Courage the cowardly dog
Jeez, Bert’s driving us all bonkers. Don’t get me wrong, we all love him to bits, but his phobias are turning the house into some kind of cotton-wool padded sanatorium, with us all creeping around avoiding anything potentially scary in case we prompt a major attack of gibbering.
Take balls, for instance (steady). I mean, there are three men of various sizes in the house, plus another two next door so football kind of comes with the territory. But Bert is terrified of footballs – just the sight of one sends him whimpering, back arched and tail between his legs, into his bed where he curls up as small as possible and pretends he’s not there. And rugby balls are even more scary as their rolling is more unpredictable – they can suddenly veer off and come straight for him. It’s quite pathetic. A rare bit of sunshine the other day had to be carefully managed, as he doesn’t really like even being in the back garden when people are kicking a ball about out front. Poor baby. We bought him a tiny squeaky football once, but it sent him into such tremors when anyone squeaked it that we had to hide it. On the day that Gorgeous George came to visit, Bert nearly had a seizure when George found (and loved) the ball, galloping about, throwing it up in the air and fetching it (fetching it! Can you imagine? What does George think he is? A dog?). This brings me neatly on to dog toys in general. Any or all of which are enough to send him into some sort of quivering spasm, especially if they… gasp!… roll along the ground. Then there’s shoes, which, although not particularly frightening, need to be rounded up into little non-threatening piles around the house, just in case they launch a stealthy attack when he’s not looking.
Cutlery is another problem. Unloading the dishwasher can produce a 45mph exit from the kitchen. Dare to drop a fork on the floor and the resulting ‘Dancing on Ice’ four-legged skittering would probably earn him a bronze at the next Winter Olympics.
Then there’s frogs: evil, scary, threatening, nasty, frogs. Oh don’t be fooled, they may look small and innocuous to you, but believe me, Bert knows the truth. Lower your guard and they’ll go for your throat.
He also suffers from an intensely strange, greyhoundish fear of approaching small furry animals. These are not to be confused with retreating or fast-moving small furry animals, which are, of course, meant to be chased and eaten. Somebody should tell the hares that if they stopped running away and ran straight towards him instead, he’d most likely suffer some sort of fear-induced spontaneous combustion and explode right there on the spot. I wonder what would happen at the track if the lure was sent towards the dogs, instead of away from it? They’d probably all keel over.
The little yapper down the road, all 6 and a half inches of him, invokes the kind of wide-eyed abject terror only usually reserved for nail cutting sessions. Yesterday it even jumped up at his legs. Bert had to be stopped from actually climbing Hubby’s legs to get away. And a visit to C yesterday saw Bert shaking like a jelly after Tabby the cat walked in to check him out. One evil cat-glare was enough to induce at least a 5 on the Richter scale. What a baby.
So there you have it. You know I’m always banging on about getting a greyhound, and they really do make lovely pets. But should you go ahead and make the momentous decision to own one of these beautiful creatures, please try to do it without forks, because they’re dead scary. Oh, and balls. Oh, and take a rain check on frogs, too, if you don’t mind. Ta.
I would love to have a dog, but we work too much, and we will return to Blighty sometime, couldn’t leave it behind ….
As for Bert, you wouldn’t have him any other way ….x
June: Nah, he’s always been as mad as a badger. His quirks change depending on how he’s feeling. At the moment he’s got a bit of a thing about having his face covered so if he sits next to you on the sofa you have to have his wet nose in your armpit!! x
Isit: Oh yes, he’s nothing if not original. We have to run the little furry yapper gauntlet to get to the boat road (our fave walk – beautiful lough views), and usually he just rushes past looking the other way and pretending the yapper doesn’t exist, but actually being touched by it was too much to bear and he put in a bit of extra vertical turbo up Hubby’s trouser leg. The berk. xx
Mutt The Mad lives under slogan “Attack is the best defence”.
Oh, and “Coming when called is highly overrated.”
Fairly exhausting, especially if he decides that, for example, wind outside is terribly threatening thus trying to go for it’s throat through the window or front door glass.
We thought Stewie was bad… he has got braver since we first got him but he hates loud noises and anything that makes loud noises. Like if the hoover is in the same room and not even plugged in or doing anything he’ll hide in the corner.
He panics when something is dropped: I dropped a knife earlier and he went running upstairs and onto the bed.
He loves going out to the garden but not when I’m putting rubbish in the bin…. there’s obviously that chance that he’ll get thrown in too.
Dogs are a funny breed.
Ruth: Aw poor Stewie. Hmmm..the lint roller’s a new one though. Bert doesn’t like the dishwasher for the same reason – the high proportion of dropped cutlery incidents. Oooh, scary!
Bugs and Moon: Don’t make me come between you. And yes, it was definitely Moon that did the elastic band trick.
She’s fine now. In fact she’s a PAT (therapy) dog. Greyhounds are pretty good at that – if they don’t mind shiny floors and loud noises. The Princess copes with both.
Ooh…shiny floors AND loud noises? Bert would be a jelly – she must be an extra brave greyhound! x