Category: Doggy doings

On my birthday morning, I was jumped on in bed by two big, hairy males. That made three big, hairy males in my bed. They were all warming me up. I felt loved. Two of them started licking me, ferociously – ‘a little too loved,’ I told them. One of them then got the hiccups and with each of his breaths, I felt as if I was being knocked a little bit sideways.

As I lay there all loved up and having been woken prematurely by two of them I had time on my side, I set off thinking about the similarities between toddlers and dogs. Because years ago, it wouldn’t have been dogs jumping on me rather too early in the morning, it would have been kids.

We got the dogs at a time when our lives had settled into a very pleasant routine of weekend lie-ins and leisurely baths. Wine in front of the fire, sprawled out on a shaggy, cream carpet. Teenagers who happily stay in bed and don’t start demanding anything until about midday. No more baby shit to clean up, projectile vomit was a thing of the past and a thing of the future. The here and now was pretty easy.

The thing is, I don’t do, ‘easy’. I need to have constant challenges in my life. Three kids just wasn’t enough and I was fortunate enough to have four. Four kids under 5 satiated me for a while, but then I was on the prowl for something else. Competing in Taekwon-do for England hit the spot. Now, years later, it’s dogs.

Dogs and toddlers wake you up too early. Dogs and toddlers piss on the carpet. Dogs and toddlers interfere with sex. I can no longer lounge on a cream carpet, casually putting my wine glass down on the floor. My bowl of nibbles is not my own. I have a pair of soulful eyes looking at the crisps and then at me, and when I turn my back, bam the crisps are gone.

Life is suddenly a bit of a challenge again.

But just as I learnt some tricks on how to deal with the demanding toddlers, so I am using the exact same survival techniques with the dogs. Put them in the car 5 minutes before you intend to leave – it’s all about head space. No squeaky toys for the same reason. Make sure there are toys in their beds for them to play with first thing. Take them out of the house and exhaust them – there should be soft play for dogs.

Of course, just like the toddlers, I wouldn’t be without them. The unconditional love they give, is worth the challenges they provide. We all need a purpose and without these constant little challenges in our lives, we would flounder in an abyss. I do wonder, however, how parents of toddlers and dogs cope. There’s a challenge I am happy that I never have to face.

The biggest item trending on the local mum’s Facebook network this week was: where is the best place to photograph my child in bluebell woods? It sounded as if it was one of those events that must happen each year, like Christmas or a birthday. I love a bluebell wood, but on the day we had available to visit it, we had no children to photograph. I contemplated borrowing a cute baby from someone, to sit in a basket in a dappled wood, but chose to take the dogs instead.

Partner plonked dog 2 on top of a good looking tree stump, surrounded by beautiful bluebells, with the sun streaming through branches. I was poised to take the photo. The problem was, the tree stump was hollow and dog 2 fell down the hole. That was the first photo opportunity missed. After that it was a series of exhausting attempts to get the dogs to look at the camera. The woods were packed with other photo opportunists, but all you could hear was partner and I squeaking the dogs’ names in fake excited voices and gesticulating madly, as they just pissed on the bluebells. We decided to give up and walk to the pub. We can get a cup of ‘gin and tonic’ I interrupted partner’s thought.

We’ve been to this pub many times before – last week and the week before that actually –  it’s dog and kid friendly, but I have never previously noticed just how unfriendly it is to men. In the ladies’ toilet the walls and toilet doors are adorned with misandrist statements. I wondered whether the men’s loo is similarly full of misogynistic crap, masquerading under the guise of humour.

On the back of the loo door in pub – harsh

We left the pub and went on our merry way. I told partner about the man hating toilet and fuelled by our pit stop, we started trying to remember all the: Men are like…jokes we could muster. Here are some that came to mind as we walked back through those beautiful bluebells, add your favourites!

Men are like…

… Coffee.

The best ones are rich, warm, and can keep you up all night long.

… Commercials.

You can’t believe a word they say.

… Computers.

Hard to figure out and never have enough memory.

… Coolers.

Load them with beer and you can take them anywhere.

… Government Bonds.

They take way too long to mature.

… Mascara.

They usually run at the first sign of emotion.

One man and his dogs, in a bluebell wood – he moaned that I cut off his head, ‘that wouldn’t have happened if I was a cute baby!'(Dog 1 is licking his lips – I think he ate the cute baby!)

Living with three daughters, my dad’s favourite saying was: you don’t keep a dog and bark yourself. I could pour a perfect pint from the age of 7, I knew his exact measure of whisky aged 9 and could fill a pipe by the time I was 11. All useful skills that have, over the years, stood me in good stead (perhaps not the pipe filling, yet). 

Now living with my own daughters, I find myself frequently using this phrase – it’s one of my favourites, along with: the floor is not a shelf and, what did your last slave die of, exhaustion? 

When we got dog 1 and dog 2, I had high hopes for what we would be able to teach them to do for us. I found a: ‘Teach your dog tricks’ in a charity shop. In it, a woman wearing gold spandex (I’m not sure why) gives a step by step guide on how to teach your dog to do useful things, like fetching your paper and getting a can of beer out of the fridge. She even demonstrates how to teach it to empty the washing machine. My kids still haven’t perfected this trick, let alone the dogs – I feel there is little hope. 

On the dog walk today, I decide to take a tennis ball. Partner is sceptical, as so far, the only balls they have shown much interest in are each other’s. I insist, however, inspired perhaps by the woman in spandex, that we need to persevere, and the ball comes with. 

At a suitable point I show the dogs the ball and chuck it ahead, accompanied by the iconic doggy word: fetch! Surely, dogs are just born knowing this word? Not ours. Initially it looks promising, as dog 2 chases after the ball, with dog 1 in hot pursuit. You see, I say to partner, they love that ball. They both run straight past the ball. ‘Fetch!’ I screech excitedly and then a second time, somewhat desperately. They both stop and look at me, heads cocked to one side, as if they are saying: what, are you talking to us? Oh for gods sake, I think to myself, as I go and fetch the ball. I can’t find it, so am stomping around the undergrowth. Partner and dogs are all looking at me with cocked heads. Well don’t just bloody stand there you lot, I shout in an irritated voice. I see the fluorescent yellow of the ball and decide to try again. I lob the ball towards partner and dogs and it ricochets off partner. Dog 2 retrieves it – success! I wave my hands madly at him: leave it! Leave it! I shout determinedly. He turns and runs in the opposite direction, ball in mouth. I rejoin partner and we continue walking. Work in progress he says , putting his arm around my dejected shoulders. Keep a dog and fetch yourself, I think to myself, feeling that I have let my dad down.

Dog 1 is lying with his head right on dog 2’s balls and it got me thinking just how different dogs are to humans and then I was thinking how different, different types of dogs are, which led on to me thinking about how different, different dog owners are and how the sort of dog you have seems to affect the sort of dog owner you are and vice versa ( imagine just how exhausting it is living with me). 

Partner and I are both new to dogs, so we feel like the new parents, where how you react to bad behaviour is judged, the state of their coats is judged, the food you give them is judged. In fact, the puppy manual we had, reminded me of: The Contented Little Baby book – after a few days I wanted to chuck it out the window (sorry Gina) and follow my gut. Which worked on the girls, but I’m not sure it’s always working with the dogs. 

Partner and I have observed that it is sheepdog owners who are the most judgemental. This is probably because their dogs are so incredibly well trained and ours, well, aren’t. When dog 1 or dog 2 bound over to the sheep dog, the owner tells it to ‘sit’. This is the equivalent of refusing to let your child go on a play date with mine. You immediately feel judged. Why don’t you want my dogs to play with yours. Do you think they will be a bad influence? Dogs 1 and 2 react to this rejection by circling the beautifully behaved dog, seemingly taunting it with jeers of: you’re not allowed to play! Sheep dog owner then crosses his or her arms. Dog 1 responds to this sense of humour failure by jumping up and barking: let him play, let him play! By which time, I’ve told partner to run over with treats and sheep dog owner stomps off, muttering what awful parents we are. Partner and I are left looking at our gorgeous, happy dogs, now sitting perfectly in front of us, wondering if we are bad parents. 

Of course, it all comes down to expectation. Partner and I need to raise our expectations of our dogs. I look back down at them. Dog 1 has removed his head from dog 2’s balls, but by way of a thank you, dog 2 is now licking dog 1’s nob. I always had high expectations of the girls, but dogs really are so different.