i hate dogs

Contrary to what the title of the blog suggests I don't actually hate dogs, but it sets the theme for my comments of the day. I'll aim to proceed in chronological order on this subject and see how well i get on. Im tired (of dogs) and I've already deviated from my point so Im not exactly hopeful of a clear blog here. Bear with me-animal pun not intended.

ANYWHO, it all started way back when I was a little lass. Being the youngest I was a bit of a spoiled brat and needed all the attention focussed on myself or it would be tantrum central. Then HE came along. A furry little creature called Max that came into our household and tried to steal my parent's love from me. He belonged to my sister who had no love for me anyway so I needed to take my revenge in the simple, psychotic way that little girls do. As I sat on the potty in the bathroom swinging my legs, I was singing away when a terribly genius idea came to me. I whistled for the loyal-til-death dog, who was oblivious to the fact that I never wanted to look at him, let alone whistle for him. In he bounded pushing open the bathroom door, and with only the agility of a four year old girl could do, I leaped from my position with a mid-air kung-fu style kick at the door and trapped the poor little thing's tail in the door.

So fast forward twenty odd years with many rodents and rabbits in between, my parents decide to go travelling for a few months and ask me to, not only mind their old persons love nest for them, but also the two mutts that come attached. Bearing in mind these dogs are like the only grandchildren the pair are going to have, and knowing my flaky history with pets (one of the mutts i think was mine once upon a younger year); it is beyond me why I was the 'obvious' choice. But I went along with the charade-no rent or flatmates for a while sounded ideal, and sure what was the odd walk or chucking a bit of food to the pets once in a while? How naive was I?

If I EVER have notions of popping out a sprog, it is not the inevitable stretchmarks and droopy boobies that will put me off, but a re-read of this blog and the reminder of the intense responsibility to care for a living being will do it. Not only do the two stare at me constantly watching for me to perform for them, they also demand to be rubbed to the point of hand cramp-very hard to do when they get extremely jealous of each other and theres only one of me. They have also mastered the art of making me feel guilty; so I have effectively turned into a fool. Dragged around an icy park at 730 on a Sunday morning, feeding them rashers at 130 on a Thursday night(I felt bad for leaving them in the cold all day), letting them toddle round the house with me as I do-not a good idea when weak/excited bladders are involved. My life revolves around them.

The cruncher came though when I returned from a trip away with my sister for a few days, and we asked a friendly neighbour to do the duties while we were gone. BAD IDEA. If I never knew what three day old dog poo smells like, I do now. Not only was it on the carpet(app neighbour didnt understand that upstairs was off limits:p) but it was also stuck to one of my lovely mongrels asses. An hr long mutt-shower involving two people, headlocks, many snarls, and a tube of bleach later, I was traumatised for life.

My friend asks me to come for dinner-'I cant I'm walking the dogs I say' in disgust. 'I hate dogs' he says in jest and we arrange to meet the following day. On arrival for some well deserved grub and vino the next day, my mate's door remains unanswered to my knock. Upon ringing to question the reason why I have been stranded in the cold, my dinner buddy has gone looking for his puppy that has escaped through the garden fence. An hour long charade ensues involving a crawling car, many questions of whereabouts shouted through open window, and uncharacteristically highly nervous passenger next to me looking for his lost mutt. It ends where it began and the dog is found in the neighbour's garden, but the damage had been done and my mate can never pull off his hardcore unemotional side with me again. We comment on the karma effect of the previous day's comment, and I wonder about all the complaining I've done re the pair I've left at home that evening. Not only have I grudgingly grown to care for the stupid things but my life wouldn't be worth living if my parents came back to even a slight change in personality of one of them.

I've got to go. You guessed it. Park here I come... whistle whistle.