Not only did I agree to dog-sit for Ellie’s and Becky’s dogs
when Ellie, Danny and the boys jetted off on their hols, I actually
offered. Two weeks would fly by in no time, I
thought. Compared to looking after a
couple of kids, it would be a breeze, I thought. What’s more, unlike most children, these
two little dogs are cute, obedient, don’t make a mess, don’t smell too bad and
don’t yap much. Piece of cake, I thought.
Not being much of a dog fan, I don’t really know one type of
dog from another. Nor do I care to know. My canine interest starts and ends with these
two miniature schnauzers, who, I have to admit, are pretty endearing.
So, day one of the doggy hols arrives and my doggy stall is
all set up. Food filed neatly in the dog
corner; dog care instructions memorised, location and phone number of the nearest
vet mentally recorded; dog beds positioned just where I imagine the dogs would
like them. Sorted. Got everything we need. Well, except for those smart little black poo
bags. Consequently we had to slum it with
Tesco carriers for a couple of days. I
don’t think the dogs minded much.
There is nowhere more beautiful than Scarborough when viewed
from the Esplanade on a lovely sunny morning.
A gentle meander down the cliff paths to the beach soon became our early
morning routine. I could get used to
this, I thought, as I marvelled at the sea glistening as blue as the med in the
glorious warm sunshine. Thankfully, I
stopped myself from getting carried away – dogs, like beach chalets, are only
fun in the summer!
In my eagerness to be a good dog-sitter, for the first
couple of days I would get up outrageously early and treat the two little dogs
to three good walks a day. However, their
treat soon became their expectation and I felt obliged to maintain those
exacting and ridiculously high standards for the entire fortnight. All
very well, but after a week, those cliffs started taking their toll and the climb
back up seemed to get steeper every day.
I’ll get fit, I thought happily. I’ll lose weight, I thought, wrongly! By the time I had staggered back home I was
so hungry that even dog food looked tempting.
To keep myself amused on the walks I established a set of
dog and walker performance tables, making instant and entirely unjustified
judgements of all fellow dogs and doggy people. I tutted in disgust at those irritating,
badly behaved, stupid dogs who are not fit to be let off the lead, whose owners
smile inanely at you and say, “he’s just a baby…”. I then tutted in equal disgust at those
owners who kept their helpless hounds tightly tethered. I sympathised with the poor dogs who were
obliged to move at a snail’s pace as the excessive weight of their sloth-like
owners hindered their ability to put one foot in-front of the other. I decided, without question, who was the
culprit when forced to avoid the disgusting dog waste in our path and generally
concluded that we were clearly, and rightfully, right at the top of the dog and
dog-walker tree!
We encountered a
particularly nasty beast who would have eaten my two cuties in a single bite
had I not scooped them up into my protective embrace! The keeper of said nasty beast remarked not
quite apologetically enough in my opinion that he was a little “feisty”. Feisty! I don’t think so! Feisty would suggest excitable and spirited. At worst it could suggest irritability and a
bit of a temper. It certainly doesn’t
adequately describe the vivid, purple snarling gums still sporting the remnants
of its last victim and the hideously sharp incisors dripping with blood
lust. Clutching my “nice” doggies
closely I trotted off in as superior and haughty a fashion as I could muster.
I have been quite surprised at the number of people who say
“good morning” just because you’ve got a couple of dogs. No such politeness when I’m simply popping to
the shop! I found it all quite uplifting
to engage in such pleasantries, although I quickly asserted my lack of interest
when fellow dog walkers wrongly assumed I could care less about their
particular pooches.
When not out walking the dogs would constantly follow me
around the house. I got to feel quite
guilty for not doing something more exciting than going to put the kettle on. All the effort they made to get up from
their comfy little snoozing spot, and for what?
Surely we’re going out
again? A treat? A cuddle?
What… nothing? Never quite taking
their sad brown eyes off you they seem to have only one expression - that of hopeful
pleading.
Would it be too much to ask, do you think, that, after a
hundred miles, countless doggy treats, yummy portions of human food, a brand new
toy apiece and endless cuddles, I might see some gratitude in those eyes for
once? Clearly it is.
Ah well, the true dog owners have arrived home at last, and
it’s time to hand them back.
Have I enjoyed having them?
Yes. Would I do it all
again? Yes. Will I miss them? Maybe a bit.
Do I want one of my own?
No thanks!
