Doggy daycare

Son 1 attended a 007, spy-themed party at the Ranches this weekend and as I drove through the rabbit warren of streets lined with beautiful identikit villas to collect him, it occurred to me that I might not know any of the other parents.

He’s on a school bus, so I have much less contact with his school than my other son’s (higher-maintenance) school, which I visit every day for the drop-off. Plus, the way they do a shake, rattle and roll each year with the six classes in each grade means both the pupils and parents get a fresh start each September.

Anyway, the party was still going on, so the parents huddled in the kitchen while a pair of energetic teenagers led the games outside. I struck up a conversation with another British mum, as the kids hurled water bombs at each other, and we exchanged details about our child’s name, class, etc.

(The drawback with mixing up the classes is I spend ages wracking my not-so-well-oiled brain, trying to work out if the mum I’m talking to is the same person I sat giggling with in a coffee shop three years ago, is the class mum – who deserves deep respect, in my opinion, and I probably owe money to – or is indeed a newcomer.)

The British lady and I didn’t talk about our children for long, because the conversation quickly moved on to her dogs. Specifically, the doggy daycare they were being treated to that day. Yes, treated to.

“Do you want to see some photos of my dogs?” she asked, rhetorically, then reached for her phone, pulled up Facebook and clicked on a post from the doggy daycare.

“There they are,” she said proudly. “Awww, look what they’re doing!

"The masseuse is here, Sir"

“The masseuse is here, Sir”

I peered at her phone. Her dogs, indeed very cute (and known as Little and Large, due to one being big and the other handbag-sized), were pictured frolicking around a sizeable grassy, landscaped yard, with tunnels and other playthings laid out for them.

“That’s their swimming pool,” she said, enlarging a photo of a sparkling blue pool, big enough to hold at least 10 children.

“Swimming pool?” I responded, my eyes widening, “For the dogs?

“Yes, and that’s where they rest. It’s great – they go every Saturday.” [“Means we can actually do something on Saturdays,” her husband interjected.] “In fact, we must dash – it’s doggy pick-up time at 6.”

She showed me one last photo of her cat [“Do they do cat daycare, too?” I ventured, my mind still processing this whole concept and spinning with possibilities for our moggy.] Then they called their daughter over to leave.

I’m not really a dog person, but later that evening, I found myself Googling it, intrigued by the idea of a pet daycare with a pool, that structures the day to include a dog-nap, has a webcam trained on the playarea, and posts updates on Facebook to allow ‘parents’ to see what their pampered pets are up to.

Turns out, that’s not the half of it. Dogs can board there, and even the standard suites are furnished with a sofa bed and plasma TV; the Urban Suite has a webcam inside; and the Junior Royal Suite offers extras such as a sheepskin rug, bonus cuddles, caviar in the feeding bowls and champagne through a hose (ok, I made the last two up!).

There’s a pet Limo service, a personal butler and a fully-equipped indoor gym with ‘Fit Fur Life’ doggy treadmills – where, I’m guessing, the doggy bootcamp for overweight pooches takes place.

You won’t be surprised to learn that classical music is piped into the communal areas and that eye-soothing views of an indoor oasis with fabulous fountains are advertised.

Seriously, I’ve been in Dubai for five years now and I thought I’d seen it all. But a 7-star pet resort for animals who need a luxury break from their day-to-day routine. That takes the biscuit, surely!

(And, yes, there is a cattery – I checked!)

Find out more about Urban Tails (in the Green Community) at www.urbantailsdubai.com

RIP Hanny-Wanny

The hamster is no more. I can’t even begin to tell you what happened. Let’s just say, I’ve vowed that, other than our cat, we won’t have any more pets until after the summer.

Summer 2018.

Our astounding failure at rodent petcare aside, I’ve been answering some tricky questions about hamster heaven.

“Is it on a cloud?” (yes, very high up); “What do they do up there?” (they’ve got wheels, tunnels, exercise balls and all sorts); “How do they get there?” (erm, fly); “Can you see them go up?” (no, it’s too fast).

Hamster heaven: The fun never ends

Hamster heaven: The fun never ends

And the question that had me stumped: “Which was the first hamster to go to hamster heaven?”

Then there’s the difficult, thorny issue my older son is really angry about: “Why did the vet kill Hanny-Wanny?”, followed by a dramatic outburst of tears.

He was surprisingly attached to his hamster, despite the brevity of it all (two weeks!), and even my DH wouldn’t sign the euthanasia paperwork, leaving that one on my conscience.

But it was the kindest thing after the unspeakable, and the vet (who was gorgeous!) was very understanding.

“It’s a good idea to replace the hamster,” he mentioned helpfully as we said goodbye to dear Hanny-Wanny, “for zee emotions.”

“And, for boys of this age group,” he said, glancing at BB and LB standing silently and solemnly by the examining table, “I suggest a guinea pig. They’re a lot more robust.”

Our lazy (but sweet) expat cat

We have a cat – a rather rotund black-and-white female moggy who predates both our kids and has never really gotten over the arrival of two rambunctious boys into our formerly quiet household.

Love decorating, love patterns (DH not so much), and look - Chandelle is practically camouflaged ...

Despite being unbelievably lazy, she’s a well-travelled cat. We acquired her as a kitten from an animal rescue charity when DH and I were newly-weds, living in Florida. My husband named her Chandelle, which I know makes her sound like a voluptuous porn star but is, in fact, an aviation manoeuvre (don’t ask me what!).

She went on a three-day road trip from Florida to Minnesota when we moved to Minneapolis, then flew half-way round the world – via a pet hotel in Amsterdam – when we relocated to the Middle East.

Quite a long way for a cat, no? Well, she’s made up for it since by staying put – on our bed. She hardly moves, except for when she’s chased by one of our boys. So content is Chandelle to spend her days lolling on our bedsheets that I actually designed the bedroom to match her. She blends quite well with the black-and-white print of the throw, don’t you think?

For somewhere that gets really very hot in the summer, Dubai is home to loads of pets. You’d be surprised how many people own cats and dogs here – as well as more exotic animals such as lions and tigers (seriously!).

Being Dubai, pampered pets are well catered for, with pooch pedicures, organic shampoos and conditioners, Fursace doggy bags and designer dog gowns just some of the luxuries available at high-end pêt-à-porter boutiques. For £2,000, you can even indulge your pet with a Swarovski crystal-encrusted wooden bed, complete with velvet sheets on which you can have your dog’s name engraved.

Expats are content with feline and canine friends – although we had quite a shock when an escaped giant iguana appeared at our patio door, so big our housemaid was convinced it was a crocodile and started taking photos. But, in Emirati circles, larger exotic animals have always found willing buyers. Lately, illegal African cheetahs have become popular pets among those rich enough to afford one.

I mentioned before that my boss at work peered into a car on National Day at what they thought was a funny-looking dog, but turned out to be an adolescent lion. Well, it’s happened again and here’s the proof. This picture of a tiger hanging out of a car window was taken in the Marina Promenade area and caused a frenzy on social media sites this week … Lovable? Hmm, I’m not sure.