Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Almost 700 words about…

It’s been quite a while since I’ve been here but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been plotting things I would like to say…  and this piece has been bubbling under for quite a while.

I’m a responsible dog owner and I carefully cart round a bag full of little baggies for picking up the not inconsiderable evidence of our passing. 

Timmy is a guy so he tends to indulge himself in a huge display accompanied by grunts and groans, it seems he really doesn’t want to part with anything, and, typical of many males, after the performance there really isn’t a whole lot to show for it.

I’m not sure what law of physics can be applied to the fact that Izzy and Chloe tend to produce far more material than I actually feed them, but they do.  Izzy is definitely the production champion, and the accompanying emissions merit an addendum to the Kyoto agreement.  I fell about laughing when I learned from her previous owner that she was called Izzy after Miyake of the perfume house….  Chloe almost equals Izzy in volume, and makes up for her (very slight) deficit by engaging in a style of dispersal that is reminiscent of the pattern bombing that flattened Stuttgart.

The happy and otherwise harmless hounds see the first half-hour of any walking engagement as an opportunity to leave their aromatic marks around the landscape.  They don’t really see this as a group exercise, resulting in at least a 10-yard gap between each solo performance and another maybe 15-yard gap between the various encores and curtain calls.  We’ll not go too deeply into the varying textures, let’s just say that some landmines need a lot more careful handling than others.

On the one hand (and remember, there are three dogs and two hands), it’s kind of helpful that the HHH’s don’t all offload at the same time as their average joint delivery, at a  guess educated by picking up many a bag of sugar at the supermarket, is approximately 5 kilos on the first round and possibly 3 kilos on the second and subsequent rounds, on the other (memo - three dogs, two hands, several baggies) it’s not that easy to keep order while picking up the fruits of their labour. It isn’t a whole lot of fun when the somewhat bored beasts decide that their best plan of action while Mum is scrabbling about with a baggie is to wind themselves round her legs and then try to wander off to three opposite points of the compass.  Cesar Milan,let me whisper to you… I never see you demonstrating what to do in THAT situation…..

But that’s all part of the package when you take on a dog so that’s not what I’m complaining about.  What really makes me mad is:

  • The disembodied shriek of the harridan who lives in one of the houses facing Tesco on the Kilmore Road – MADam, if you ever get to read this… the dog actually has to produce something before I scoop it.  Female dogs are like female humans, they HAVE to squat regardless of what they are doing.  If somebody has the genius to invent a portable mop and bucket that can soak up fluid from grass, I promise, I will invest immediately.
  • The dearth of litter bins.  If there is a law about not littering, then it’s up to the law-maker to ensure there is a means for the public to remain within the law.  There is one (count it) ONE, litter bin on the Ardlea Road.
  • The pathetic attempt at providing appropriate receptacles - has anybody seen the letterbox-sized contraption which has been provided for doggie-doings at the gates of St Anne’s park? Would whoever approved the relevant by-law like to try stuffing their hand into that?
  • The whingeing cow on Maryfield Crescent who apparently allows her baby grandchildren to wander unsupervised on the street outside her house (according to her the little darlings are capable of mugging unsuspecting dog owners for their baggies)
  • The fecker who allows his or her hound to leave a trail of evidence right along the frontage of my house…. ensuring that the world believes my trio are responsible for it – and don’t forget, Chloe is on a diet and not particular about where she gets her extra calories from …


However, I am quite happy to note that I have just written almost 700 words about shite without actually mentioning the word.

Group Photos


Dogs can be difficult to photograph in groups and mine have a particular fondness of breaking up their pretty pose as soon as a camera heaves into view, but after we got back from Izzy’s trip to the hairdresser and Chloe’s visit to weight watchers on Sunday, I finally got a good one.

I’m still living in hope that one day there will be one of those chocolate box shots where they are all draped tastefully against a pristine background, hopefully before it’s time to claim my pension.

Chloe’s Diet Update

Click here to see her progress!


This is madam in her usual position, waiting for dinner to be served. 

She likes to pretend that she is a poor sadly neglected creature at mealtimes. Because her RD food is so rationed and she eats so quickly she always gets served last, to give the others time to get started before she begins her campaign for seconds. 

But she has become very good, if a human will stay around while the scoffing is going on, she will come over and lean, sadly, against their legs and not actually bully Tim or attempt to vibe Izzy (which is a complete waste of time as Izzy will have none of it!)

While her weight hasn’t decreased a great deal between weigh-ins which is a bit disappointing, she is no longer the heaviest dog in the house as Izzy, the rescued Old English sheepdog, has finally managed to get to the proper weight for her size.