Sore paw

As you cannot fail to notice, Mrs Bitey likes to live life to the max. Unfortunately, this lifestyle of extremes inevitably leads to various injuries and trips to the vet to be patched up.

After an eventful year of ripped claws, fox fight wounds and resultant mange, a broken tooth, a hoppity knee and the season finale removal of dew claws, I was skint and Mrs B very pissed off. I can be forgiven I think for considering the claw removal as being the nadir and that things could only improve. It was looking hopeful for the future as we hadn’t needed to visit for a good 3 months, aside from the annual MOT and boosters visit at Christmas.

So, this week, just as the clinic team were forgetting what we looked like, Mrs Bitey developed a rather sore paw. For variation, this time it was a front one and she spent a good deal of time hopping and squealing when it accidentally got caught it in the harness as well as looking an exceedingly mournful and out of sorts doggy. When rest and a dab of cure-all sudocrem didn’t seem to help, it was time to go to the vet once more.

Despite being foiled in a spirited, but ultimately unsuccessful attempt at bolting out of the door and then being subjected to a thorough examination with bitey teeth muzzled for safety, Mrs B did manage to maintain a reasonable demeanour and indeed wangle a great deal of treats, take her first dose of steroids and generally look cutely hard done by. Her paw is very inflamed and appears to be a allergic reaction to something – probably cheap health service grass fertilizer – so it’s the joy of tablets for a week then back for a review.

Mrs B is not the only one that’s needed a trip to the vet lately. Earlier in the week, we saw lovely Sandie and soppy old Fang the Alsatian in the dog park. We’d not seen them since the Post Op Exile in the West, so it was really nice to see them both and quite touching to get such a heartfelt welcome back. Fang habitually likes to sit on my feet and look up at me until I tickle his ears – which I duly did whilst chatting to Sandie and keeping a jealous Bitey busy with playing ball. I noticed that Fang had a wound on his face which had swollen up a fair bit and it transpired that Tricky, one half of the dreaded Tricky and Dicky duo, was responsible. Fang had apparently poked his head through the gate and been set on by Tricky who’d been lying in the grass nearby.This didn’t surprise me. Tricky often pounces unexpectedly after eyeing his prey for a while. I’ve seen him do it and Mrs B has been on the receiving end enough times.

Sandie also told me that Tricky had almost been bitten in self-defence by an exasperated member of Liz Duke’s Fab Four who had been provoked, harassed and attacked endlessly by Tricky. Mr Crackberry had apparently remained true to form, fiddling with his phone, unaware of his dog’s antics and then when finally noticing the
melee, making a feeble whistling noise in a pathetic attempt to call Tricky away. Thankfully Liz waded in and separated the scrapping pair before any serious injury was done. I was aghast by this news as Liz’s dogs are so good-natured. I do feel that it illustrates just how persistently aggressive Tricky is though.

I took little comfort in my wariness of Tricky being justified, especially when a handsome boy like Fang got injured and the clone prejudice towards the fab four staffies reinforced but I did feel vindicated. Mr Crackberry has frequently implied that my response to Tricky pestering Mrs B has been disproportionate and indeed has been quick to assume that Mrs B is the problem. Certainly Mrs B is prone to using attack as a primary tactic for defence and can be extremely unpredictable with other dogs, but my gut feeling has always been that Tricky is the instigator and is far too dominant. However, an owner like Mr CB who cannot see any fault in his own dogs, surrounded by colluding clone cronies with a similar mindset, makes it very easy for me to doubt my judgement and assume that Mrs B is the problem.

Sandie’s news also explained the absence of Tricky and Dicky, who I’d not seen hide nor hair of since the return from exile. I briefly began to imagine a Tricky free dog park and harboured a glimpse of a reformed Mr CB finally ditching his phone, growing a pair and taking responsibility for his dogs. It was very short lived. The very next morning, Tricky and Dicky arrived in the park and Tricky immediately seized upon the sighting of Mrs B as a target for frenzied barking, chasing and posturing. We had to abandon playing ball and exit the park rapidly. Mr CB played with his sodding phone although did call Tricky back slightly more frequently than usual.

It will be interesting to see what happens next but it is quite reassuring to know that the Tricky problem is not solely of my making.

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

Abandon your dignity at the park gate

One thing I’ve learnt is that being a dog parent means that you have to accept the fact that you will make an arse of yourself on a regular basis. Our canine friends like our attention and lots of praise when they please us. A brief nod or acknowledgement of a job well done will not suffice.

Mrs Bitey has found the clocks going back and the advancing winter months rather frustrating as it has reduced daylight but paradoxically increased squirrel visibility due to the absence of leaves. This has meant that there has been a lot of running away, squeezing through the fence to the adjoining sports field that hosts a squirrel colony and a lot of ignoring my ‘come here’ commands.

This in turn has meant a rethink in strategy and a return to how we forged a relationship in the first place. We have managed a fairly good squirrel detox so far by making playing ball more exciting again. This mainly involves me jumping around, waving my arms and making loud and delighted exclamatations everytime Mrs B resists the temptation to bugger off hunting and decides to bring the ball back instead.

Mrs B naturally loves the excitement and noise. I have had to accept that the sight of a big bird leaping about noisily does draw attention and funny looks- but not as much as the sight of said big bird trying to retrieve a delinquent terrier from hunting in someone’s garden for an elusive tree rat.

It has been interesting to watch how other owners behave with their dogs. The vast majority are too reserved or image conscious to do anything other than call their dog before returning to a somewhat uncomfortable looking demeanour. The exceptions to this are Liz Duke, leader of the Bull Frat with her boisterous brood of 4 staffies and the Badly Done Botox Woman from the Clones who frequently hurls herself into loud and fun play with her pointer as well as any other passing pooches who are drawn into the frey.

Both Liz and BDBW enjoy excellent relationships with their dogs, all of whom are engaged and really enjoy a boisterous romp around. The Duke staffy brood have proven to be 4 of the most friendly and fun dogs that frequent the Dog Park and I remain mildly ashamed of my misjudged flinch as all 4 charged towards me in a hail of wagging and woofing the first time that I met them. BDBW’s pointer looks mournful but actually is a gentle giant relearning how to have fun (his previous owners didn’t bother with fun).

I love watching both Liz and BDBW play with their dogs without inhibition. Their dogs clearly benefit and relish the attention and fun that is showered upon them. BDBW sometimes looks like Dr Doolittle with a pack of excited dogs bouncing around her. Mrs Bitey loves a riotous romp and seems to prefer this to squirrel hunting (for now!). The sight of she who I love the most having the greatest fun never fails to lift my spirits even in driving rain, freezing cold and biting wind. Even when the depression demon has an iron grip on my soul, the act of playing with Mrs B loosens that grip for a few minutes.

Yet so many owners lose out on this by standing on the sidelines worrying that they will make a tit of themselves or may have to give something of themselves. It’s easy to fall into a routine that becomes perfunctory and I was very guilty of this. Thankfully, the great thing about dogs is that although they can’t tell us, their actions speak much louder and once there is a reinjection of fun and energy, they forgive and forget instantly and get stuck in to the serious business of having fun.

This morning the saddest sight was that of Rocco, a sleek doberman, peering hopefully through the gate at me with a ball in his mouth. His owner, a regular who looks like a Footballer’s Wife stood engrossed in her iPhone, oblivious of everyone and everything beyond her need to text.

A tail of two opposites

The strange thing about the Dog Park is that it attracts two types of dog/ owner who are polar opposites.

Enter stage left is the Bull Terrier Fraternity. Burberry is a favoured look, along with a battered car, dangling Lambert & Butler and a dog that looks like the poster child for ‘Britain’s Most Dangerous’. Rotties, alsatians, staffies, plain bulls or just plain scary- they rampage around the park with a host of toys and barking.

Enter stage right is the Boden Clone Society. Smug affluence blended with the belief that they are the most important/busy/gorgeous person in the world creates a brand that borders on Stepford Wives. Mulberry bag, Hunter wellies, ill parked 4X4 or similiar and Blackberry essential. And the dogs? Spaniels, labs and border terriers preferred and usually ignored or left to their own devices to ‘play’ i.e. chase other dogs to the point of harassment then nick their toys.

The Boden Clones are, as you can imagine, shit scared of the Bull Terrier Frat Pack. Interestingly the latter tend to have better behaved, socialised dogs, actually play with them and bag up their poo.

Where do Mrs B and I fit in this social subculture? Somewhere off centre I guess. I’m too ‘posh’ for the Bulls and too ‘common/fat/unattractive/botox free’ for the clones. So I do my own thing and observe (and now blog) from the side lines. It’s not a bad place to be and as I have been a very round peg in a very square hole for most of my years, not unfamiliar territory

the first post

So here we are at the popping of my blogging cherry. I’ve never done this before and am not sure why I am doing so now. Maybe it is cathartic, maybe an attempt to seek fame or infamy, maybe just using the opportunity to self publish boring monologues. Who knows and who cares?

Enough preamble. Let us begin by setting the scene.

I am the owner of Mrs Bitey a small naughty and loveable Jack Russell terrier and like many fellow dog owners dote on her doggy charms and character like a new parent. And I am also an avid people watcher. The daily trips to the local doggy park fulfil both needs.

The following tales are based in and around the local recreational ground, universally known as the Dog Park which is situated in an affluent and insular suburb of West London.

Near to the dog park is the Snob School, a minor league private school with major league pretentions. Weekday morning dog park trips often coincide with the school run which is made up of a cavalcade of Executive German Saloons and Chelsea Tractors parking badly outside the Dog Park. This event is collectively known as the Snob Convoy.

Various characters and their dogs will star in the blog at appropriate moments. There are regulars who you will encounter through this blog frequently. There are other minor characters who have no notable features other than a propensity to wear the same clothes (Mulberry or Boden), have the same dogs (spaniels, chocolate Labradors, assorted unusual pedigree breeds) and all look and sound the same. These will be known collectively as Boden Clones as they attend infrequently and/or I have not bothered to find out who they are.

One of the perils of the dog fraternity is that people are known by their dog’s name rather than their own. This blog is no exception although I have attempted to distinguish between regulars by assigning them a name. All human and canine names have been changed.