It’s ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it

Every time I look at my left knee, I have a reminder of when I fell over, aged 10, on the way to the school sports day. I can remember vividly my parents recoiling in horror when they saw the wound as it was deep and full of bits of grit. As it was clear that I was not going to allow my savlon wielding mother any nearer than arms length, I was dispatched to the local A&E department where I apparently allowed a doctor and several nurses poke and dig about for ages with swabs without making a sound other than to ask if I could see how much grit they’d removed. (Quite a lot I recall).

Mrs Bitey is very similar in that she will allow the vet to do virtually anything to her. Over the past week she has allowed the vet to do things that she’d bite my hand off if I dared to try. She hates her paws being touched and yet she has let them be examined and have assorted thistles removed from them. Today was the ultimate indignity- the quarterly anal gland emptying, a task so vile and disgusting that I thank Mrs B for not allowing me to take part in let alone do.

There is something about it being easier to trust someone who knows what they are doing and are in a position of authority when you need something difficult or unpleasant done. Maybe the unfamiliarity and professional aura reduces the embarassment a bit- but how does Mrs B know all this? It cannot just be getting treats- she has turned down roast chicken from me yet gladly woofed down low fat liver treats from the vet nurses before now- so maybe it is something else that she connects with?

In some ways I am quite relieved that I am spared some of these tasks, but I’m not sure that my bank balance agrees….

Double trouble

Canine and human hearts collectively sank this morning on arrival at the Dog Park as the gruesome twosome Old English Sheepdog duo of Tricky and Dicky were in residence along with their owner, Mr Crackberry.

Mr Crackberry dresses the part for his park outings- Hunter wellies, Belstaff motorbike jacket (as worn by the ever gorgeous and much mourned Steve Mc Queen) and suitably Boden-esque casual clothing. However it is a shame that he does not lavish as much time on his dogs as he does on his sartorial style and incessant tapping on his Blackberry.

I love Old English Sheepdogs- a very dear friend of mine who lives t’up north on’t moors has the most delightful mature OES gent who, apart from sporting the world’s most saggy testicles (think tangerine suspended from a pair of tights), is a huge soppy cuddly yeti who I adore. I’ve looked after him a few times now and he is a lovely lad- but bloody hard work at times. He is big, boisterous, strong, needs firm boundaries and lots of exercise. Mrs B is terrified of him because his paws are roughly the size of her head, and she hates all other dogs anyway, but he is a good natured soul who ignores or bats off lairy terrier growling with a flick of a paw.

Firm boundaries and lots of exercise are the two things that Tricky and Dicky do not seem to have. Mr CB is always far too busy playing with his Blackberry or chatting up clones to engage with his dogs. He never brings any toys to keep the duo amused. Consequently, they charge around the park without command or stimulation. I assume that Mr CB thinks that the duo are capable of amusing themselves. Trust me, they are not.

Dicky runs around but clearly is the passive pooch of the pair. Tricky lives up to his name and is a bolshy bully boy. He charges around aggressively knocking over or barging smaller dogs out of his way. He tries to snatch toys from the jaws of others and when not throwing his weight about, he lies on the grass, beady eyes watching avidly for a moment when he can pounce. I’ve copped a few bruises and mud on my keks when Tricky has bounced off my legs.

Mr CB is inevitably too busy fiddling with his phone to even know where in the park Tricky is- let alone what he is doing. When he eventually glances up from feverish tapping, usually in response to me shouting at Tricky to leave Bitey alone, he gives the most wet, drippy, cringing whistling noise and asks, yes asks Tricky to come back. Tricky takes absolutely no notice and so there is a palpable sigh from Mr CB as he has to snatch his eyes away from his digital addiction and actually come over to hustle Tricky away. Incidentally he never apologises for the mud all over me or the fact that Mrs Bitey, fur bristled but tail passively clamped down over her bum, is running for her life with Tricky hot on her heels attempting to flip her over and nick her ball. Mr CB is impassive as Mrs B flees growling and snapping, sometimes pausing to smile indulgently at what he thinks is doggy play.

It’s not play from where I’m standing. It’s dominant, aggressive behaviour as a result of a lack of stimulation, exercise and control. It usually means that our time in the park comes to a premature end as the constant attacks become intolerable. This incenses me to a degree where I fear I will have strong words although don’t as they are unlikely to have any impact (my politer requests to call Tricky off are never acknowledged). In many ways I feel sorry for Tricky as it cannot be much fun being ignored and left to his own devices.

Mrs Bitey is certainly no angel and can be a bully with smaller dogs herself. Her recall is not very reliable and she does regularly bugger off hunting. However, I do attempt to keep law and order and any lairy behaviour towards other dogs is swiftly dealt with. I try to ensure that she gets lots of play, focussed exercise and attention and whilst I am sure that I could do more, she seems content and stimulated.

I fail to see the point of having two lovely but needy dogs if all one is interested in is playing with a mobile phone. Our canine friends are not mini furry humans that can amuse themselves and use time in the park as the same social occasion as their owners do. Making sure that your dog has regular trips to the groomer and is always seen sporting the latest designer collar is very nice but not a substitute for exercise and attention. It is grossly unfair on the duo and other dogs who end up as prey and yet I’m willing to bet that Mr CB would be horrified if I told him that I think his behaviour borders on neglect.

Thankfully, Mrs Bitey usually has a ball clamped in her jaw so has not yet lived up to her name. She has however, issued a lot of ‘fuck off’ growls to the point that I feel it is only a matter of time before she takes a chunk out of Tricky. I won’t blame her when she does either- I doubt Mr CB will take that view though.