I’ve been helping a company with its marketing activity recently, involving quite a bit of content writing, which has kind of diluted my creative juices a bit for my pp stuff. But I thought I should get back in the ole saddle before I forget what it’s like to write completely without a direction/brief. Anyway my subject this evening is back to an old shaggy dog theme. In fact it’s about shaggy dogs. Well actually it’s about little dogs. And men. Big old macho men. Or so I thought.
Now I have to be a bit careful here and declare my interest because every time I do an animal posting I get pilloried. So right up front I’m going to lay out my case. You see I abhor cruelty to animals of any description but Caz and I are just not animal friendly. I don’t like zoos and I’m not a fan of pets. It’s just the way we are. If I never touched/stroked another animal I’d be completely happy. The other day a young lady walking a pug stopped just in front of me. Her dog had stopped to be chummy. He just wants to be your little friend she said, expecting me to coo and cuddle it or something. But I remained detached as we were about to enter a restaurant in Stratford for the first time since moving here. I just don’t want dog gloop and nits all over my hands. So I declined to touch the pooch. I don’t think the pug minded that much to be honest but she looked slightly hurt and left, dog in tow. I don’t care. It’s not my thing alright.
Now I’m not against people having pets. I know many, many people love being animal owners and get much friendship and satisfaction from the arrangement. I have family members and great friends who love, nay, adore their pooches. I’m so admiring of those close to me who have taken on rescue dogs – poor creatures who’d had abused lives up to that point (I mean the dogs of course!) and to be honest I’m very fond of the dogs who have proven to be devoted family members. But they’re just dogs to me with all that furniture chewing, poo bags, worming, gloop, anal glands, dog food, barking/yapping, hair shedding, vet bills, on-bed lying, neurotic/snappy creatures they’ve always been. I really like them but don’t really want anything to do with them. It’s just me ok. I’m being brutally honest. Some people don’t like kids. I love children. Some folks hate gardening; I’m a big fan of it. Many people dislike cooking – I so enjoy it. I’m told some guys don’t relate to women. Not me; I love being in women’s company. Different strokes right?
Anyway since being in Stratford I’ve noticed a disturbing trend. It’s the number of big old-fashioned blokes walking around with little lap dogs on a lead. Tiny little things, often two or three at a time. And the streets are full of them – see these recent pics (I could’ve have taken dozens)…
They’re all daschunds, pugs and miniature bloody things. And big hairy blokes. Is this a thing inherited from 8th St in NYC? It’s just an urban shih tzu revolution. Whatever happened to blokes striding up and down the hills or along the seashore or climbing into De Havilland Avro bombers with beefy Labradors and Golden Retrievers? I never see them these days. Strong energetic dogs reflecting the personality of their owners. It’s all hairless chihuahuas being carried like babies or tottering along the Stratford pavements sniffing at my ankles and wanting a caress. Never going to happen (my lovely grandson E’s fave expression. Ironic as he adores his pet dog).
I know I’m going to get stick but there you go. Me and dogs; not a great combo. But an honest relationship