Dogs

I know I'm a dog person. They love me and I love them. All of them except one. I'll expand on that later. Ironically, one of the only songs I really dislike by Cat Stevens is "I love my dog"!
As a boy in Belrose, I remember we had 2 dogs, Ticky and Tarvi. Tarvi being dad's big kelpy cross  and ticky mum's Australian silky. I have vivid memories of me running into the loungeroom as dad was due home with tarvi from the vets and dad walking through the garage door into the house carrying a big blue plastic bag in the shape of a very rigid dog. Tarvi was old even before I was born so its not so surprising I didn't know him for too long. He was buried in the back yard.
Ticky hung around for another decade or so and was then interned to the back yard. Puck was then part of the family until his disappearance 15 years later. I suspect he is in someone else's yard now. You see, in our family, dogs were the pet of choice. Yes, we had a cat but that doesn't fit in with this post so I'll ignore that version of the facts for the time being.
Anyways, dogs are simply a loving and stress relieving bit of life.
Our first was Ollie. When Jane and I reunited after a brief engagement hiatus, she brought with her back into our relationship a tiny white puff of fur called Ollie. As a perfect maltese, we was very important to us both. I brought with me back into the relationship a 1982 1200cc Honda Goldwing. Apparently  relationships with motorbikes are a little more easily ended. Ollie stayed with us for 17 years and saw 2 kids come into the family but is now buried in the back yard of the house we owned at the time of his death. He is so sadly missed.
My wife refers to our black Labrador as "Blaze" when she needs him to listen to her woes. His name is "Po" by the way but he seems to handle the role change in his stride. We bought Po from a lady across town about 4 years ago. The family wanted a smallish dog suitable for lap sitting and the like but I was in favour of something a little bigger. So we took off in the car to just 'look' at the 8 week old black lab puppy. On the way, the boys both decided when ever we did get a dog, it was to be called "Flamo". It was clearly understood by all that we were just looking though. Well we saw this as yet unnamed puppy, fell in love and took him home. Upon reflection, our plans to just look were doomed from the get go.  The white splash of fur on his chest determining his name to be Po from KungFu Panda. I still have yet to see the movie but I'm reliably informed it is an accurate portrayal. Po is a perfect dog. Well, when I say perfect I mean perfect temperament, perfectly behaved, perfect size, perfect colour and perfect hair shedding dog. There was the once, no I mean two times, he reduced a sofa cushion to cotton balls and of

course the scratches on the back french doors and lets not forget the dug holes in the driveway and fouled up the pool by swimming too many times but other than that I mean, he is perfect. I looked at my instagram the other day for the first time in ages and well its pretty much just Po. We sit silently in each others company late at night and I know he's there for me and he knows me too. When its time for bed, I stand up and he ,without prompting or shushing or anything, takes himself outside to his bed as well. He is perfect.
Oh, that dog I don't like and am glad he's dust now. I was a boy about 10 years old. Walking up the street to my house I happened to glance to my left and looking down the driveway of a house, made eye to eye contact with their mangy filthy hairless cranky shit of a dog. That look was a long one. We sized each other up in those few moments. Dog V Man, the age old conflict long since removed with the domestication of canines. I knew his intentions were not honourable though and so as my legs launched me up the street towards my house, I felt I was safe as I reached my driveway. He was not a young dog and he had a long drive to cover before he even got to the street I was on. My relief as I reached the crest of the street and the haven that was my yard was punctuated with the sensation of animal teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my right buttock cheek. The fear and pain was tremendous but the embers of embarrassment glowed hotter by the sniggering chortles of those entrusted with my care post bite. Mum and dad.
I went on with my life but always, always, always went up the far side of the street and never turned my back on that little fucker ever again. I know Po has my back now though.