The Blues

Sunday Nightis – On Dogs

On June 27, 2010, in Animals, Family, by Rosie

Sometimes, you do something that reminds you that you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.

You don’t? Well, I do.

During early 2010, it was to take the kids to the animal shelter, telling them we could look at all the sad, abandon, lonely, caged puppies with big, buggy, cutesy eyes and tell them we were not at the RSPCA to get a new dog!

What a blunt tool-type of excursion that was.

As soon as we passed all the rowdy dog cages and spotted what was behind the final wire fence, I knew I should have hit myself in the head with a hammer before making the decision to visit. Therein lay Effing. A one-year old puppy-dog/man/bull wearing his saddest doggy eyes and his heart on his paw-sleeve.

He was lying in that position canines use when they want something — attention, food, ‘pat me, please’, sympathy, empathy, lurve. He was quiet. He was sad coz no one was playing with him. He had a doggy headache from his neighbour’s barking. He was unloved and all he wanted was a new pack to lick and some little people to cuddle him, he was lonely …

Just because he was the size of a full-grown shetland pony and had absolutely NO training, or idea that he was not a person/in charge/clown/pampered pet, didn’t mean he wasn’t the pet for us. Yep, I was talked into adopting Effing. Yes, I thought he was cute. Okay, I thought he could be easily trained and I would walk or run him, and I was used to a big dog (being one myself). Right, I knew what I was doing. I was a doggy person (being one myself).

Long story short, Effing Jones has been a family member for nearly 6 months. During that half-year, I have almost wrung his neck 250 times.

He’s hardly Marley, and I’m a much bigger bitch than Jennifer Aniston, but Effing Jones’s list of misdemeanors includes: pulling white washing off the line, biting weatherboards on the house, uprooting a special botanical deity, digging up vegetables fit for human consumption, laying on the glass outdoor table, digging holes into neighbour’s properties, standing on our kid’s fort and barking at neighbours while they eat a BBQ with their friends — as though saying ‘hey guys! Hi. I’m here and I want a chop and sausage, for effing sake!’

‘Because I’m a dog. I’m king of this bleeding pack, you insignificant humanoid!’

Most days, Effing and I get along okay, although the washing situation really makes me dirty! Last Friday was a little different. If I haven’t taken him for a walk or run by the time I eat lunch, he starts prancing around by the window and barking at me (see above, for story about chop, sausage and neighbours).

Friday was a rainy day. I collected all necessary items, went for a walk and chatted to a friend on the mobile as we wandered along. Effing — as is a dog’s way — required a toilet stop. Without going into graphic details, he relieved himself of his formidable waste and just as I bent down, pooper-scooper in hand, he decided to KICK THE SEMI-SOLID MATTER BACK BEHIND HIM.

BUT I WAS BEHIND HIM.

Horrified, I jumped about and realized that Effing F*cking Jones had back-kicked his debris onto the shin area of my tracksuit pants. It wasn’t pretty. The sight, nor the language I internalized due to still being on the phone. I almost dropped the mobile and screamed into the nearest home, demanding a hot, sanitizing bath of my entire body (even though it was only on my lower clothing) and one of those ‘treatment showers’ they offer people exposed to radiation.

Later, when I was home and disposed of the issue with a combination of Napisan, water and hydrochloric acid, I needed to go outside to finish cleaning my shoes and place hideous items in our outdoor bin. I had yet to race into the bathroom and boil the remains for my person.

As luck would have it, our path was very slippery from the rain. As I walked towards the rubbish bin, plastic bag in hand, my feet went whooooosh from under me, I landed on my coccyx and felt the jar of the fall right up into my skull. Thankfully, I didn’t land anywhere near items of canine crap, however as I moaned about my sore bottom, my shoulder, my neck, a furry thing came rushing up to my fallen person, jumped upon my lap and started licking me.

Because, oh, my god, here is a person and I need to lick her face and isn’t it great she’s on the ground. I can just sit on her!

Effing Hell!