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 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.

Nan

The old saying about not judging a book by its cover has some wisdom behind it and although I like to think that I don’t judge, I do so frequently-  as does the rest of the world. I’m just honest enough to admit it.

So on first glance, Nan looked like a archetypal little sweet old lady. A tinge of blue rinse, sensible winterwear and two long haired tiny terriers, each sporting a matching snug coat. One was yapping non stop and was able to sniff, wee and jog about while in mid yap. Mrs Bitey had a vague sniff but didn’t pay a lot of attention to them as she was busy with vital squirrel observation duties.

Nan said hello and paused to chat about the usual elderly chat top topics: weather, time of year etc.

Another Dog Park regular, Fang, a scary looking but very soppy Alsatian was in the distance with his owner Sandie. Mrs B likes Fang as much as she likes any dog, i.e. not a lot but tolerates his presence, and Sandie is lovely and knows Mrs B well so there were no worries of a Tricky nature.

Nan gestured her head at Mrs B and asked “Is ‘e friendly?” She then peered at Fang in the distance, “what abat ‘im?” before appearing to anxiously glance down at her 2 terriers. I found myself burbling on in a gushing reassuring manner about how lovely Fang is and how well behaved he is etc.

Nan looked unconvinced and then piped up “Pity. I was ‘oping ‘e’d ‘ave that noisy one and teach ‘er a lesson! I ‘ate ‘er, she’s a facking COW!”

It’s hard to explain the tone of voice in which the word COW was spat out. It was more like a drawn out CAAHH really and was spiked with OAP venom.

Stunned is not the word. With my chin(s) resting somewhere near to my toes, I nodded mutely as Nan told me about how she had lost her beloved Rottweiler and was now walking the terrier pair regularly for a friend. “It’s not the same” she sniffed, “Especially wiv that noisy facking COW. I ‘ate her”.

It was like meeting Nan from the Catherine Tate show and I found myself casually glancing around for a camera crew.

I bade Nan a hasty farewell as Mrs Bitey was starting to size up the Yappy COW in a vaguely menacing way and I didn’t share the prospect of a dismembered Yappy COW in the same vein as Nan did.

As a parting shot, Nan told me…

“My friend’s got two of them little ‘uns an’ all, them chawawa fings. Don’t even get me started on them little fackers…”

I didn’t