As the saying goes a man's best friend is his dog, (or woman's as the case may be). Those of us who choose to cohabit with canines will actively support this statement regarding our loyal, affectionate companions who love us unconditionally. We wouldn't be without them, but adopting a four legged family member brings certain responsibilities and does have its drawbacks.
In recent years, many almost fanatical campaigns have been launched to ensure that the doggy lovers of society attend to those unwanted deposits left in places where the doggy haters of society are guaranteed to tred. As a responsible doggy owner, I am in full support of the clean up campaign but it can be no easy task. Being at present the owner of two active dogs, I have often walked them to and fro Ballyholme beach which is close to my home. Experience has taught me that dogs are creatures of habit when it comes to answering the call of nature, which enables their owner to predict their carefully selected favorite spot. Yes, its right outside the driveway of the poshist looking house in the street at the exact moment the owner is trying to reverse their car out of their drive. You bend down, plastic bag in one hand and two over excited Tazmanian devils straining at the leash in the other, and attempt to collect your deposit while being watched disdainfully by the owner of the posh house.
Just when you think all traces of evidence are in the bag, every cat in the district decides to go for an afternoon stroll and you find yourself being dragged over six inches of gravel clinging by your over-excited pooches who will not be denied the opportunity of a chase, while desperately clinging to your now scattering bundle. Having endured this undignified procedure, you now face the dilemma of what to do with it. I'm happy to say that the council has finally decided to provide the upstanding dog owner with a bin for this purpose; however it just happens to be another 15 minutes walk to get to it and by the time you make it, half a dozen other dogs have decided to join you lured by the aroma dangling from your free hand, or worse your pocket.
One of my adorable companions sad to say loves nothing more than an audience. I've always noted the expression of contentment on her face as she strains with pleasure to the passing church outing for the over seventies, and there's nothing an audience loves more than to watch. I've come to the conclusion that should the Royal Yacht Britannia be sailing in Ballyholme bay people will still find someone scooping up their dog crap a much more interesting spectacle to observe. Either that or your scooping while some group of likely lads drive past with horns honking, and lights flashing with shouts of "get it while it"s steaming' out of a window. For a while I took to exercising my hounds when audiences weren't so readily available and I think my mutt counter attacked by leaving her deposit at the top of an almost vertical bank purely as a protest. Sherpa Tensing never had these problems!
Over the years I have shared my life with a variety of the canine species and was once the proud owner of two King Charles spaniels, one whose forte was to pick the most inconvenient moment despite having been exercised for long periods in a more suitable location. It's not so bad if you find it first and no one else knows about it, but dogs aren't renowned for being an inhibited species. A fond memory of my departed pal was on a visit to the vet. As I explained to the distinguished gentleman that my angelic looking, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth prize winning pedigree was there for a routine jag, a familiar sound filled my ears. Without looking up from his notes, or raising an eyebrow he inquired in a serious tone which expressed no emotion, "and how long has Whiskey had diarrhea?" and through my stammered apologies, I confessed to being blissfully unaware of the fact until approximately 30 seconds ago.
I'm sure we have all encountered those in our community of canines who have a particular affinity for the human leg, and they don't care whose. I think it's a canine version of a fetish. My husband encountered a Golden Retriever who suffered from this particular affliction when we were house hunting. As we moved from room to room, the overly friendly Paddy permanently attached himself to my husband's right leg, and the owners "this is the bathroom" routine was interrupted from time to time by "Paddy stop that, don"t hump the guests'. My sympathy for her predicament was enhanced when my spaniels decided it was fun to engage in this kind of activity with each other as opposed to a right leg, which was often coupled with the discovery that carpets are excellent scratching material for an itchy bum, which must be relieved irrespective of a visit from the Mother in Law or Great Aunt Aggie.
