Saturday 17 October 2015

Dog's Blog

Bob’s Blog

A Dog’s Blog

We love our dogs, don’t we. But they aren’t perfect, especially mine. If I was asked to describe him best, I’d say he was a cross between Goofy and The Hound of the Baskervilles. My dog Alf is now in his dotage. In his sixteenth year and rapidly losing both sight and sound. And has some obligatory arthritis of course. These ageing problems don’t seem to bother him too much as his happiness indicator still wags vigorously on command. Country walks are now a venture too far, but luckily we have a large garden and he knows every inch by memory and locational sniffs. His sense of smell is fantastic and he can identify anyone in our family or circle of friends ten yards or more away. He gets into difficulties indoors however if a piece of furniture is moved or we have a change around. We hear a crash and find that he’s walked into the ironing board or whatever wasn’t lying in his path the day before. He doesn’t like potentially slippery floors, like tiles, as his back legs are quite weak, so if he reaches the edge of a carpet, he stands psyching himself up for the doggie long jump, leaps and lands where he thinks the next safe surface lies.  His habit of dunking any loose carpet he finds in his water bowl doesn’t help things at all. Also his short-term memory is lacking and he scratches the door to go out, then barks to come back in, then scratches the door to go out, then barks to come back in . . .  and so on. You get the picture I’m sure. Yes, his memory is poor, but on the plus side, his bladder and bowels are magnificent. If he exits to the garden and it’s particularly inclement, he immediately turns about to return indoors, leaving his day’s toileting until another day. Magnificent! He never was a yappy dog but now sits in the garden, jowls raised, barking at nothing in particular for as long as I think the neighbours can put up with it. If his barking is interrupted by a very loud bang from a car exhaust or low-flying helicopter, poor Alf literally spirals three feet in the air.

But he’s our pet dog, and you get very attached to your pet dog, warts and all. He started life as an Alfie but he’s much more suited to Alf these days I think. But Alf has never ingratiated himself to humans, ever. He looks happy and cuddly on the outside, but he’s made of sterner stuff inside. Never bite the hand that feeds you has never been a maxim for him. I exaggerate: he wouldn’t bite - quite, but his whole body goes rigid and he makes nasty growly noises to emphasise that he will not comply with instructions, and then does just what he wants.

So Alf’s life is drawing to a close. But suitable medicated he will happily last a little longer. He still has a good quality of life. And we still have a great quality of pet . . . ‘Do shut up that eternal barking Alf!’


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1 Comments:

At 18 October 2015 at 04:14 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

That's my boy too!

 

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