I have definitely decided that when I am reincarnated I what to come back as a dog, no, not just any dog but one of my dogs. “Oh, how will I pay the electricity bill” is, for sure, not on either of my dogs worries in life. “Do you think that a solution for the Middle East will ever be found?” is not a conversation my dogs are ever having. The peak of their thoughts is built around when will I eat, what will I eat, how much will I eat and how often will I eat! Which, to be fair, could quite easily be running through my mind as well. Then where will I sleep and how long will I sleep, again also thoughts I have after a good meal. Come to think of it my dogs and all dogs have the right approach to life. Eat, sleep, play and f***, yes I like the sound of that, it’s like the Romans used to live in the time of their empire. Come to think of it they even get to poop where they want without cleaning up behind themselves, sounds even better.
I’ve heard that the more intelligent breeds can understand up to 3,000 different words, not bad, I know people who have a smaller vocabulary. I’m not sure if May and Zag understand anywhere near that amount, I have a feeling they’ve trimmed their dictionaries down to “walk, eat and stay” even the “stay” isn’t really that well-known, I think they’ve got selective hearing. Zag, a Labrador crossed with a hunting dog, is the baby of the pack, however if you’ve ever seen a forty kilo baby then let me know. He’s the kind of dog that if you met him in a dark street you’d probably cross the road. I can just imagine Cesar Millan, or the dog whisperer, taking a step back when he saw him. His bark is much worse than his bite, I’m sure that if a burglar ever crept through the window he’d happily bring slippers for him with a wagging tail.
Now this is a dog with a character. And not only a character but quite obviously a taste for good cuisine.
“I’ve left the chicken in the oven for you” said my wife on the phone. “Are you sure that Zag won’t eat it?” – “No, it’s fine, he’s not going to open the oven is he” said replied nonchalantly. Not only did he indeed open the oven but he also prepared himself a gourmet meal. As I arrived home I could see him, stomach full, licking his lips and burping with a look of satisfaction on his face. On entering the kitchen I saw why. Not only had he opened the oven but he had removed the heavy baking dish onto the floor along with the other dish full, well now empty, of vegetables. The dishes were so clean they looked like they’d been in the dishwasher all day; they resembled an advert for washing liquid. And then my rage was tempered and my curiosity raised. Along with the chicken my wife had also made two bowls of gravy. One with “domestic” homemade gravy and the other with gravy made from a packet. Ok, I have to be honest the packet gravy was in fact one of my favourites and bought in England. Now the two bowls were both on the floor, one was completely empty and one still totally full. Yes, as I said my dog is obviously a fan of the finer things in life. He licked the “domestic” bowl of gravy clean whilst the “chemical” bowl was completely, and I mean completely, untouched. Who said dogs were stupid?
Don’t get me wrong I love my dogs. From the teeth that chew the toes out of my socks, to the same teeth that have destroyed countless remote controls, to the wet tongue that awakens me at 6:00 every morning, to the throat that produces frantic barking when the neighbours commit the crime of walking in their own driveway, to the stomach which has enough room for a whole chicken, even to the tail that regularly knocks cups of coffee on the floor. There is, however, one new habit that I’m finding particularly difficult to stomach. For some unknown reason, maybe it could have something to do with his colourful diet, Zag has started to fart! It’s like he has been testing biological weapons in his stomach. Of course when it first happened I was the first to get the blame. “My God is that you” cried my wife as we were dropping off to sleep. “No, how could you think that something so hideous could come from my stomach” I answered. It was like my Zag was a balloon and had slowly but surely deflated himself, as I opened my eyes I half expected to see him flying around the bedroom in circles. Eyes watering, struggling for breath we quickly escaped the bedroom whilst Zag looked on as if to say “what’s the problem?” The worst thing is that there is no warning. They come like an assassin, like a ninja, hiding in the shadows, creeping up on you before closing in for the kill. Gas masks, that’s the answer, if anyone wants to buy me a present get me a gas mask. We have, however, found a use for these deadly gas bombs, they are great for getting rid of unwanted guests. “Lovely cup of coffee” said the guest, almost choking on the coffee as Zag had just exploded. It’s that awkward situation when you don’t want to say “who the hell has farted?” but the stench is so bad that you know that everyone knows, whilst nobody wants to own up. “Sorry I just remembered I’ve got an important meeting” choked the guest, tears rolling down his face, whilst Zag looked on “are you going already.”