15 January, 2011 / General


Our new rescue dog, Jack, is settling in well, although I fear that we are overindulging him. He has been bought a bagful of gnarly pigs’ ears, which I hadn’t realised actually are pigs’ ears until I studied one up close. He also has a chewy bone with something dense and smoky inside. The bone lies, half-chewed on our living room rug, eking out its meaty smell.

On the good side, and it’s all good really, I’ve discovered that I am a dog person, having previously dismissed the canine population as little more than crotch-sniffing poop-machines. Jack does poop, of course, but even the picking up part isn’t as gut-churning as I’d anticipated. I honestly thought I’d be hanging over a litter bin, vomiting. It helps that he’s ours, though. Like dealing with babies’ emissions, it only seems to trigger the retching reflex if it’s popped out of a non-family member.

Other great things about owning Jack: his delightful game of bounding around the garden with a frisbee, and that fact that my 13 year-old sons have increased their time spent outdoors by about 300%. Sometimes Jack is walked five times a day. Come evening, the poor fella is knackered.

I’m trying to think of the downsides but actually, there aren’t any. Why did no one tell me that acquiring a dog changes the family dynamics for the better? That it would bring us closer and inject a huge dose of fun into our lives? Okay – my children did. They didn’t put it like that exactly, but I distinctly remember them saying, ‘A dog will be good for our family’ about 500 times. And they were right.



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