La La La I can’t hear you

Mouthy woman, our local responsible dog owner was in residence in the dog park again this morning. Such a responsible owner that the freshly laid, slightly steaming dog turd that greeted us of course could not have possibly come from any of her dogs. Strangely there were no other dogs in the park at the time but hey, I’m not accusing a responsible owner.

MW had an equally sour faced and disagreeable sidekick with her. My heart sank when I saw them and I steeled myself for further nastiness. Thankfully they silently, but very pointedly moved to the other end of the park and whilst various snide comments were passed, particularly as they left, today is a new day and I was not going to rise to their bait.

I didn’t actually put my fingers in my ears and shout “La la la I can’t hear you” but I came as near as I could to doing so…

Silence can be a very effective method. I must use it more often.

The ugly face of the dog park

I can be, and often am, an intolerant bitch. This blog is sometimes evidence of that fact. However, I do try to be civil towards others, acknowledge others’ greetings, even if I don’t particularly know or like them. There are people who go to the park who I am genuinely pleased to see and fond of. Some of these individuals have made unexpected gestures of kindness and I try to do the same when it’s appropriate to do so. Several of the regulars have confided in me and offloaded their sorrows or worries. I am always touched that they want to talk to me and have never told a soul, and certainly would never post here, what has been shared with me in confidence.

Even those who are thoughtless or so up their own arses that they cannot contemplate anything outside of their personal spheres generally mean no harm or malice. We are all guilty of egocentric self-indulgence, some are just more frequent offenders than others.

And so when something happens that is intentionally nasty or hurtful, I feel it keenly. A while ago poor Sandie the owner of Fang, had a note pinned on the park gate publicly accusing her of having a dangerous dog who ‘attacked’ children. This was patently untrue and seems to have sprung from a Boden Clone taking exception to Fang running after a kid’s football. The fact that this spineless clone could not bring himself to actually speak to Sandie but instead typed an anonymous note, printed it, had it laminated and hung it on the gate is truly cowardly and vile. The effect upon Sandie was palpable. She took to going to the park at dawn to avoid others because of her embarrassment and fear. It took a good while to coax her to return to the park at a more reasonable hour. Thankfully, the good folk of the park rallied around and eventually Sandie, still nervous and bowed, returned to the fray.

Today two separate incidents illuminated the dog park’s unpleasant underbelly once more. One incident was blatant ignorance and rank snobbery. The other was arrogant aggression. Both left a sour taste in the mouth.

The first unpleasant episode happened this morning. A mouthy woman, who called herself a responsible dog owner, took umbrage at me and Mrs B not wanting to ‘make friends’ with her 4 dogs. I’d have loved Mrs B to have made friends, but sadly all 4 dogs had been chasing her relentlessly for several minutes and Mrs B was both pissed off and terrified of them.  Any ‘responsible’ dog owner could see from her body language alone that Mrs B was frightened and not in the right humour for friend making. Mrs B is certainly no angel with other dogs at the best of times and I politely tried to explain all this. Alas, this particular responsible dog owner took it all rather personally and started berating me for being a ‘miserable cow’ before issuing a disgruntled stream of insults and observations from the safety of the other end of the park and I’m sorry to say that I did find myself telling her that if she had something to say, I’d rather she said it to me directly rather than about me to the world in general. I’m not particularly proud of that as it probably inflamed rather than defused things.

The second incident occurred this evening and centred around a highly unpleasant wife of a minor celebrity. Minor celeb himself is a really nice guy, natural, down to earth and very friendly (Mrs Bitey is a great fan of his). Sadly his wife is the polar opposite. She stalks around the dogpark ignoring her dog, incessantly on her mobile phone or with her entourage of fawning clone friends making shrill and nasty comments. A while back, she shrieked at me to call my dog away from her. As Mrs B was actually nowhere near her and indeed was sat on my feet sunbathing, I didn’t think she was speaking to me. She turned haughtily and demanded that “You!  Yes YOU over there! Call your dog away now”. The dog in question was a harmless old greyhound that was simply plodding along behind her. I told her simply that it wasn’t my dog and was treated to a loud tut and toss of her head. Nice.

Today her dog was waiting at the park gate while she sauntered down the road on her mobile as usual, not hurrying despite the doggy traffic jam at the gates. I gestured to her dog and asked her if she’d like me to let him into the park. Without looking at me, she shouted “Yes, you may let the dog in. Do it now” in the kind of tone usually reserved for a servant. As she walked into the park, she said loudly into her mobile “Into the lions den. It’s full of common PBs [pit bulls]. Yes, darling, you know what I mean, its full of those big terrier things and their awful owners.”

The common PBs were in fact Liz Duke’s Fab Four. As I have blogged ad nauseam, Liz has fantastically socialised and trained dogs who I adore. She doesn’t have any airs and graces, but instead has a warm kind heart and a smile for everyone. She is one of the most open, easy going and responsible dog owners I know.To hear her reduced to being the ‘awful owner of common PBs’ made my blood boil especially coming from a fucking snob who treats her dog and everyone else outside of her smug little bubble like shit on her shoe. If she’d unglued her ear from her phone long enough, I’d have told her that too.

Both episodes left me feeling a mixture of sadness and anger. I wish I’d said more in one situation and less in the other and I feel it is profoundly miserable when strangers behave  in this way. I may feel similar frustrations and annoyances but at least my vitriol is discharged in an anonymous and harmless way by blogging and by acknowledging that neither me or Mrs B are saintly blameless creatures in all of this.

The good, the bad and the downright scary

The past few days have yielded a bumper crop of dog park regulars sightings. As the title suggests, this has been a mixed experience…

First the good. Liz Duke and her fab four staffy brood were in the park tearing around causing good natured mayhem. The youngest staff who was a mere tiny pup what only seems like yesterday is now growing into a fine adult dog and has a wonderfully chirpy and indefatigable spirit of fun. Mrs Bitey regularly growls at her but she takes it all in her stride and simply bounds off to seek fun and friendship elsewhere.

Another welcome sight was that of Kay with her avuncular labrador Crockett and precocious, poodle pooch, Curley Wurley. Kay is old school of the neighbourhood, wonderfully witty, wise and always good company.  She is down to earth and not full of her own sense of importance and status. Crockett lollops about after tennis balls whilst Curley Wurley lies on his belly surveying the park with black, beady, button eyes. He likes to have a ball to chase briefly- but can’t be arsed to bring it back so sits down and waits for a human servant to collect it for him.

The bad was a double sighting of the Twat in the Hat. TitH is a grinning toff who graces the dog park in full country gent attire including bush hat. He looks like Farmer Jonathan Bell from Camberwick Green (ask google young ‘uns!) and is accompanied by an oversexed, overexcited and undertrained Boxer. When Randy Boxer is not trying to shag anything canine in sight, it belts around wildly out of control pestering humans and dogs alike. When Mrs B had her dew claws removed and was hopping along with both front paws bandaged, bloody Randy Boxer tried to hump her and bowl her over repeatedly. I wouldn’t mind, but TitH just stood there grinning at his dog like a big bloody jessie. Grinning at the dog, and taking photographs of it are the only things that the Twat does. I’m waiting for the day when Randy Boxer decides to hump one of the lesser trained, ill tempered scary types. Maybe the traumatic removal of his testicles will calm him down a bit.

However, to my delight and highlight of this post, there was a brief but memorable sighting of foul mouthed geriatric Nan with Yappy and her small, snarling, sardonic sibling this morning. Nan loathes both dogs and walks them for a friend as an unsuccessful attempt at assuaging her grief after losing her Rottweiler. Yappy is a noisy, bad tempered, tiny terrier and was in full yap bearing her teeth in a most unattractive, and indeed, rather aggressive manner. In equally loathsome humour was Nan – although she was considerably less toothy as she did not have her dentures in. I was unsure which looked the most scary, though on reflection, a gurning Nan muttering profanities under her breath probably takes the title.

Nan treated me to a curt nod and grudging, gummy hello before shrilly snapping “Shat ap you noisy bloody fing!” at Yappy, curling her lip and dragging her charges homewards.

It’s good to be back

Fenton reloaded

Absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder and indeed I was delighted to be back with Mrs Bitey after a trip away. Mrs B however had the agony of deciding whether to be pleased to see me or sulk as payback for going away without her. In the end she found a compromise of squeaking and waggling until I reached to stroke her then trotted off with her chewy bone playing hard to get. She couldn’t keep it going for long and even when she pretended to be absorbed in chewing her bone, her little tail was thumping away like crazy.

Less of a dilemma for Mrs B today was whether to chase the four huge and scary looking stags that she came across in the park or not. Within seconds, she was barking her hunting high pitched woof and charging after them with all the determination of an olympic sprinter.

Like Fenton’s owner, I was powerless to do anything. Unlike Fenton’s owner I did not attempt to chase after Mrs Bitey shouting Jesus Christ. And hopefully, no one filmed the episode…

Thankfully the stag ran a lot faster than Mrs B and in the end, she returned defeated and exhausted. She did her best, but thankfully her best was not enough and venison was not to be dish of the day.

The spectacle of stampeding stags with a tiny terrier hot on their heels was quite a sight to behold. Indeed after Mrs B returned and was safely anchored to her lead, several passersby stopped to congratulate her on her feat of herding and to double check that they really had seen a large stag charge heralded by a small but determined mutt.

 

Off on our hols, see you soon :)

We'll be back in a week !

Up with the birds

Mrs Bitey had a nice surprise a couple of days ago when we met up with a very dear friend who has recently returned from a trip to Cape Town. She brought Mrs B back a gourmet treat of doggy biltong and dried sheep liver chews.

They stunk to high heaven, were brittle and studded with peppercorns. They were also 100% dried meat with none of the crap that is put into treats you get here. And, of course, Mrs B absolutely loved them. As we humans were worried about the brittle texture and risk of choking, attempts were made to ensure that Bitey chewed them properly bit by bit. Not a prayer. Mrs B wolfed them down in a frenzy of crunching and gulping topped off with a loud gut wrenching belch.

One of the great things about our canine friends is that they live for the moment and don’t worry about either past or future. The downside of this is that they don’t think about consequences. Once she tried these new delicacies, Mrs B was like Oliver Twist – she wanted more!

Mrs B is extremely hard to ignore or resist and her employment of hardcore scrounging tactics resulted in her having rather a lot of gourmet treats. The by product of this was not evident until the following day when she was afflicted with a bout of the World’s Worst Wind. She also needed to go out for ablutions slightly more frequently.

Which is why we were staggering around the block bleary eyed at 5.30am this morning. Whilst I would have preferred to have remained in bed oblivious to the world, I did get an unexpected treat myself. The flight path over my home was not used this morning so for once there was complete silence with no mechanical 747 birds flying over. The real birds therefore could strike up their morning chorus uninterupted and sang their little feathered hearts out. It has been a very long time since I’ve heard such a beautiful dawn chorus and I am blessed to have heard it.

Even if it was a flatulent Jack Russell that woke me up….

Back to reality

Mrs Bitey has adapted to the return to reality of normal (for us) life better than I have. While she is full of beans catching up on the new smells in the dog park, it is me struggling with a very sore op site and minimal energy.

As it is half term, the dog park has been devoid of dogs and thankfully we have been spared the gauntlet run of the snob convoy. It’s been quite nice to not have small town, small minded snobbery from the nouvelle riche.

However, it’ll be good to see some familiar and friendly (ish) faces in the park. So far we’ve only seen a toffee nosed twit with standard issue chocolate labrador and matching Land Rover who was terribly pleasantly condesending to Mrs B. You could imagine him thinking how pitifully sad it must be to be a non pedigree breed. Imagine the horror of it all.

Snowy swansong in the shire

We are finally back in the ‘burbs of big bad London after an extended exile in the west. Much as it was nice to sample some country air and spend time with family, there’s no place like home and it’s good to be back.

We had a final snow walk before heading off although the snow was starting its soggy retreating melt. For once, we’d timed it just right as it was softer for terrier paws to run on but consistant enough to avoid being ankle deep in mud.

I’m going to miss the common land greatly as it is such a vast open space devoid of squirrels, sheep and other things that Mrs Bitey enjoys chasing. The views are amazing and the beauty of it is that you can always seek a small spot of solitude and silence if you want to. Going back to the dog park will be a come down for both of us but there it is. Even the bigger parks like Richmond and Bushey up here are not the same- they have tons of traffic shortcutting for starters and deer and a million other people and dogs looking for a patch of peace. However, the offset to all of this is that I still enjoy living here and have the people that I am lucky enough to call friends around me.

Give us a couple of days and we’ll be back to normal again

Ain’t snow stopping me now

More snow has fallen and once again last night, Mrs Bitey was a big jessie not wanting to get her paws cold. Ablution trips were notable in their increased speed and reduced frequency.

So it was with mixed feelings that we headed off to the common land to play ball today. I had visions of Mrs B refusing to get out of the car and me going for a solitary walk instead.

Such fears were dispelled within seconds of driving onto the common. There was a cacophony of squeaking, squealing and barking accompanied by frenzied tail wagging and pawing the car window. Once stationary, I barely had time to retrieve the keys from the ignition and don thermal hat and gloves before being kicked and trampled on in a manic bid to get out now!

I don’t blame her. The common looked even more beautiful than ever. To the East, light cloud reflected light off it in a thin blue and pink stripe that slashed across the sky. Looking West towards the Severn Estuary, moody dark grey clouds looked surly. Trees and bushes were stark and skeletal in contrast to the endless carpet of crisp white snow and underfoot it was like walking on royal icing.

It was also unbelievably cold with a bitter breeze seeking out any exposed flesh instantly. Underestimating the temperature, I’d not put Mrs B in her jacket, but this did not seem to bother her in the slightest.

Her antics chasing and hunting with her ball are already well documented here in dog blog land and I cannot add much to previous descriptions other than to note that she seemed even faster in her all action sprinting with one reckless cornering episode leading to a spectacular loss of balance , sending her spinning and rolling into a snow drift.

An added comic touch was her snout coated in snow and her rather refined technique of shaking excess snow off the ball before returning it to me. Had she not been snorting and belching snowflakes, I’d have mistaken her for a proper little lady!

Good to see my all action Bitey having such a riotous time

Nurse Bitey

The recent spree of ill health and misfortune continue unabated with the advent of yet another affliction- this time the perennial winter favourite of the bacterial world- Norovirus.

Norovirus is not nice. It’s painful, explosive and leaves you feeling like a herd of buffalo have charged across your abdomen. It’s a full house of unpleasant symptom bingo- pyrexia, joint pain, fatigue, cramps, vomiting and diahorrea. It’s the last thing that you want after surgery.

Thankfully, our canine friends appear unaffected so while I have been doubled up over a basin or sweating ice under layers of blankets, Mrs Bitey has been delegated as Charge Nurse.

As it goes, there are some benefits to terrier nurses. Firstly, they are generally cheerful and sociable souls that don’t seem to mind being with a cranky groaning human. In fact, Mrs B has been quite sympathetic, giving me the odd sniff or prod to make sure I’m alive and cuddling up against my cramping stomach which is very soothing. She is also the storage heater of the dog world and can belt out tons of heat. An added plus is that curling up under a duvet is a perfectly acceptable way for Bitey to while away a few hours.

Mrs B has also been very tolerant of my lack of mobility. Our playtime on the common land was abruptly terminated when the full extent of the bug dramatically kicked in and since then she has been limited to shorter and far more sedate strolls out with Granny supplemented with various boisterous games of Kong chasing, again with Granny who is able to doze in the chair, watch daytime tv and play Kong in a fabulous feat of pensioner multitasking.

Granny, and all other old people for that matter, find Bitey charms very difficult to resist, especially in the giving of treats, and so Mrs B has cashed in on this unrelentingly.

However, before you fully form the vision of Bitey Nightingale tending the sick without fault or foible, let me burst the bubble ever so slightly…

All nursing empathy and care goes out of the window once Mrs B gets comfortable in or on the bed. Territorial and stubborn, she continues to hog the bed and kick me if I move. She believes that the extra hot water bottle is for her benefit and as she is spending long hours on the bed, has decided to customise it by hiding half chewed rawhide bones and soggy Kong toys under the duvet. Nice.

When she decides that I should be awake, she jumps on my head and licks my face, ears or neck. She licks my feet or the back of my knees in the hope that it will get me moving. It does as it tickles like mad and is the last thing I need after finally getting comfortable.

The worst is when I have to vomit as she takes the vile retching noises that ensue as an invitation to play and comes barrelling into the bathroom trying to get into the sick bowl and bounce off my shoulders while madly growling and barking. A sedate variation of this is to sit on my feet and refuse to move so that she has a grandstand view of my head in the bowl. She has narrowly avoided being barfed on several times now.

But the lovely thing is, annoying though she can be, I know that she thinks that she is doing the right thing and is trying to help. It cannot be much fun trying to sleep with a feverish, groaning heap retching and fidgeting but Mrs B has been determined to stay with me.

Doggy devotion or what?