Bleddy Dog!

How many bleddy times I must have muttered that phrase! If I had a penny for each of them, I’d be a fdcking millionaire!!

But I would never have been without any of them. They offer so much more than muddy paws, chewed shoes and cushions. Me wearing more fur than they do, clearing up their poop, and looking pretty chic whilst carrying it around looking for the nearest poop bin ….

How people can ever hurt them, I’ll never understand. They give loyalty and unconditional love, regardless of your character or circumstances! They occasionally judge….Or rather, they can sense if things are not right. Dumb animals? Pfft.

In my life I’ve had many dogs that have left an imprint in my heart. Each one so individual and terrific characters.

I don’t actually remember Duke the Great Dane, but the stories of his existence have been passed on… walking under the table for scraps … and walking off with the table on his back… that must have been ‘such fun’!

My real first mutt was a flea ridden Wire Haired Fox Terrier. He was called Lucky …. because my dad rescued him from a less than savoury existence. He was the cutest most loyal dog ever! Brave as a lion, unless the dustbin men came, or someone went by with a pram or shopping basket on wheels … then he’d bark like a fdcking numpty from behind something, where he couldn’t be seen. He also had a liking for Polo mints. After each one he would stick his tongue out and pant.. then beg for the next one.

The next one was Honey, a Golden Retriever, a completely loveable rogue. A professional thief! Not in the ‘traditional’ doggie way of stealing the food off the table …. but trotting off somewhere in the village, to come back with a quarter is clotted cream, a couple of times a week. This was when it was delivered by the milkman and Jeff in the the doorstep. Only it wasn’t ours. She never made a mark on the packaging, and I don’t think we ever got to the bottom of who was the victim. It stopped after a while … I guess the people got fed up with non delivery! This happy thief used to be the bane of the local garage as well … coming home with anything in display outside the door… kindling wood, hanks of steel wool, scrubbing brush … unmarked and all duly returned.

There was a huge gap before my next dog, as ‘life’ got in the way. I had cats…. another story, as we all know they own us, and whilst they were characters, they didn’t hold a bleddy candle to the canines!!

Then it was Boomer… the Newfoundland. He was the dog belonging to my new husband, who immediately ‘adopted’ me.., and always stayed within about a foot (300mm for the moderns!) of me… hence lots of fall and tumbles… but him being big, black and a fluffy 11stone made a soft landing. He could smell a Fruit Pastille at 200 paces… and the only time he would run.., well more a slow sort of lollop! He loved his walks …. but when he’s had enough he’d just sit down. Try bleddy shifting that when it’s a determined dead weight! The only thing that would get him going again, was (nope not a Fruit Pastille!) to turn around to head home. I’m sure he must have had a fecking doggie sat nav, to tell him how far he had come, and how far it was home again. Smart pooch

My love for big dogs continued. Along came Tommy, a rescue Burnese Mountain Dog. A walloping big bouncy boy…. he was a proper comedian. Didn’t have a fdcking care in the world. Just happy to be fed, walked, let loose in the fields and be loved. Only he thought he was a lap dog. 9 stone of him. Only ever happy if sneaking into the chair with me, and obliterating any view of my book or tv… it took a bleddy long time to train him to sit beside the chair, with this head and a paw on my lap. He could smile, and growl to command (only by me though). What a boy!

It took a while getting over losing him… but in the end, I couldn’t be without a dog, as the marriage was shite, and I needed a friend. And I got my Mr Benson aka Houdini. A fdcking expert escapologist! He was about to be put to sleep by the RSPCA, as had been in kennels for many months, and had vicious tendencies with any smaller animals. He needed a special and secure home. He was a very big boy, an Akita/malamute cross. With the best smiley face ever. So we took him. He escaping skills were legendary… being brought home by lots of people, including the police. Fortunately we weren’t aware of any problems with other small furries… apart from a few wild rabbits in our own fields. It cost us literally hundreds of fecking pounds to secure an acre of our garden to keep him in. You’d think we were fuckkng Fort Knox! He moulted for England, and Japan, and Alaska..,, each time he was stripped, you could almost make another bleddy dog from him. He was sum bleddy boy though. My dog. My Mr Benson. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have ‘custody’ when I left … it almost broke my heart… but at least the ‘lovely lady’ that replaced me took care of him. (Only fucking redeeming feature she had!! Oh bitchy me!)

Now I have Pippi da Pooch. A Beagley. I ‘downsized’!! More character (and trouble) than all the others put together…. an ongoing ‘challenge’ … But… I wouldn’t change her for the world.., she has been my saviour through a lot of frankly fucking shit times over the last 5 years. In truth I think she’s a cross between a dog and a cat … she definitely owns me at times. But do I care? Not a feckkng jot…. we are as happy as pigs in shit ..,, though when she comes in from the garden…. and doesn’t shut the door behind her…. I have been known to shout Bleddy Dog!!

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