Dog on it

Ok so I'm not too proud to admit when I'm wrong.

Really.

I didn't want to get a dog. 

It's not that I don't like dogs. They always seemed great. Then again, desert death adders seem pretty cool but I've never wanted to live with one free to roam about my house. I'm just more comfortable with animals that live in a tank; or in the wild. 

Dogs roam about. They roam about everywhere! They roam about your house and rummage among your stuff and they really don't care about your opinion in terms of which objects are or aren't valuable. Your expensive trainers are just something enticing and eminently chewable but if you try to reclaim the clothes peg that she has taken a shine to, you will get a short shrift indeed! You can't put a dog away when you're done playing with it. In fact, it is more like having a small, furry lodger who doesn't speak the same language as you and shits in the corner when it's raining. 

It's a big responsibility too. I am, despite my worryingly advancing years, only just capable of being responsible for myself. Never mind being master of a wild animal like this one!

Biscuit, a dog who I now live with.

Look at her, see the hidden mayhem in those eyes! When we see people in the park, they cower in terror! 

That's another thing, I wasn't ready for the increased social expectations that come with allowing a dog into your life. I have lived where I live for virtually all of my life and in the last six weeks I have been astonished to find that there is a whole canine underworld that I have been denied access to because I lack the necessary quadruped. After being at work for three days, I took our little scamp for her morning walk. We only went for about twenty minutes or so but we met five sets of owners/pooches who all... all addressed her in friendly terms before giving me a second look. They were on first name terms!

"Hello Biscuit!" they'd say in soothing tones before looking me up and down and asking "and who have you brought with you today?" in a vaguely accusatory manner. Brought with her? I'm just the sidekick! I'm just the person who holds the treats and carries little bags of poo everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. 

It's like being a parent. So much so that since we have had the Biccie here, we have engaged in a few spirited bouts of a game I like to call 'Dog vs Baby' in which you compete to see which is the more difficult to live with.

I'll save you all some time, dogs win. 

Seriously. 

If you have a baby then I'm sure you think that it's tough. There are some areas where I'll concede that you have it worse; you don't feed a dog from your own body, for example (not if you value your nipples you don't, trust me). However, until you've stood in the rain with your baby trying to get it to poo on a specific patch of your garden with only puppy treats for motivation and with your neighbours laughing at you cooing the phrase "poo-poos" over and over, you will have little sympathy from me.

Ok I'm exaggerating there for comic effect but still, outside, in the rain!

Next thing you know, you're hooked. The little monster that has chewed your socks and shit in your washing basket for fun will nudge your arm with her nose while you're typing and cuddle up to you, or you'll call her name from across a field and watch the pure, all pervading joy of a dog's face as they run towards the people that they love.

Then you're lost. You belong to them for as long as you are lucky enough to have them. 

It turns out it's a dog's life, but only for people.

T

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