Mom said that I should write a column because my very own birthday is tomorrow and her dogs have always written a column for their birthday. I’ll be three years old and I weigh 14 and one half pounds. I’m a Toy Australian Shepherd. That’s how I got my name. Australian Shepherds are called “Aussies” so Mom just added a T and got Taussie which is OK although I would’ve preferred to be named Brutus or Atrocious or Ruthless or something like that, as you can imagine.
Mom talks about those other dogs who were Dalmatians and to hear her tell it they were whiz bangs. She tells me some tale about how Maggie and Sesha brought a possum in and put it on her (and their) bed. She thinks that was cute NOW but not THEN you see. She doesn’t worry about me doing that cause I’m no bigger than a possum, she says. Donna at the Animal Medical Hospital where Mom takes me to get my hair cut (and other stuff I won’t talk about) always tells her what a good disposition I have. That’s absolutely true.
Mom and I took a very long trip last summer. Yes, I saw her packing a suitcase so I jumped in the car cause I wasn’t about to get left behind. It turned out that she was going to take me anyhow. She, Barbara Wamsley (who thought I was angelic) and I headed to Tennessee. It took us seven hours, except it wouldn’t have taken that long if she hadn’t gotten lost several times.
Well, I got out of the car and there, right in my face, were three big dogs. I mean real big so I just let them know right then and there that I wouldn’t stand for a speck of nonsense. One of them brought me a turtle or tarpin or some such. I didn’t know what to do with it so I yelled for Mom. She came running, scared that I was being beat up you see. When she saw that I was OK she and everybody else laughed so I guess tarpins aren’t bad.