What's in a dog?

My Dog


My dog is multilingual
My dog is mathematical
My dog is on top of life,
And doesn't need a sabbatical.

My neighbour was a good neighbour
My neighbour was kind,
But my neighbour - when it came to dogs,
Was blind.

My dog's a hot dog
My dog is feisty
Two Alsations took a bite
And the vet's bill was tasty.

My dog can tell the time
It stands with expectation,
And sits with poise and without a noise
Absorbed - in the chef's creation.

My dog is an ageing dog
The postman isn't sent away;
And there's no greeting at the door:
"I can't be bothered any more!"
My dog is ageing.

_____

This little piece of poetic nonsense, is as good a place, as any, from which to begin on the subject of dogs; and especially as my first experience of dogs was as a small boy making my way to school. I was walking along Causeway Street, "a very long street for a small boy," (1) when I was attacked by a yappy little dog that came in pursuit of my heels. So afraid was I, that a primeval instinct kicked in; turning and facing it, I barked; and to this day I can still see the little wretch looking at me, confused.

Well though I learned to love dogs from an early age, I was well into middle-age before I had one of my own, in part because the circumstances weren't right. And when they were, and with both of us out at work, (from the dogs point of view), it seemed like a bad idea. But at a time when we were living in a large detached house, in an area where the crime rate was above the norm, we decided that a barking dog would be a good idea. So our first dog was a black Labrador, who, along with her brother was living in a "safe house". And I called her Meg, for the same reason that I took Shakespeare's Sonnets to Sardinia: for I was tapping into my innermost self, to the poetry of John Keats, and in particular recalling his poem: "Old Meg she was a gipsy":

Old Meg she was a gipsy,
   And lived upon the moors,
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
   And her home was out of doors.

Her apples were swart blackberries,
   Her currants pods o' broom,
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
  Her book a churchyard tomb.
                                                etc.

So Meg it was, and we were not long home before we discovered that she couldn't bark. Whatever the nature of the abuse she had suffered, Meg had come to understand that drawing attention to herself was not a good idea - that silence was best. But with time, patience, and encouragement, she recovered her voice, after which, and moved by her gentle nature, we felt guilty about leaving her on her own: so along came Millie.

As far as we know, Millie was conceived in a romantic encounter on a street somewhere in Liverpool. She had, (and still has), the size and shape of a border collie, with what we think are Alsation markings. A feisty dog if ever there was one, her attitude to another dog when passing in the street, once caused a man to remark to his friend, that having Millie on a leash was a bit like having a shark on the end of a fishing line. And that's the point about rescued dogs, you have to accept them as they are, because a dog can't confide in you about the past: about their personal traumas, so they have no alternative but to live with them, - well and truly locked in. So Millie has always been a dog that we have had to keep an eye on: not just in respect of other dogs, but children especially, whose instinct it seems to be, to want to befriend each and every dog. It is not that she would do them serious harm, but she has been known to nip me across the knunkles in moments of anxiety. And a good friend who knows more about dogs than we do, tells us that Millie's gene pool is of a type that makes her one of the most intelligent dogs around. Certainly she likes to take the initiative, and woe betide anyone who tries to befriend her, before she decides, (as is almost always the case), that she does want to be friends.

Now as compared to Meg, I know that I am not painting a pretty picture of Millie. But the truth is that living with Millie has always been a little like having sandpaper strapped to your ankles. But, in her own quirky way Millie is loveable. As a young dog, if we were talking at table, she would poke her nose in, literally, and then go off to her own bowl to eat, not necessarily because she was hungry, but because we, (who after all were members of the pack), were eating. And when the telephone rang she would, (and still does), rush off to answer it, but as we have three phones downstairs, (excluding mobiles), she is never quite sure in which direction to go. And when the bleep sounds on the oven or hob, and if no one is about, she will come in search of an attendant. She understands the command in Spanish, to sit, which is what makes her "multilingual"; and she is good at sums, which is what makes her "mathematical". For recently I tried an experiment. Instead of giving her two "munchy strips" (simultaneously) after her walk, which she ate as one. I gave her one, only to find her following me around the house until I had made up the shortfall. And if you could see her leaping up and down the hall and hear her barking madly when it is time for her walk, you would never guess that she is 14. And she knows that I am her best friend, for at moments like these, I am forever telling her that she is just, "a stupid dog!"

Well the dogs were not long settled when a letter arrived in the post. It was from the family next door on the left, and it was a complaint about the dogs in general, and Millie in particular. Up to this they had been the best of neighbours: their children had earned pocket-money babysitting, and the parents, (lets call them Bob and Phillis), on more than one occasion had been to dinner. What was bothering Phillis, who worked part time, was that she could no longer enjoy the garden because Millie, in our absence, was forever barking at her through the hedge. From the letter it was clear that they had tried to involve the local authority, on the grounds of nuisance and neglect, and there was a clear implication in the letter, that our neighbour on the opposite side, was in support of their point of view.

Well shocked as we were by this broadside, it didn't take us long to spot the chink in their armour: the fact that the local authority had not advised us of the complaint, still less asked to visit, to see what arrangements we had in place for the dogs in our absence. So we were confident that they were not persuaded of the merits of the case that our neighbours were trying to make. And more absurd still, was the idea that our neighbours on the opposit side were in agreement with their point of view. Not only had they not complained, but in the five years before Meg and Millie came to stay, their own yappy little dog was forever barking at us through the fence, about which we never thought to complain. But as Bob and Phillis had always been good neighbours, we were keen to see if we could find a solution. So while Jenny sought advice from the vet, I bought and read, "The Dog's Mind", from which, I devised a scheme of exercises that would help Millie to think of our neighbours as friends. But, as Phillis, (for whom Bob was a mouthpiece), would not cooperate, I was left with no choice but to call and deliver the news to Phillis in person: that the dogs were staying; and in view of some of the additional things that had been said, to remind Phillis of aspects of her own behaviour, that from a neighbourly point of view, were truly selfish, and about which we had not complained: of the bonfires that she would frequently light in the garden: without warning, irrespective of the time of day, of which way the wind was blowing, or as to whether or not we had washing on the line or windows open. So in the end this dispute proved to be a sad parting of the ways, in respect of a family who, until we acquired the dogs, had always been good neighbours. But thinking about it afterwards, we were reminded of something that we had all but forgotten. When we first viewed the house, and enquired of the ownerers about the neighbours, (in a general way), in passing, they mentioned that there had been an issue with regard to this particular neighbour and their dogs. But as we didn't have a dog and had no expectation that we would have one, we did not see this particular difficulty as significant.

_____

Now stepping back in time, for a moment, it is possible that the most celebrated dog in history is, "The Dog in the Manger", since Aesop's account of this dog's bad behaviour has been around since the fifth century B.C. And the most intriguing is surely Robert Burns's account of the "Twa Dogs". Inspired by Burns's friendship with the young aristocrat, Lord Daer, the poem, a political satire, tells the story of a chance encounter between two dogs, who, meeting in a field and sitting down, spend the afternoon discussing their respective lifestyles. The dogs are Caesar and Luath. As the name suggests, Caesar is an aristocratic dog, while Luath, was, and in the poem is, "a ploughman's collie". It is a long poem in dialect, and for that reason many would find it difficult, but this, the preamble to the twa dog's conversation, sets the tone; and it is worth noting that Caesar's qualities mirror those that Burns saw and admired in Lord Daer, as does Luath's personality mirror the character of Burns:

"Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' auld King Coil,
Upon a bonnie day in June
When wearin' thro' the afternoon,
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame                 not busy at home
Forgather'd ance upon a time.                              once
   The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar,            called
Was Kepit for His Honour's pleasure:                    kept
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,                  ears
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;               not
But whalpet some place far abriad,                       a puppy
Where sailors gang to fish for cod.                        go
   His locked, lettered, braw brass collar                fine
Show'd him the gentleman an' scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he,
But wad hae spent an hour caressin',                  talking frankly
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messin':                        mixed breed
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,                       church, smithy
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,                 No matted dog, so ragged
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,                 would have stood
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillock's wi' him.            ...... , stones
   The tither was a ploughman's collie -                other
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,                          brother,
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,                  whim, called him
After some dog in Highland Sang,
Was made lang syne--Lord knows how lang.       long since
   He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,                       bright (wise), dog
as ever lap a Sheugh or dyke.                            trench or fence
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face                        jolly, white stripede
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;                       every
His breast was white, his touzie back                shaggy
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,                          jolly
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl.                       buttocks
   Nae dougt but they were fain o' ither,               fond of each other
And unco pack an' thick thegither;                      unusual pair
Wi social nose whyles snuff'd an snowket;          smelling like a dog
Whyles mice an' moulieworts the howkit;            dug
Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,               searching exploring?
An' worry'd ither in diversion;
Until wi' daffin' weary grown                                larking
Upon a knowe they set them down.                    a knoll
An' there began a lang digression.
About the "lords o' the creation".

_____

Well Meg, who had a quiet and gentle nature, had a good life until the vet, at my request, ended it. We were moving from one part of the country to another, and it simply wasn't desirable in her state of general decline, to take her with us. As I walked home from work on the day in question, I knew that I would find both dogs resting on the settee in the hall, (a bed that they frequently shared with the cats); and as it was a beautiful day, I was concerned that Meg would want to follow Millie out into the garden, a sign of life not in keeping with her imminent death. But as it happened, she had no wish to leave the settee. And when the vet asked if I would prefer to be elsewhere and I declined the offer, Meg passed from this life to the next in a manner that was as gentle as her nature.

And what prompted this particular blog, is that recently I thought I was seeing in Millie, the first signs of separation anxiety, (a characteristic of ageing). For no obvious reason she would leave her bed in the kitchen and come up the hall, to check, or so it seemed, on my whereabouts, after which she would saunter back to her nest. But now, (and even though there are other signs of aeging), I am not so sure, for she is still up for her walks: five to six miles (10 kilometres) each day; and while walking off the leash between the disused railway embankments, she has the air of a dog that still has some way to go. And who knows, perhaps I have got it all wrong, and what is really going on is, that Millie is looking at me! - and wondering!

__________________
© Cormac McCloskey

(1) "a very long street for a small boy," click here

John Keats, (1795-1821)

"The Dog's Mind"
Author: Bruce Fogel
Publisher: Peleham Books 1990
ISBN 0 7207 1964 X

"The Dog In The Manger"Aesop fables, here

Robert Burns (1759-1796)

Note: This blog, "What's in a dog?" was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 26th March 2010