human or dog?

Apologies for the unexpected absence last week or so has been that classic combination of having too much to do and just not enough time or energy to do it in. Thankfully we also had a wonderful break in North Yorkshire for Easter for well needed tlc.

Mrs B disgraced herself in multiple episodes whilst t’up north including bolting from the lead to chase sheep and a fight with the host dog. Thankfully we have been forgiven and no major damage was done.

However, it does make me think more seriously that Mrs B has an identity crisis. I really am starting to think that she thinks that she is human, albeit a small 4 legged furry human.

Her love of humans is undeniable. She adores human company and actively seeks it. She also knows exactly how to behave to maximise human attention and devotion. She can flirt effortlessly and charm even the hardest of hearts. All of this is great- unless you are a dog.

Other dogs are treated with utter contempt and disdain. Sometimes Bitey doesn’t even bother with the social niceties of sniffing and instead cuts to the chase with a warning ‘fuck off’ growl which, unless checked, quickly accelerates to full scale scrapping within minutes. Owners that laugh off my warnings or insist on letting their dog ‘make friends’ really do piss me off as my stress levels shoot up, which in turn gives Mrs B the emotional equivalent of attack warning red. Trying to stay cool and nonchalant in the face of a potential fight is extremely difficult to do.

So a vicious circle of anxiety and increased arousal has formed and it’s bloody hard to break. I think that a doggy shrink consultation is required as this is a no win situation that just gets owner and dog into a flap. I’ve resisted thus far on the basis that time is a good leveller – but in this case I think that enough is enough. Watch this space…

Good advice

You’d think that after almost 20 years of working in psychiatry, I’d use the experience gained along the way to understand and get a grip of Mrs Bitey’s ways. I try to, and I know that logically that my reactions and responses willl shape hers, but when the powerful emotions of love and being protective come into play, all objectivity goes out of the window.

So sometimes the advice of a stranger pointing out the bloody obvious is embarassing, but it does stick.

Mid week I took Mrs B to Snobsville Common instead of the dogpark for a change. I prefer the common (although its not in the same league as Rodborough Common) as there’s more wild and open space and it’s a small haven of peace and green. However, as there is an overgrown graveyard sheltered in Squirrelmetropolis Wood bang in the middle of it, it is frequently a backdrop for a wild goose chase starring Mrs B as the Terminator and me as the exasperated owner. This is fine when we have time but not when we don’t and the unpredictability of Mrs B means that it is usually ruled out as a venue for pre work walks.

However, as I’d woken up early, we unexpectedly had a bit more time on our hands and so off we went.

Mrs B of course disappeared instantly in hot pursuit of a tree rat and was not seen again. As long as I can hear her, I can get a rough idea of where she is so don’t tend to worry too much these days, but that morning the silence was deafening. As time ticked on, I started to call her and found my voice getting louder, harsher and adopting that anxious ‘where the fuck are you?’ quaver.

At this point, I stumbled across a sturdy, ruddy cheeked no nonsense elderly aristocrat. She had the dress sense, accent and manner of the Two Fat Ladies whose TV cooking programme used to consist of a lot of roaring around on a motorbike and quaffing gin before tottering into the kitchen to rattle up a slap up dinner which always seemed to have a whole venison, a bucket of full fat cream and 3 slabs of butter as staple ingredients.

Old Aristo regarded me keenly for a second before barking “What critter have you lost then?”

I gave a brief description of Mrs B, i.e. Jack Russell, all white body, brown ears, naughty, running free range etc.

After pausing to haul her lovely pointer into the boot of a huge mud splattered estate car, she squared up “Oh yes, we crossed paths with that one a few times ! Not surprised you can’t get her back- Can’t do a damn thing with Jack Russells ! Adorable of course but exceedingly bally naughty. And infernally noisy. We normally collect one on our travels but not seen him this morning. Not that I’m sorry. I can’t bear all that bally barking. Noisy little beasts. How you put up with it I don’t know !”

I asked her where she’d last seen Mrs B and she vaguely waved her hand in the direction of Squirrelmetropolis “All over the bally place my dear ! She kept popping up then racing off again”. Seeing my face fall, she adopted a kinder tone, “Don’t worry. She’ll pitch up soon enough. He [gesturing at her pointer] was an absolute BEAST when I first had him! Couldn’t do a bally thing with him ! But then someone told me a trick that works and I’ve never looked back.”

She leaned forwards confidentially to explain that “The beasts get all bally excited with it all. When they hear you calling them, it just makes them even worse. They pick up on the stress in your voice and are even more beastly! You just need to sit down somewhere quietly where she can easily find you and wait. Don’t make a peep of sound! Bring a book. Just wait and they come looking for you eventually. While they can hear you, they know you’re still around. Go quiet and they’ll get rattled and come looking for you!”

I explained that although I tried to do this, it was hard as I worried Mrs B would get lost, get into a fight or run into the road after a squirrel. Old Aristo paused to chew on this then advised sagely “You can’t stop a beast from a fight or a hunt and the road will always be a problem but a squirrel won’t run that far, it’ll just go up a tree. Damn sight quicker and safer. Just sit tight on that wall there just off the path there and wait. She’ll come”

Bang on cue Mrs B appeared panting and grinning madly. I called her and proffered a treat while I hooked her onto the lead. Old Aristo beamed at me, winked broadly at Mrs B and walloped me on the back, “All ends well! Try the silent approach next time my dear” , before waving off my thanks and getting into her car with a loud tally ho to the pointer.

Today we went back there and I put this advice into practice. It worked.

Funnily enough I also saw Old Aristo as well. She greeted me jovially as I was loading Mrs B back into the car and I told her that I’d followed her advice successfully.

“Always does!” she replied with a wink and a twinkle of her eye, “Always bally does !”

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.

 

Doggy Diva

Mrs Bitey has been thoroughly spoilt in the past few weeks while we have been staying with the parents. Both parents are utterly bewitched by Bitey Charms and seem unable to refuse any of her demands.

Last night it was very cold in the Shire and Bitey, Granny and me were all ensconced in the lounge enjoying the warmth of the fire. There is an ancient and extremely comfortable recliner chair next to the radiator which is everyone’s favourite seat because it is so warm and expansive.

Unsurprisingly, Mrs B has taken a liking to the chair.

Granny also has a liking for the chair and moved said dog out of the way to claim ownership although Mrs B remained squeezed into the side of the chair. Granny didn’t mind this as Bitey is exceptionally warm. However, as the evening progressed, Mrs B began to retake the throne.

It started with subtle prods and kicks with her back legs. Then some squirming to try to manouver behind so that she could boot Granny out of the seat. When this failed, Mrs Bitey feigned heat stroke and began panting but refused to move an inch. The panting got worse and worse and Mrs B went from a refusal to seemingly being unable to move. In the end, Granny got a bit concerned and stood up in an attempt to encourage Bitey to get down and cool off. Wrong move.

Within seconds, the panting has magically disappeared and Mrs Bitey had swung around lying across the full length of the chair with her paws stretched out as far as they could go ready to ward off any attempts of anyone else sitting down with a hefty kick.

So Granny was relegated to the sofa and Mrs B reclined regally, occasionally deigning to glance up to give a gloating smirk.

And if that isn’t the behaviour of a spoilt doggy diva, then I don’t know what is.