Bitey and the Snapper

A curious sight greeted Mrs Bitey and myself today- an aged amateur photographer. Our walks of late have been beautiful but quite mundane in terms of amusement and we both miss the characters of the dog park and riotous manic games of fetch with the ball thrower. I’m still raw, infected and sore post surgery and can only play ball with one on a rope which I can swing- throw without too much strain on my wound.

So the unexpected diversion of a geriatric snapper was both a source of curiosity and amusement.

Mr Pentax had all the gear- but little idea. His camera was mounted on a tripod and had the most enormous lens on it. In fact when I first saw him lugging the tripod I thought he had a telescope on it.

At this juncture I must admit to a small pang of envy as I love photography and taught myself the basics of using an SLR. My meagre selection of lenses are a telephoto long range, my trusty Sigma all rounder zoom and an ancient mid range with macro. This lens was in a totally different league and must have been at least a grand’s worth of kit.

Sadly this beautiful kit was being used badly to photograph … seagulls. Despite the wonderful panoramic views surrounding him, Mr Pentax was standing in the least inspiring muddy patch of the common looking at scabby sea birds.

It wasn’t going well. By the time Mr Pentax had lugged the gear to a suitable spot, composed the shot and farted about, the gulls had flown off. He then tutted, picked up the tripod and moved to a new location and started this laborious process all over again.

The few times that the gulls stayed in shot were ruined by Mrs Bitey unexpectedly charging into view- our rather unpredictable game of fetch with the ball on a rope was hampered by the combination of a strong breeze and very lightweight ball.

The irony of it all was that if Mr Pentax had stayed still and fired off the shutter in small bursts, he’d have got the perfect shot. His lens was an ultra high speed one that professional sports photographers use- it is designed for capturing fast moving objects !

After endless tutting, glaring at me and constantly moving his kit around, Mr Pentax admitted defeat. His parting shot was to bitterly tell me that he’d got a lot of photos of Mrs B. Sadly I didn’t get to see them as he stomped off in a huff when I asked if the shots were any good.

Shame that.

Walkin’ the dawgs

I’ve been thinking about professional dog walkers a lot of late. Given the perilous state of the public sector, it may well be an option in the worse case scenario of me joining the dole queue.

I am using a walker, the lovely Laura, for Mrs B at the end of next week as I am having surgery and cannot drive or do much afterwards. I am going west to the Shire for the op and am staying with my family. Once you get out of London, it is a lot easier to find out who the genuine walkers with the best service are- for one thing you see them out and about and generally speaking, local knowledge is pretty sound. The great thing about Mrs B’s walker is that she is a friend of a friend who runs her own business and has a genuine passion for all things canine. Mrs Bitey has met her and loves her. When in the Shire, I often see the van parked up for hours while she walks the common lands with her charges. She takes a small number of dogs, charges very reasonable rates and is always tooled up with toys and balls. I trust her completely and know that Mrs B will have good fun and lovely long walks.

Not so here in the Capital. Dog walking is big business, especially in my manor where there is more money than sense. Large commercial companies now run pan London services and charge the earth for it too. I briefly investigated it for emergencies when I first got Mrs Bitey but the prices were prohibitively expensive for my meagre budget.

I was also a bit wary, despite the slick websites and promises of high spec air conditioned dog vans and bespoke door to door services. I later found that I had reason to be. A local common ground is a well used dog walking company route. On the occasions that I took Bitey there, I invariably got boxed in by dog vans and regularly saw bored looking ‘walkers’ ambling along with a carrier bag of dog shit, taking little notice or interest in their charges. There was always one poor old dog who got left behind as s/he couldn’t keep up with the others. There was rarely any sign of the promised play. One day I ventured in to a wooded area looking for Mrs B who was squirrel hunting and found several dog walkers sat on a bench with coffees and fags while the dogs poked or wandered aimlessly about. Judging by the fag ends, the walkers had been there a while.

Then one day I saw something that really horrified me. A van pulled up and a nonchalant woman strolled around, opened the van doors and let the dogs out. There were at least 7 of them and they ran around for 10 minutes then were loaded back into the van. This was a company that claimed to give dogs a minimum of an hour and charged a high whack for it too. Of course, the great thing for these companies is that dogs cannot tell their owners what really happens when they go out for their ‘bespoke walk’.

At that point I vowed never to use a corporate company and to only use a walker if it was one that I knew really cared about the animals entrusted to them.

I also stopped going to the common with Mrs B as there are only so many times that you can be philosophical about being boxed in by a dog van and seeing dogs, whose owners have paid both financially and in trust, being ignored by an impassive walker who clearly wants to do anything other than walk a gang of strange dogs.

I do sympathise with dog walkers- they brave all winds and weathers, have to pick up tons of poo and cope with a variety of other peoples’ mutts without any of the fringe benefits of cuddling up for unconditional love later. I can’t imagine the big companies pay much either. However, owners entrust their beloved pets to them and certainly in this neck of the woods, pay a huge premium with the expectation that their dog will get a first class service as promised.

There are of course many reputable and dedicated walkers like L, but in the city where many folk work a considerable distance from where they live, where there are a gaggle of companies with slick marketing all promising the earth and there does not appear to be much regulation, how can people make the right choice?

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.

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.