I’m feeling rather crabby lately. Not quite sure if it is old age creeping up on me or the fact that I was manhandled (or should I say dog handled) by one serious mother of a boerbull a couple of days ago ?!/&(ç;:?!!!!
Let me start at the beginning. We had left beautiful Morgan Bay, where the dogs were friendly and I had miles of beach to run, chase crabs and generally sniff around. We left to go further north to a place called Coffee Bay. Everything was fine, when we arrived and I soon made friends with the owner’s dog. She was a mixed breed, but mostly Boerboel. Never the less we soon got around to tail wagging and sniffing as we dogs tend to do. Despite her intimidating size we got along just fine.
That evening she returned and the sniffing continued, but unknown to me, she had brought big brother along. Before I knew it, there he was standing over me. He did not seem aggressive and my owner was not to far off. So – although I got a little nervous (I was set upon by two Boerboels last year and that was no joke, I tell you!) I tried to ease away. Without warning this massive Boerboel had me in a vice like grip around my head and neck, then proceeded to shake me like a rag doll. My owner rushed over and threw his coffee cup with a force onto the Boerboels head. He didn’t even flinch, but just kept shaking me. Then just as suddenly he released his grip and wandered off back to his house, I guess. I was left with a bad cut to my cheek and knew I wouldn’t be feeling good for a while. Thankfully we left the next day! If I see another Boerboel anywhere, I’m going the other direction.
So – here we are in the mountains of Hogsback and here lives a young Ridgeback who wants to play. As I mentioned, I am feeling decidedly crabby. The best I can do is to growl and bare my teeth, which brings about a confused look from the young Ridgeback.
Simba is his name and I’m sure we can play together, but not now! First I should perhaps find out, what SIMBA means …