For those who look for comfortable shoes and cushioned seats were cheered by the way in which dogs dominated the feel-good sections of the press. First, we had an item to determine how doggy-minded you've become. Does he sleep in your bed? Do you pamper him more than your youngest child? Is he your youngest child? The one who never matures beyond adolescence? A toss up for many women as to whether that applies to husband or hound?
Not me, Miss. I only have a husband and previously mentioned, Grand-dog Ted, who does not belong to me.
Then there was the magnificent tale of Pero the sheep dog who voted with his four feet when his owners, farmers in Aberystwth, Wales, re-located him to Cumbria. Not exactly up the road..
He decided Cockermouth was not for him and he made his way, unaided, 240 miles back to his original owners. Lassie eat your heart out. Disney needs an exclusive interview.
I am lapping this lot up like I invented dog-ownership. Really, I am a dog-owner by proxy. I walk, I scoop the poop as fast as he can lay it, and wear the dog poop-scooper badge with pride. Once a week, Dearest and I are bowled over by a canine dynamo who greets us like he welcomes his primary carers, and my heart melts again.
So I was very concerned to read from experts that this most cherished, most affectionate cockerpoo might be trying to escape the adoring embraces of his family when he yields to cuddles and responds with frenzied licking. Trying to escape?
As I looked this afternoon at this hound with his head once more in my lap and his paw floppily at ease, I fully believe it was his choice to be there.
He was, however, briefly, in the dog-house.
You see, two days ago, Ted was sick in the dining room where son-in-law was attempting to iron trousers for big night out (modern man). Unfortunately, trouser leg trailed in dog-vomit. Explosive expletive occurred.
My grandson, of the lately removed adenoids, still has compromised hearing.
"Why is Daddy calling Ted, King Dog?"
Regal or what?
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