I’ve never owned a dog. My Dad could possibly claim that this was his single greatest (some would say only) victory as head of our household. He grew up on a farm, where dogs were for rounding up sheep and definitely were never allowed in the house. The conversation (had biannually) when we were growing up went something like this:
“Daaaad, can we have a dog?”
“No, you kids can’t have a bloody dog. Dogs are for working, not for pets. Having a dog in town is not right.”
Sure, I like the concept of dogs, with their waggly tails and their adorable puppy dog eyes, but I was a bit of a novice about the realities and practicalities of dog ownership.
I am a novice no more. Over the weekend we looked after our friends’ dogs while they were in Austria for a wedding. They live in a small village in the countryside, and I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend, watching English telly (blessing be upon the satellite dish) and taking rambling walks through the vineyards with the dogs.
Our charges were possibly the most comical hounds to ever have graced the planet: a poodle with an endearing under bite, who for all intents and purposes is a cat; and a wiry Dachshund with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes and a penchant for humping EVERYTHING.
For the first day and a bit, I was convinced that the poodle had an incomplete digestive tract. I saw the food go in, and I just assumed at some point it would undergo digestion, the nutrients would be absorbed, and then the waste would be eliminated, but no matter how far, or how often we walked, he simply refused to poo. Finally, something magical happened. It is best described in gymnastic parlance as a “straddle press handstand with splits and poo”. Had I not seen it, I would not have believed a dog could crap with a degree of difficulty of 4.5.
They were for the most part great friends - except for when it came to the humping blanket, which we named Cecile the Saucy Minx (CtSM). This was when things got interesting. It seems they had both fallen in love – in the biblical sense - with CtSM, and they vied for her love and affection, trying to outdo each other, and made sure that the other wasn’t getting any, ahem, special time with her.
The verdict? Dogville - great for a visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. I’m pretty happy living in Catland.
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