Dog’s Abuse
Sonny (right) and the reason I got my own dog, Oscar (left)
who belongs to my mates
As regular Misssives readers will know, I am a novice dog owner.
The object of my dogged affection is seven month old Sonny, (aka, “The Black Menace”). I love him. But I love him the way Peggy Mitchell loved them Mitchell sons of hers in “Eastenders”. Dogs can sometimes be hard to love. They are sometimes a bit too doggy and do dreadfully doggy things.
I love that boy despite the fact that at Christmas he chewed through the straps of my treasured Cath Kidston cowboy weekend bag.
I still love him despite the fact that just this morning he chewed the corner of my favourite Marimekko scarf that I brought back from yer actual Finland (home of the Marimekko loveliness) WHILST I WAS STILL WEARING IT.
Expensive tastes….I think. Grrrr!
Despite all the transgressions and the occasional and brief urge to take him back to the shop for a refund, I remain resolute: that dog is the making of the Flying Martinis. And anyone who don’t like my dog, can get tae Falkirk.
Which brings me onto a little annoyance that happened this week.
Sonny was present at a little birthday party. He likes a chocolate finger as much as any kid would at a birthday tea. He likes to loiter with intent around the table offering birthday treats. He also likes to hopefully cruise by those with opposable thumbs who may be in possession of…. or even better, offer him a birthday treat. It’s a shame he isn’t allowed birthday treats but he lives in hope. Who can blame him?
What neither me or the dog was expecting was that one of the adult party guests would slap him sharply on the snout whenever he approached the table. This happened about four or five times. Oh and this was neither the birthday boy or the owner of the table. Not that being either of these people would have excused this behaviour.
I don’t hit my dog. It’s wrong. I believe you should not hit dogs anymore than you should hit children. A dog that has been hit is a dog that is more likely to bite in the future. I was very angry.
But I said nothing. I just tried to control him and keep him away from the dog abuser.
I don’t know why I didn’t wade in and tell him to keep his hands to himself. Not my style, I suppose: but I should have. I found out later that, after the last slapping, my sister had stepped in and done the job for me. And I thank her for that.
So I am annoyed on two counts; first at the bloke who hit my dog. But far more I am pissed off at myself. Why didn’t I take him to task?
I need to be more like my wee sister.
Sometimes you need to sweep social niceties aside and stand up for yourself (and your delinquent pup).
And also isn’t it the way it always goes, in the same way childless people tut and tell you how to control your children, that folk who know sweet FA about dogs always seem to know best when it comes to training a dog?
This is going to run and run. For about 14 years, I reckon.
