Connecting dog parents through pawsome stories
Floss the Boss – The Unstoppable Collie 2/2
Any Ball, My Ball
Floss’s obsession with balls was legendary. She would even watch tennis while standing outside the court, head moving side to side, following every shot.
Andy will never forget the day they walked past a football ground during a men’s league match. He thought Floss was padding quietly beside him, until a sudden roar from the crowd made him look up. People shouted, “Let’s pick the ball up!” There she was, centre stage, chasing the ball across the pitch like she’d been called up.
The referee blew his whistle. The players stopped. Some spectators burst out laughing, others grew impatient for the game to resume, as Andy, mortified, clambered over the fence with her lead in hand. But Floss was deaf to everything except that ball. Eventually, the referee planted his foot on it. Floss sat down in front of him, eyes wide with the anticipation of playing fetch. Andy scooped her up, red-faced, and ran off the pitch. It was only a minute of chaos, but for Andy, it felt like forever.
Flying Collie
Another unforgettable episode happened at the seaside on one fine day. Andy flicked a tennis ball down the ramp to the sand, but Floss decided ramps were for amateurs. She launched herself off the sea wall cartoon-style, paws flailing as if she could fly. She landed flat on the sand with such force it left a mark.
At first she shook herself off and carried on fetching the ball, as if nothing had happened. But later, to Andy’s shock, she began urinating blood. The leap had caused internal bruising, leading to a £3,000 vet bill (thankfully covered by insurance). A terrifying reminder of just how far Floss would go for a ball.
Stomach of Steel (Almost)
If Floss wasn’t chasing a ball, she was chasing food. She was an opportunist through and through, and if something even faintly smelled edible, she’d have a go.
One summer evening at a neighbour’s barbecue, Floss vanished for a moment. By the time anyone noticed, the entire plate of food meant for late arrivals had disappeared — five burgers and four sausages gone without a trace. It wasn’t until the guests turned up, hungry and confused, that the family realised Floss had beaten them to dinner.
The kitchen at home wasn’t much safer. As a youngster she would rear up on her hind legs, balancing like an acrobat to swipe food off the counter. Nothing was beyond her reach.
Then came the butter. Andy still groans remembering how she scoffed an entire tub — foil, metal container, the lot. The empty wrapper was left glinting on the floor while Floss lay there, belly groaning. For days afterward she was miserably sick, leaving Andy to clear up the mess, but the lesson never stuck.
And then the rabbit. Out on a walk, Floss dug up a rotten carcass, tail wagging as if she’d discovered treasure. She managed to wedge a bone vertically in her mouth like some grotesque cartoon toothpick, stuck firmly behind her teeth. Andy had to wrestle it out while Floss, unfazed, wagged happily as though it were just another game.
Her tastes aren’t limited to ordinary food either. Floss has a particular fondness for cat food. One of the people who sometimes looks after her has a cat, and whenever Floss visits, she barrels straight to the bowls to see if anything’s on offer. She especially loves wet cat food — the meaty kind — while at home Andy keeps her on dry dog food to protect her teeth. For Floss, those visits are a gourmet holiday.
Amy often jokes that while her Papillon, Lupin, is picky about what he eats, Floss will happily hoover up almost anything. Half the time it ends in an upset stomach, but that never stops her.
Still Floss the Boss
When Andy met Amy, Floss suddenly had a housemate — Lupin, Amy’s lively little Papillon with his butterfly ears and endless energy. From day one, it was clear who was in charge.
“Floss the Boss,” Andy calls her. Lupin would bounce around the house with excitement, eager to play, but Floss only needed to plant herself with a steady stare to remind everyone of the pecking order. It wasn’t harsh, just firm — the way an older sister might keep her younger brother in check.
(And for Shades of Pooch readers — Lupin’s own story will be told next 🐾✨).
Now at thirteen, Floss is a softer version of the dog who once leapt off sea walls and stormed football pitches. She sleeps more, enjoys shorter riverside strolls, and spends much of her time dozing in her crate. If she doesn’t fancy moving, she simply won’t. If she wants attention, she makes it very clear. And if a tennis ball appears, her eyes light up like they always did, even if her body can’t quite keep pace.
As Andy puts it, half laughing, half sighing:
“She’s still Floss the Boss. Always has been, always will be.”
