I don’t think that I have ever written a bad word about my dog before. My constant companion is generally so well-behaved, it doesn’t seem possible that one dog could be so good. But this afternoon, he is very much in the doghouse, which in his case, is being confined to his bed in the kitchen, with a grumpy look on his face.
The day started well enough, and was bright, warm, and sunny. I let him out this morning for his usual patrol around the back of the house and garden, and he came back in an hour later, happy to get his small breakfast chew. He then went back to sleep of course, waiting until midday, when I have a snack. He likes to sit close by as I eat this daily sandwich, confident in the knowledge that he will get a small scrap of ham, or part of a crust of bread.
Later on, I got into the bath, as I do everyday, before taking him out. He came into the doorway of the bathroom to check where I was, and then went back to bed, knowing he would be getting out for his walk soon. When I had finished, I stood up, and put a foot over the side of the bath, ready to get out. What I didn’t know was that Ollie had crept back into the bathroom, and was sitting close to the panel. As my foot came down on his back, he jumped up. This threw me totally off balance, and with one leg still in the water, I fell heavily. I crashed back into the water, which was fortunately shallow. As I did so, I banged both elbows on the sides of the enamel, and finished by striking the back of my neck on the rim too. Ollie had bolted by then. I should be thankful that he hasn’t got the necessary skill to have put the moment up on You Tube or Facebook, I suppose.
After checking that I hadn’t actually broken anything, I dried off, and got ready to leave. The afternoon was glorious indeed. Warm and dry, bees buzzing, and children playing in the river. I decided to stay out a little bit longer because of this, and by the time we got back, we had been out for just over two and a half hours. As Ollie had been in the river, it is usual for me to dry him off before he comes in, especially his feet. They can tread muddy paw marks onto the light-coloured stone tiles in the kitchen, or the pale green carpet beyond. He normally stands for this, with no complaint, accepting it as part of the daily routine.
For some reason, he wasn’t having it today. He ran past me, and headed for the living room. As suspected, muddy paw prints were scattered around, with something very black and sticky ending up at the side of the living-room carpet. I followed with my towel, determined to clean the paws before more mess could be made. But to my surprise, as I tried to lift one of his paws, he growled angrily at me. I went for the other front paw instead, and got a similar response. I told him off, and tried again, and this time he not only growled, he went to snap at me.
That was enough. I made him go and sit on his bed, and he is still there as I type. I have a feeling that he may well have to spend the rest of the evening there too. As great as he is, he is just a dog. And dogs must know who is in charge.
Ollie ate all his dinner, and is now trying to chew the nose off of his toy bulldog.
All back to normal, as far as he is concerned.