Tuesday 17 November 2009

It's a dogs life

I've decided that if such a thing as transmogrification exists I want to come back as a dog, specifically, my dog.


The family gets up in the morning rushes around getting ready for work or school and without thinking stepping over a large golden lump lying on the landing. Feet flying past it's ears, landing on the carpet millimeters in front of it's nose. Movement? If your lucky maybe a raised eyebrow or a desultory single wag of the tail if someone mentions his name. Even when the food bowl is rattling as his breakfast is served not a twitch. Maybe a few minutes later a leisurely rise, stretch and a slow saunter downstairs to see whats on offer. If the cat seems to find his bowl more attractive than it's own does he rush, growl, snap, snarl? No just a look over his shoulder at me with that "Well are you gonna do something about that" look.
Then just amble out and stand by the kitchen door looking out, he has us well trained, "D'you want to go out mate". Doesn't even look, 'What d'you think I'm stood here for'. Sometimes he'll just walk slowly out and have a sniff round. Other days he hits the garden at a rush going for the back fence with a single long woooof, chasing something only he can see, then pads back happy that he's seen whatever it was off his patch.

Then to the important business of the day, sleeping. The ability of this mutt to chill out and stack Z's is awesome to behold. Anywhere will do, draught excluding the front door (added bonus he knows whose in and out) or if someone's dumb enough to leave the front room door open he'll be on the sofa. If I get back in when he's been on his own the head appears round the door before my keys out of the door.
"Oh Hi there"
"You've been on the sofa haven't you"
"Who me? nah"
"It's still warm"
"The cat did it"
"The cat doesn't make half the damn couch warm"
"So sue me, any chance of a biscuit"
I'm still not entirely sure who owns who in this relationship but I'm damn sure who goes out and works himself to death and who would rather be sparko on the sofa.

I will admit that one of the best parts of the day is the walk in the park. Any one of several clues gets him bouncing. The obvious lead, putting my boots on, he even knows the sound of me picking up my Ipod.
Then into the back of the car, eventually. Same routine every time, stands there and looks at me.
"Don't you think thats a bit high"
"Well I ain't lifting ya, you weigh as much as a small house"
"Oh alright"

A nice day in the park, no rain for a couple of weeks. Doesn't matter, he'll find it and take a run from 20 yards. Puuuuuudddddle. Not any more it's not. What's not over him is blossoming outward in a wave that a surfer would die for. On rainy days the Golden Retriever is definitely not Golden but a delicate shade of mud having been through every pool of standing muddy water and had a good roll around for good measure. And what is it with dogs and arse sniffing? He's had his nose up more backsides than the average politician. Like a politician in more ways than one because if it's a bitch in heat that's it. Total deaf mode switches in I could scream myself hoarse and still get no reaction. Eventually get him back on the lead and walk him halfway round the park and think that's far enough away to slip the lead off again. Like a cruise missile in a dead straight line to the last known position scattering old women and children that happen to get in the way. The extra exercise I get in spring chasing that hound. He's a retriever by breed not inclination throw him a stick and he'll be after it like any normal dog, grab it and come padding back. Until he gets about 15 feet away then the realisation kicks in.
'No way, your gonna throw it again, I just ran after that, I'll just put it down over there, you go and get it'

Then back home where he drops in the corner like a thrown wet towel. That's it just drops no shuffling round to get comfortable, no minor wriggling to get the knots out that we would do. Just drops and every single muscle is instantly relaxed and he doesn't give a stuff that he's caked in crap. Why should he it'll drop out when he's dry and some other mug will sweep it up.

The cat walks straight past his nose and meows to be let out and is met by a raised eyebrow as he looks at me and then at the cat.
"How come you get to go out on your own"
"Because I'm superior and more intelligent than you"
"Yeh! well at least I've still got my nuts"

I may have just found a flaw in my argument.