I live alone. Since splitting with my ex a few years ago this is how it has been, with a couple of exceptions that I can’t go into for legal reasons. I have my children to stay for two nights every week which is gorgeous. However my flat isn’t large and it has no dining table. This means I don’t have people over for dinner. Ever. There is an emptiness that needs filling.
So I find myself with a renewed yearning for a dog. Its a deep yearning that is consuming me daily. I have had it before and it passes in time. However each recurrence is more intense and hanging around for longer and longer. I haven’t met the dog and already it’s got it’s claws deep into me.
These pangs are briefly sated by trawling websites of various dogs trusts and canine charities. This is not a pastime I would recommend you indulge in, especially when pissed. I can spend hours looking at the gallery of pictures of scrappy, unwanted, discarded, unloved and frankly mental mutts that need re-homing. I imagine its what business men do in hotel rooms mid-conference as they trawl through escort agency websites looking for some late-night lady-company. I doubt whether they are after an ‘older mutt, house trained and good with kiddies’, mind you, nothing surprises me these days.
There is nothing like a wagging tail when you come in from work or an idiot of an animal that will chase a ball in a park for hours on end.
Now I don’t like a sweeping generalisation (this is not true) but as I pushed further into my fifth decade I meet an increasing amount of spinsters who have filled their homes with moggies. My problem is not with them but with the cats. I grew up with cats. I quite like them but their ‘fuck you, I’m off to my other family now, see you in about a week’ attitude pisses me off. If I put in the hours, buy the food and clean the shit then I want the love all to myself. Everyone knows dogs won’t do that. They’re too emotionally retarded to live a dual life. Give a dog a biscuit and he’s yours. I also work to this principle (as long as its a Viscount!).
I don’t mind being perceived as a doggy guy, which doesn’t mean evenings hanging around car parks and flashing my lights (although I rule nothing out). Instead I yearn for a pooch by my side, post evening meal, supine and relaxed as we merrily break wind, blaming each other. There is nothing like a wagging tail when you come in from work or an idiot of an animal that will chase a ball in a park for hours on end.
I’m good with dogs. They like me. Plus, I’ve had the kind of dog rearing experience that puts me in very good stead. For many years my ex-wife and I owned Mr Bojangles the beagle. Any beagle owner will concur that when you’ve brought up a pure breed hound any other dog is a walk in the park. A walk in the park off-lead. We rarely let ‘Bo’ off lead because you ran the risk of him running away and returning hours later the size of a bison after having upturned every wheelie bin between the park and the house. A couple of years ago he ran away on Hampstead Heath on Christmas Day only to be found two days later in the back garden of his previous house barking insanely at a Domino’s Hot Wings box wearing a coating of fox shit.
Despite the days getting colder and being shrouded in a blanket of grey I would still love nothing more than to take a loyal companion around a park and for it to come back when it was called. Right, what bus route goes to Battersea?
Another Sabotage Times Doggy Lover writes ....
Why I Chose My Dog Over My Sex Life
Dogs are being ditched and drowned in record numbers across the UK by owners who can’t handle the financial and emotional investment their Handbag Hounds require.
Though abandoned Chihuahuas hit record numbers, single menfolk are in high demand and short supply, so I had a lot of explaining to do when I chose to dump my dude for a dog....
To read more woof here
Plus throw a stick to the bar for the excellent Dogs in Pubs article.
Click here for more stories about Life
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Twitter
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Facebook