When I was
a child, anything and
everything was for
sale in a pub! It was
the place where ill-gotten
gains could easily be
disposed of. Mind you, I
am sure that this is
still the case today.
What do the French say
about the more things
change? The more
things change, the more
they stay the same?
In those days, dogs were
included in goods
for barter.
Unfortunately, most of
these dogs were unruly
creatures, with no collar
and no leash, but with a
string tied about their
necks to keep them close
to their sellers. The
sale of these dogs was
brought about for various
reasons. Initially, many
of these dogs were found
to be cute and adorable
puppies, the poor
creatures had dared to
grow. And grow they did
and many became
irritating, annoying and
unruly animals. Sadly,
these poor dogs were
indeed all of these
things since they were
never given any training.
Their owners either had
no idea how to go about
socializing them or else
could not be bothered to
spend time to do so. On
other and somewhat rarer
occasions, the poor dog
might be below average
intelligence, and
incapable of learning
even the simplest
command. However, in the
majority of cases, the
poor dogs were blameless,
but like indentured
servers and slaves,
being considered as mere fodder,
they were put up for
sale since the owner
could not put up with the
poor creature in his home
any longer. And so the
four-footed nuisance, or
perhaps the
once-treasured companion,
was exchanged for a few
shillings.
I am sorry
to say that getting a dog
from someone in a pub
never worked out well for
my father. To be honest,
it never worked out well
for my mother and me
either! I remember the
last time that my father
got a dog in a pub. This
was a true disaster in
every sense of the word.
We had just moved out of
the East End and were
living in a house on the
outskirts of London.
Since our move, my father
had been itching to get a
dog. He was now working
for British Railways
and had apparently met a
postman who wanted to
sell his dog. The postman
told my father that this
dog, which was about a
year old, had a gentle
and loving personality and
would be greatly missed
by his family. When
my mother heard this, she
asked why the postman was
selling the dog if
everyone was going to
miss her so. My father
pretended not to hear
what she said, as he wanted
this dog, sight
unseen, and obviously did
not care about the
reasons behind the sale.
As
it turned out, this poor
creature was no Lassie
or Rin-Tin-Tin.
To put it bluntly, this
dog was severely lacking
in charm, grace and,
above all, intelligence.
Perhaps her behaviour was
not entirely her fault,
since she had obviously
received no training and
I doubt if any attempt
had been made by the
postman and family to
socialize her. From the
very second that my
father took hold of her
leash and was dragged
along the street with me
running to keep up, until
the day she escaped,
this dog did nothing but
create chaos in our home.
This dog held us as
virtual prisoners, since
she could not be left
alone. Whether kept
outside or in, she
required constant
supervision. The dog
wreaked havoc wherever
she was. Her movement
lacked all semblance of
elegance. She ran
everywhere with great
speed. She jumped up at
anyone and everything and
managed to collide with
any object that was
within yards of
her. To put it mildly,
she was a klutz.
When taken outside, pots
were turned over, plants
were torn up and holes
were dug in a matter of
minutes. It was worse
when she was brought
inside. Literally, within
seconds, the dog was able
to drag a large kitchen
mat out into the hall and
up the stairs and into
any room where the door
had been left open. A run
across the kitchen would
leave chairs overturned.
Delivered letters were
snatched out of the
fingers of postmen trying
to deliver letters and
would be ripped to pieces
and turned into confetti
before ever reaching the
floor. Any available pot
or ornament within
lopping distance would be
jumped at and smashed to
pieces. If this was not
bad enough, she was never
quiet and rarely still.
Either she barked or she
whined and did so from
the very second she
arrived and continued to
do so twenty-four hours a
day, non-stop. Finally,
and to make things even
worse, she was not house
trained. The poor dog
seemed incapable of telling
you of her needs
since she was constantly
either barking or
whining. She would just
go whenever the
spirit moved her.
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LASSIE. RIN TIN TIN & TOTO |
What can I
say in favour of this
poor dog? Surely, you are
saying, she must have had
some good qualities.
Sadly, I cannot think of
any. And what happened to
this dog? Did she settle
down? Was my father able
to train her and
socialize her?
Unfortunately, we will
never know if this would
have been possible. One
day, not long after the
dog joined us, I came
home from school to hear
silence. I must confess
this proved pleasing. My
parents were sitting in
the kitchen obviously
enjoying the new found
quietness. I was to learn
that the dog had escaped
through an open door
and had taken off. My
father said that he tried
to catch it. He said that
the dog obviously saw his
chasing after her as a
game for she would ran
ahead and then stop and
wait for him to come
within reach of her.
This, she apparently saw
as a signal for her to
bound off again.
Eventually, the chase
brought them to a main
road. Oblivious of the
danger, the dog ran
across the road.
Naturally, this caused
cars and lorries to jam
on brakes and shriek to a
halt. Unfortunately, my
father was not able to
get across the road after
her any further and he
said that the last he saw
of the dog was her
running full pelt along
the other side of the
road. Soon, he said, she
was out of sight. Great
efforts were made to
retrieve the dog. I put
up notices of our missing
dog on lamp posts and
we explored the
neighbourhood many times.
My father asked the
postman if the dog had
returned home to him.
Apparently, the postman
almost choked with
laughter at this idea.
Sadly for her, we did not
grieve her loss, but we
did sincerely hope that
she had a happy life
wherever she ended up.
Sadly,
following this
catastrophe, my mother
would not allow another
dog in the house. As a
result, this marked the
end of my father’s
relationship with dogs.
He knew that she was
right. He no longer
worked for himself and
could not have a dog with
him at all times. He
still worked long hours,
but now he did so away
from home. Reluctantly,
he had to admit that he
could no longer develop
the same kind of
relationship that he once
had with his dog. Over
the years, I would see
him look at a dog in a
yearning manner, but
my mother would look at
him and this would remind
him of the last crazy
dog that he brought
home. He would sigh and
say nothing. After that
last debacle, we had only
cats. Life can certainly
be cruel at times.
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