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Tuesday, December 30, 2014

The Little Brown Turducken

Byron Bay

It feels really weird but I'm actually sending this post from the Byron Bay beachfront because we can't get the Internet from where we are in Tweed Heads. Does this make me a blogger with an addiction? Do I need to go to BlogHab?

We arrived in Tweed Heads at about 5 o'clock on  Sunday and  a storm was coming in but the view from our view at Tail Waggers Retreat was stunning. 

(I'm not sure if "Tail Waggers Retreat" needs an apostrophe but at least I have more of a comprehension of apostrophes than the makers of this sign spotted at Burleigh....)

They're Taco, Nacho and Burger's beers OKAY????

We spent our first day checking out the pet friendly options at Burleigh on the Gold Coast. There were frickin mutts everywhere. Every cafe had a bull terrier or poodle tied up to a table so we felt quite at home until Pablo the Chihuahua decided to strut down the street like John Travolta listening to an imaginary soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever and proceed to malevolently attack every unsuspecting dog we passed.

"My God!" I squealed as we hurriedly stuffed our toasted sandwiches down our throats before we were asked to leave. "He even barked at that guide dog."

"That's ironic," guffawed Scotto.

I paused mid chomp. 

"What's ironic about that, Scotto?" 

"Well... you know, the dog can't even see him."

"The owner is visually challenged not the DOG!" I grumped.
"Anyway Scotto, we need to get a muzzle for this little brown shit. He's very anti-social."

Meanwhile, Celine the fox terrier simpered up to everyone we passed, sucking up the attention from passing children and rolling over to have her belly rubbed as her brother, Pablo, sat on the edge growling aggressively with a surly expression on his snarling snout.

We stopped at a pet shop and I ran in leaving the others in the air conditioned car.

"I need a muzzle for a savage dog," I bleated at the girl in the store.

She directed me to the muzzle display.

"I'm not sure these will fit?" I said. "He's just outside. Shall I bring him in?"

"Okaaaay," she replied nervously.

I went back out to the car and retrieved the Hound of the Baskerville from his harness and carried him in.

The owner of the shop had come to the counter and I swear it was the Dog Whisperer, Caesar. He even had the accent.

"Zis is za dog?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," I answered, as Pablo bunged on the terrified, tiny dog act and started clawing my shoulders and quivering like a frickin mouse.

"Eeee iz too small for muzzle," said the Dog Whisperer with a small measure of disgust in his voice and staring sorrowfully at the tiny Pablo.

I scurried back out with Pablo gleefully perched on my shoulder like a self-satisfied parrot.

"Apparently eee is too small for a muzzle," I whimpered to Scotto.

Anyway, we thought we'd pay a visit to my parents who are dog lovers and carry the genes I seem to have inherited.

Mum had set up her veranda so it was dog friendly and as we sat drinking wine and chatting, Pablo sat on my lap growling viciously every time Dad leaned forward to top up my Cab Sav.

"He’s a very sour looking dog isn't he?" commented my mother.

"Yes," I said. "He's a little brown turd."

Burleigh Beach