Archive for April, 2007

The more observant of my readers may have noticed an omission in my musings - there are no girls in the gang. In fact, there are very few, just one I think, mentioned in the stories at all.

That was Candy, a prize-winning bitch belonging to Mrs Anderson who, to her owner’s surprise and consternation, decided to spend the night away from home and was believed to be the victim of dognappers.

All turned out well but the episode did make me think about the advisability of inviting girls as permanent members of the gang. I raised the dilemma with the boys on a number of occasions and the consensus appeared to be that we were better off with a male-only rule.

Their reasons were somewhat obtuse. Girls, they thought, were more likely to disobey orders and be less disciplined. Then there was the problem of puppies.

While the boys generally had no objection to pups per se ( I think the use of a little Latin is permissible in these blogs, raises the tone a bit), after all they were once youngsters themselves; it’s the fuss and bother pups bring in their wake that annoys them, and me I have to admit.

They take all the attention after birth and the fathers are forgotten. Our contribution to the event is hardly ever acknowledged and we are packed off quickly back to our own homes after our role is complete.

Whoever thinks about bringing to pups to meet their dad? Very few owners indeed.
When they get a little older are they ever told who their father was? No is the answer to that one.

It’s all about the mothers and their role in bringing up the pups. Why should they have to do this important task without the help of the father. Humans are very fond of emphasising the importance of a male parent in the development of children. Why not us?

For these reasons and because we dogs feel that we are not given the opportunity to help with our offspring, the gang, on a majority vote, decided to not to admit girls. Usually I do not hold with such democratic procedures and feel that my view should always prevail. But in an important decision such as this I decided to let the boys have a say.

The fact that I lobbied quite fiercely for the ban had some bearing on the result I am sure. In fact I took each one aside and explained the problems of having girls in the gang, adding quite a few reasons to those already discussed.

The result could well be more of those pesky pups and the girls gradually taking over – not a situation to be contemplated with any equanimity.

So, I had won again. Life can be allowed to carry on in the tranquil fashion the gang is used to. I feel vindicated in putting on the pressure.

Please, don’t anyone accuse me of disliking the girls. I am the father of numerous puppies.

That proves my point.

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The Vet seemed out of sorts last week and I could not discover a reason. I like to know what makes him tick and why he has these mood swings and, frankly, I have decided to put it down to his poor diet. His meals are irregular and contain too much of what is described these days as junk food. However, to give him his due, he is always careful to see that my meals appear regularly once every evening and contain what is generally considered to be a healthy dog diet. So plenty of protein, vitamins, the right amount of fat, with a selection minerals thrown in. Keeps me slim and vigorous and, because of my advanced age, I only suffer the aches and pains appropriate to a human of say 60ish.

A little bit of a limp here and the odd twinge there which slow me down a little, but what I lack in agility, I make up for in intelligence far beyond others of my breed, or come to that, any breed you can name. So why can’t he take advice from his friend, the good doctor Jack Simpson? I know they see each other regularly, the Vet to cast an eye over his poodle, Peaches, and the doctor to give advice on human diet. They then squabble over chess moves until I am quite weary of listening and retreat for a nap. It was not quite like that when I was a youngster. In those days there was not the variety available and the food served up to me and my friends was dreary, a diet of just biscuits and a tin of unappetising meat, never worth looking forward to.

Today, with the more varied choice, the Vet and most of the owners I know, provide really tasty and healthy meals. This fact does not help poor old Gus, my Alsatian friend. He has been a tricky eater for years and even now will often go for long periods – three or four days – without food. The Vet has tried to get to the bottom of this phenomenon and says that he has never before come across a dog who refused good wholesome food for such long periods. Not even Gus’s favourite food – dried pig’s snout – can tempt him on these “off days”. The funny fact is that he seems to suffer no ill effects from this abstinence and when we, his fellow gang members, try to discuss it with him, he shakes his head and walks away. Some of us believe it is because of a traumatic event in his early life, but we do not pry.

The choice of dog food in this country is influenced by what’s happening in the wider world. From what I hear, there are now restaurants for dogs in some cities, although who chooses the food is left in some doubt - does one point to the menu with a recently manicured paw, or does the owner sit at the table and take it upon himself, or herself, to decided what little Fido-darling is going to eat. At least who pays the bill is quite clear. We dogs don’t carry cash, a little like royalty. Dog restaurants are not the only crazy ideas. There is a chain of pet shops about to launch a co-ordinated range of dog coats, T-shirts and jewellery-encrusted leads. Even the Vet found this hilarious, he almost choked from laughing. We, on the other hand, find little funny in this sorry tale. This de-animalising, trying to make us look more like humans, is outrageous and an affront to our dignity. We shall have to start a campaign and the gang was sent home from our last meeting with instructions to come back with ideas. I do not have great hopes of their ability to carry out any lateral thinking, although the new members might be more capable. The others will have no stomach for a fight.

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As hinted in previous blogs, I have been giving much thought to enlarging my gang of faithful but rather ragtail followers. Injecting some new blood into the weary warriors seemed like a good idea when I looked them over at our last meeting.

They have never been really introduced, so here is a quick resume of my forlorn-looking followers.

First among equals is Gus, the Alsatian. Although of German descent, the British breeds among us hold no grudges for what happened all those years ago and consider him an all-round good chap. Bright, alert and always willing to help, he is regarded as my number two and takes over when I am unable to make meetings.

To be absolutely honest, Gus is probably the purest among us. The others, often without the knowledge of their owners, are not the aristocrats they believe they are. The Vicar’s two beagles, for instance, have a touch of French blood and police inspector Frank Ash is not prepared to answer question about his Cairn Terrier Spot’s antecedents. But I do not judge them harshly and they have been good supporters over the years.

Now is time for a change. Mrs Cuthwaite’s Skye Terrier, Jock, is an admirable fellow and deserves a place among us, while I thought it wise to bring in Percy the Chorkie – a mix of Yorkshire Terrier and Chihuahua - to give the hybrids a chance.. After all, we are not Crufts, or members of the Kennel Club.

I am sure everyone will get on and to encourage acceptance of the newcomers I have instigated some training sessions. For instance, they will have to learn our barking and tail-wagging codes. I am reluctant to admit that not all current members have mastered these to the standard I had expected, but I have high hope of the latest recruits.

Gus is good teacher and will be responsible for making sure there is steady progress on all fronts. I expect them to pick up the less-complicated barking procedures quickly, so that in a couple of months or so we will all be able to be in touch in code – a vital part of keeping our plans away from prying human eyes and ears – and, dare I say it, possible spies among us. Tail wagging is taking much longer than I anticipated. Only the rudiments have been mastered.

These ways of communicating become ever more imperative as new rules and regulations are forced upon us by the authorities. Only the other day there was talk of dog restrictions in parks. No longer will we be able to run freely in public places, but must be kept on leads. Already many breeds are forced to wear a muzzle guard when out for walks.

Then there is the new rule about weight, or more correctly, overweight. A dog’s obesity is regarded as being entirely the responsibility of owners who face a crippling fine if they are caught. They say it is for our health. More likely it is to raise revenue for the local authorities which are supposed to police this silly law.

I, for one, will be most annoyed if my favourite chocolate bites and the odd cream cake fail to appear on the menu in future.

The gang has spent many hours discussing these petty and spiteful rules and have come to the conclusion that resistance to them now would be futile. Like the early trades unions we are just too low in numbers to effect any changes. But like them, our time will come and we will get organised. I see myself as leader of a massive protest movement of dogs. Quite a picture.

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I wish I could have been consulted before learned professors decide the way we wag our tails is an indication of the thoughts going on in our heads. I have only one comment – absolute rubbish.

Who better to know the reasons for wagging to the left, the right, up or down, than a dog.

I overheard of this research while the Vet was speaking to one of his clients, Insp Ash, owner of Cairn Terrier, Spot, who had been brought in with a spot of bother with his tail (sorry about that, but I could not resist the temptation for a little humorous repetition).

I suppose it was Spot’s inability to move his tail at normal speed which started the Vet off on that latest piece of ridiculous research, which came from Italy, I believe. The nonsense stated, in brief, that we wag our tails to the right when we are happy and to the left when we are not.

I think I remember telling readers that my gang had a code based on barks so that we could communicate - what I did not reveal at the time was that we had another trick up our fur coats: codes based on tail wagging when it was not appropriate to bark.

Our code has everything to do with tail position and nothing whatsoever to do with our state of mind. Simply explained, the message depended on the position of the tail in relation to the sun’s progress across the sky (in winter this still applied because we are all able to visualise the arc without having to actually see it). The sun rises in the east and sets in the west all the time. All we had to do was wag the tail into the appropriate position on the arc, hold it there for a couple of seconds, and the message was clear.

Simple and foolproof. I cannot go into the details, because I am sworn to uphold the secret message code from human understanding, as were my male forbears going back countless generations.

Just let’s say it takes years of practice to perfect. Not one of the gang has managed to master the full intricacies, but most have enough knowledge to communicate fairly successfully. Misinterpretation is always a factor, which has led to some amusing situations. There was the time Alsatian Gus was attempting to tell me one snowy morning that there was danger ahead, but what he actually signalled was “keep going, no problems ahead”. I fell into a deep ditch, eventually climbed out unharmed, but was somewhat shaken.

I ordered the gang to practise signalling every day after that incident.

Those two Italian professors claimed that understanding their theory would help vets treat dogs who came in to see them. If my Vet adopts that stupid idea he will finish up going crazy trying to work out right from left, up from down, and a circle from a square. What a delicious prospect.

You may recall that in a previous blog we were concerned about dognapping and feared that Jack Russell Candy was in the hands of criminals. Owner Mrs Anderson was told to expect a phone call demanding bags of cash in exchange for her return.

When this was discussed by the gang we decided to carry out our own search the following morning. Naturally we found her in short time as she had never been in the hands of dognappers.

She had fallen asleep in a dilapidated barn a couple of miles from the house and failed to wake up before darkness fell. She heard no calls and slept on peacefully through the night ready to go home in the morning. Then we found her. One of the most comfortable nights ever, she told us, with little shame over putting her owner through such turmoil. Jack Russells can be quite heartless.

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