Saturday, May 03, 2008

Not All Dogs Go To Heaven

I believe I may have mentioned the Urchin's little bastard ways before, albeit in an affectionate and jovial manner. She's treading on thin ice today though. Or perhaps not so much treading on it as bouncing up and down obnoxiously and overenthusiastically, wearing jackboots and daring it to crack.

I'm away from the shiny distractions of the big city this weekend in an effort to get my head down and get some assignments finished. Sitting with my parents last night we heard a tinkling sound coming from the kitchen, like sleigh bells, or an errant wind chime. We sat, ears cocked, trying to figure out what the fuck it was. Eventually curiosity got the better of Mam and she went to investigate, which is when she found Lila dancing on the kitchen table, enthusiastically licking the cutlery having already enjoyed a feast of butter and sugar from their respective dishes.

The Blonde, Alpha, is a polite and exceptionally well-behaved creature; affectionate, apologetic, undemanding. The ideal dog, a posterpup for Golden Retrievers. The Urchin, Lila, is a bad little bastard. I refer to her as an urchin because that's what she was - an abandoned pup. I found her in the car park of the swimming pool three years ago, wearing a collar but no tag. She was painfully skinny, excited and very scared, and the receptionist told me that she'd been there for hours. I took her up to the local vets, presuming they'd take her in. They laughed at me and gave me phone numbers for the pound and for PAWS. I called the pound who said to drop her on over, but warned me that she'd be destroyed if she wasn't claimed. No, then. I called PAWS who advised me that they didn't take puppies. I left notices in every vet's in town, with the local paper, with the Gardaí, with the "lost pets" slot on the local radio. And then I brought her home, to a delighted Blonde (Luckie, the love of my life and her constant companion, had to be put down a year before and she was lonely). Oh, and an absolutely fucking furious Dad.

I called PAWS again, pretending (really convincingly) to be someone else. This time they told me that they didn't take small dogs. Mam and Dad flew to New Zealand the following morning, and Lila settled into her new home by eating a large hole in the plaster of the kitchen wall - in the shape of things to come.

6 comments:

Thriftcriminal said...

Heh. Good for you. My neighbours had a black lab for many years that they found running down the Mitchelstown Rd. with bleeding paws. She'd been hoofed out of a car, poor thing. Luckily she was taken in by my friends and lived a life of comfort and joy (and smell, really bad smell) for many years.

Pinkie said...

HA! Good on Lila! Our littler dog did a runner with the chicken I was defrosting one sunday. A whole chicken. Semi-frozen, into the back-garden never to be seen again.

Rua said...

We had a dog when we lived up in Killester called Sceolan(completely misspelt, one of the Big CCs hunting dogs). She was great, a hyper aggressive untrainable Jack Russell Terrier who was the enemy of all bar me and my bro. She was eventually sent to 'the farm' when she jumped a full six feet in the air to bite one of our neighbours hands-great dog

Rosie said...

Lila sounds like the ideal replacement for your lost pup, Rua. she doesn't attack people at all, just other dogs and furniture.

Lila's greatest haul was some Lip Venom stinging lip gloss from my sister's handbag, which herself and Alpha cracked open and ate. it was funny watching them licking the kitchen presses and banging their heads off the floor in bewilderment once the tingle factor kicked in.

i don't mind the smell, Thrifty. it's the hyperactivity, blatant flaunting of the rules and constant slashing all over the kitchen floor that gets on my nerves.

National Disgrace said...

I Bill Murrayed again, didn't I?

Rosie said...

you did, a chroí. but it was a nice post about your doggies.