Sheba Foxy Lady
Hello world, I am Sheba the Foxy Dog
My story starts with a lovely lady, like myself, who gave me lots of love and looked after me very well when I was a little puppy. She also had an older dog, Mr Bo Jangles, who was my close friend, though he could get grumpy, being old and not fabulous like me. He was just excitable, like most males, but a very nice dog all the same. He taught me a lot, including how to use a keyboard when the humans aren't watching.
Unfortunately the lovely lady could not look after me anymore. She had to go into care and wasn't allowed to have pets there, which I think is a very mean rule. So the people that were looking after her arranged for me to be sent to an animal shelter run by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA). A nice RSPCA inspector came and took me there in her car.
My lovely lady was very upset but she knew it was for the best. So off I went to the animal shelter after giving her lots of licks and rubs on the way out. I still miss her and I know she misses me.
The people at the animal shelter were very kind but even a nice shelter isn't very nice when you have come from a loving home. This was my new home:
This is my better side.
I had to do a lot of this sort of thing at the shelter, showing my good side. The idea is to get one of the humans who walk by to take you home to live with them. It's a strange system for an organisation that is supposed to be pro-animals. The humans get to choose us but we don't get any say. Sometimes the humans take your photograph, like this passing fellow who managed to get his shadow in the shots - tut, tut. But no matter, he was kind enough to e-mail me the results so I could post them here. My mini i-phone is under the blue mat. I smuggled it in. I won't say how! Foxy girls don't go anywhere without their phone!
Meanwhile the RSPCA shelter looked after my every need except interior decorating, which frankly my pen really needed. It's hard to be foxy and fabulous in these bare surroundings. What can a girl do? The only advantage I could see was the bare surroundings made me look even more fabulous and foxy - if that is even possible!
The days at the shelter were pretty hum drum. There was no nightclub for example and while the RSPCA staff were well meaning, they didn't know how to make a chai soi latte the way I like it, and I didn't know how to tell them. So I got a reputation for being yappy.
Barking was something you could do that reached beyond the walls of your pen. Mr Bo Jangles was in the next pen and he wasn't coping quite as well as I was. I knew I was fabulous and that sooner or later some lucky human would take me home. Mr Bo Jangles was older, kind of set in his ways, prone to conspiracy theories like the kind people in the animal shelter were going to put him down, which they would never do. But I knew the real problem was he had been with the lovely lady for longer so he missed her terribly. I sometimes barked just to let him know I was still there.
He told me he needed to do something to make himself more appealing. So when humans came he would jump around excitedly, which just made him seem nervous, even unhinged, and probably needing too much attention from a new owner. It was sad, especially because I couldn't really help him and I knew, as only an 8 month old puppy, I was cute and would probably soon be taken home by somebody.
I tried not to show my confidence about being rescued to my older but dear friend, who had helped me so much. He did eventually find a loving home and we keep in touch by e-mail, though he can't spell, or smell for that matter, and he runs all his words together because he still gets so excited about everything. Here is a recent photo of him, taken when he was standing still for a second or so:
He kind of looks happy by his standards. You'll notice his photo is bigger than mine. He was always larger than life and happy now, though frankly he really needs to lighten up. Can you imagine dancing with that ball of nerves? You'd be doing the foxtrot and he'd be doing the jitterbug. And anyway, I don't need a big photo to look foxy and just light up the shot.
But I get ahead of myself, silly me. For the time being we were stuck in the shelter, or gaol or as Australians call it "stir". Still, the food was good and we were exercised regularly by the mostly pretty girl humans that worked or volunteered there. I liked to offer them fashion advice, but that only cemented my reputation for being "a barker", the cheek. They couldn't understand a word I said, and with some of them, it showed. The RSPCA could also have a good look at its uniform design, which is practical but does not flatter. Shouldn't a girl look great all the time? Rhetorical question I know!
My story starts with a lovely lady, like myself, who gave me lots of love and looked after me very well when I was a little puppy. She also had an older dog, Mr Bo Jangles, who was my close friend, though he could get grumpy, being old and not fabulous like me. He was just excitable, like most males, but a very nice dog all the same. He taught me a lot, including how to use a keyboard when the humans aren't watching.
Unfortunately the lovely lady could not look after me anymore. She had to go into care and wasn't allowed to have pets there, which I think is a very mean rule. So the people that were looking after her arranged for me to be sent to an animal shelter run by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA). A nice RSPCA inspector came and took me there in her car.
My lovely lady was very upset but she knew it was for the best. So off I went to the animal shelter after giving her lots of licks and rubs on the way out. I still miss her and I know she misses me.
The people at the animal shelter were very kind but even a nice shelter isn't very nice when you have come from a loving home. This was my new home:
This is my better side.
I had to do a lot of this sort of thing at the shelter, showing my good side. The idea is to get one of the humans who walk by to take you home to live with them. It's a strange system for an organisation that is supposed to be pro-animals. The humans get to choose us but we don't get any say. Sometimes the humans take your photograph, like this passing fellow who managed to get his shadow in the shots - tut, tut. But no matter, he was kind enough to e-mail me the results so I could post them here. My mini i-phone is under the blue mat. I smuggled it in. I won't say how! Foxy girls don't go anywhere without their phone!
Meanwhile the RSPCA shelter looked after my every need except interior decorating, which frankly my pen really needed. It's hard to be foxy and fabulous in these bare surroundings. What can a girl do? The only advantage I could see was the bare surroundings made me look even more fabulous and foxy - if that is even possible!
The days at the shelter were pretty hum drum. There was no nightclub for example and while the RSPCA staff were well meaning, they didn't know how to make a chai soi latte the way I like it, and I didn't know how to tell them. So I got a reputation for being yappy.
Barking was something you could do that reached beyond the walls of your pen. Mr Bo Jangles was in the next pen and he wasn't coping quite as well as I was. I knew I was fabulous and that sooner or later some lucky human would take me home. Mr Bo Jangles was older, kind of set in his ways, prone to conspiracy theories like the kind people in the animal shelter were going to put him down, which they would never do. But I knew the real problem was he had been with the lovely lady for longer so he missed her terribly. I sometimes barked just to let him know I was still there.
He told me he needed to do something to make himself more appealing. So when humans came he would jump around excitedly, which just made him seem nervous, even unhinged, and probably needing too much attention from a new owner. It was sad, especially because I couldn't really help him and I knew, as only an 8 month old puppy, I was cute and would probably soon be taken home by somebody.
I tried not to show my confidence about being rescued to my older but dear friend, who had helped me so much. He did eventually find a loving home and we keep in touch by e-mail, though he can't spell, or smell for that matter, and he runs all his words together because he still gets so excited about everything. Here is a recent photo of him, taken when he was standing still for a second or so:
He kind of looks happy by his standards. You'll notice his photo is bigger than mine. He was always larger than life and happy now, though frankly he really needs to lighten up. Can you imagine dancing with that ball of nerves? You'd be doing the foxtrot and he'd be doing the jitterbug. And anyway, I don't need a big photo to look foxy and just light up the shot.
But I get ahead of myself, silly me. For the time being we were stuck in the shelter, or gaol or as Australians call it "stir". Still, the food was good and we were exercised regularly by the mostly pretty girl humans that worked or volunteered there. I liked to offer them fashion advice, but that only cemented my reputation for being "a barker", the cheek. They couldn't understand a word I said, and with some of them, it showed. The RSPCA could also have a good look at its uniform design, which is practical but does not flatter. Shouldn't a girl look great all the time? Rhetorical question I know!
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