon became a daily practice. So much for reading!

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