Country Living – Ponsonby pooches get a taste of country life

I had the joyful pleasure of babysitting my grand doggies over summer, a staycation for them on Ninny and Poppy’s farm. Mr Banks, the French bulldog, and Miss Bella, the black pug, live structured city lives and come with all the accessories and rules that perhaps typify what many would call “Ponsonby Pooches”, a far cry from our relaxed and simple farm life. After a quick refresher course of said doggie rules and regulations, we waved our daughter goodbye, then sat the doggies down and decreed to them, “What goes on on the farm stays on the farm – got it?” I glanced at my husband and with a deep eyeroll and, with the mindset of a farmer, he began to question the sanity of dog owners had dogs sleeping in kennels/cages inside a house and forbade them to eat bones.

How on earth were we going to be the “coolest” grand Ninny and Poppy with all these bloody rules? So, in order to help facilitate the implementation of my “cool Ninny status” I decided I had to ditch the rules. This meant turfing out the sleeping cage and defrosting the biggest homekill leg roast I had so they could chew on it. Our first day trip off the farm was a calamity. The doggie seatbelts didn’t work out as per instructions, so they went free ball in the back of the car the whole way to a friend’s farm and I could tell they lavished it. On the farm they let loose, and both ended up with a huge boot from a single steel fence hotwire (any lesson learned is a good lesson, right?).

Mr Banks fell into a historic old sheep dipping race and was rescued covered in slime and a foul stench. Stinky and slimy, hopping back in my vehicle was an option I had no intention of offering. Fortunately, our friends had a pig hunting dog crate on their ute, so we bunged him in there which proved to be such a novelty that Miss Bella wanted to ride in it, too! Back home and minus that ghastly big sleeping cage inside, bedtime arrangements proved slightly problematic. Whimpering beside my pillow at 2am turns out not to be a Footrot Flats dream, but more so a city dog with the intention of infiltrating my crisp bed linen with his moulting coat and doggie saliva – I don’t think so! Doggie beds in the lounge with teddies and a bone were the better alternative. The strict confines of their city living weighed heavy on me – I was determined to give them the gift of freedom on our farm, but this came at a heavy price. Unwilling to open and shut doors every time they wanted to rush outside to the sound of stock and quadbike movements, I caved into open doors and a house full of flies. They became obsessed with the farm manager Corey and his working dogs, belting out the door with every passing, barking and staunch, but oddly not leaving my section. Their actions made me laugh. I wondered what thoughts the working dogs had about these puff and wind city slickers.

I was given bold instruction not to take Miss Bella on my long daily walks. Apparently she has breathing problems, the only rule I had every intention of sticking to. Then, one morning pre-dawn, I unwittingly mistook her for my black pug (her identical twin sister) and piled her in the car along with Mr Banks. It wasn’t until the sun rose and we were four-kilometres into my 12km walk that I realised I had grabbed the wrong dog. I started freaking, “Gawd, what if she dies?” How would I explain that misdemeanour? Unwilling to turn back, I decided to hedge my bets, so I sat Miss Bella down and explained that now was the time for her to “pull up her big pug doggie paws” and deal to the situation at hand, stick tight by my side and we will have this walk in the bag. She survived that walk and together we did it nearly every day for the remaining 14 days. Leash and harness free, it proved their great love, a sensory and texture overload wrapped in almighty freedom. By the end of their stay, these Ponsonby pooches had gone rogue. Scented daily baths were replaced with a dip in the cattle trough after a roll in a dead carcass, their leopard print leads had collected dust and a brave new world was theirs. I miss having these crazy little toddlers around my feet. It is unclear to me if I had become the coolest Ninny, but along with the bones and the burger patties, I gave it my best shot. I can’t wait for them to stay with Ninny again – I miss them very much.