Sunday, 29 January 2012
I copied it fairly slavishly from the little snapshot given me by the client, as my knowledge of the anatomy and bearing of dogs is limited. I don't even like the brutes - I've stood once too often in their produce, deposited, as it normally is, on street corners and outside peoples' gates. I would not care to encounter, on a dark night, the hound of hell which regularly drops its considerable bundle outside the Burgh Road gate of the Gilbertson Park here in Lerwick. I would, however, very much like to identify its owner, as the mutt is in flagrante delicto, so to speak. The satisfaction I would derive from his/her wallet depletion, on having his/her collar felt by the authorities, would be immense.
Someone offered me a dog once - probably in the pub, which is the place where I've had most of my interesting offers. I replied that I was more than capable of doing all my own fouling, howling, slavering and whining, as most of my friends will testify. The offerer seemed somewhat put out by this reply, although as to which part of it perplexed her, I'm not absolutely certain.
I can get quite curmudgeonly about dog owners, who confuse slavish obedience with intelligence in their pets. They'll demonstrate how "clever" their shitsus are, as they artlessly respond to commands to roll over, do somersaults, jump over obstacles or whatever the whim of the dictatorial poochmaster might be.
Give me a haughty, supercilious and indifferent pussy-cat any day. You can shout, point, whistle and gesticulate at a cat all you like, and it will merely regard you coolly, as if you have gone completely mad, give a disdainful tail-flick and carry on with whatever it was doing before it was so rudely interrupted. Now that's intelligence - coupled with style - for you!
I wish all you cool cats (and your pets!) a happy and successful week.