This is the public diary of

Cando von der Jonasburg

Curly back and spider legs

When I stop to read my own writing or better whatever Gene made of what I had told him to write, I find it all a bit confusing. But that's life I guess. Confused? Well, take the title of my last report for instance: What a difference a week makes. I never actually came around to saying what difference a week made. See, what I had planned to mention was that during my first appearance at the puppy school every single puppy I met tried to knock me off my feet, roll me over, or have any other kind of go at me. They all pushed me around. But one week later, I was the boss. Sort of. At least I knew how to growl and nip ears and throw a little of my weight around. See, that is a difference.The best part of puppy school for me is that we're no longer going. We've been there three times all together. A long drive across the hills in sleet and snow, rain and wind. An extremely muddy cow pad to assemble in and really get dirty. A lady who gave lectures for an hour and a half, never stopped talking, not even for a breath of air. We had to play or sit still and freeze our butts off. And all we were supposed to learn was to sit and to lie down. Now that was something my mother had shown me ages ago.

Gene and Monika were told that I communicate with my tail and body language since I don't speak "people speak". What a surprise! At last someone mentioned that! I guess my people would never have found out without these Saturdaily lectures. Shall I let you in on a secret? There is one more reason I'm happy were no longer going: These owners of mixed breeds really looked down on my pedigree as if it was my fault that my parents have names. So what? I do know my own birthday! They said things like: My dog's 12 weeks now, but the old bitch looked at least 15 or 16 weeks. Hovawart training is good, though. I still enjoy that. We're all kind of equal although I'm the only one with a full fool-around-licence. The others are all heavily into obedience and such stuff. But mind you, when we're on a one to one I can do it all quite perfectly: sit, lie down, stay for a second or thirty some, not pull on the leash, stop whatever I'm doing. To cut it short, I'm quite well behaved! If I want to.

At the Hovawart club they've just given me a first go at a sack. Wasn't too exciting though. They say it's the beginning of a Schutzhund training. However, working with the group is still much fun and very, very, very exciting. I don't understand how the others all manage to stay so calm and relaxed and not care about each other. I'd love to run at each of them and play a little! But Gene wouldn't let me. It's SIT and HEEL and SIT and all that in a never ending sequence of straight lines and circles.

My garden is nicer nowadays. I did enjoy the snow, but it tended to be a bit boring when being alone. So I normally went out, sat down in front of the door and waited to be let in again. With the sun and so many flowers popping up left and right, it's much more fun to run around, pick one here, chew some leaves or a branch there, hunt a bird or just bark at anyone coming too close to the fence.

Up to now, Gene let me out first thing every morning. I then sat down in front of the door and waited for him to get dressed. Then he would step out, and I would follow him from the door across the patio onto the lawn where I finally could take my first morning leak.- With the snow and all, Gene was really annoyed that he always had to lead me onto the lawn and he invented a sort of game. He would let me go out, then he would go to his study, open a window and call me. I would run up to him, he would lean out, give me a cuddle and I would realize that I was standing on grass and would start to pee. Now today I really gave him a shock. He opened the door and I went out straight onto the lawn and let it flow. (I wished I could have seen his face but unfortunately I was looking the other way.)

Weekdays are pathetic! Morning pee in the garden, a brisk walk through the park where I do my business as quickly as I can (as it's much too early in the morning for any decent dog to be seen in public). Monika and Gene give me a "Bye" and set off for their work. I have food and water and toys but I mostly sleep. Midday Gene gets me out for another walk. I never know which way to turn, he is hopeless, no routine! We walk, we play, some exercise, then he sits down in front of his computer and I can forget him for at least a couple of hours. Quick walk down to the station, see the big trains, jump all over Monika's best business dress (if possible), walk back, and playtime with Monika. Sometimes I have to show off what I've learned that day. Another late night walk and off to sleep before the next early morning pee starts another day.

Weekends are much better! There is always one long or extra long walk in a wood or forest per day. That's the greatest time on earth. As soon as I leave the car and my people decide to abandon the trodden paths, that's when life really begins. And boy, if ever you met me on such a walk, you could tell!-
So, you're still wondering about this page's title? I thought you'd never ask. I guess you know why spider legs. I'm 53 cm tall by now (not to mention 20 kilograms heavy). I've heard that there is an Austrian in California they call the Terminator. Well, how about my name: the Explodator! People in the neighbourhood all agree, I'm not growing, I'm exploding!- And my coat is changing. Some weeks ago it was just one lock half way down my tail, the rest that fluffy baby stuff. Then another lock showed up middle of my spine. Now my whole spine from neck to tail shows one single row of locks, black and shiny. I told you, I was getting on, didn't I?