Hey Kirby! Can you spare a moment from your frantic schedule? I’d appreciate a word.
Oh, erm … yes … who is that? … I can’t see you.
Me. Look around, near the fence. It’s Jock. You know, the dog from next door.
Dog? What, that scruffy little Border Terrier! Come on, pull the other one … Look I’m busy here – middle of writing something serious about mobility week, and I’m in no mood to exchange pleasantries with a Winalot munching shit factory …
Can I stop you there, Kirby, old chap. That’s precisely what I want to talk to you about. You have to stop going around giving us dogs a bad name. Write something positive about us for once.
Ah, I think you have me all wrong. I’m here to provide serious, thought-provoking comment with an edgy slant on the pressing issues of the day … I don’t have a remit to spin stories for the Kennel Club.
Well, pardon me for voicing an opinion. Nobody wants to read that tripe you write about traffic lights and zebra crossings, trust me. You should hear what Barbara and Geoff think about all that! People want to read about dogs. Watch me do this trick with an old tennis ball I found in the hedge, you’ll love it! Write about that.
There’s no way I’m taking blogging lessons from a pooch. And, by the way, have you seen yourself? I know dogs aren’t known for their unshakeable sense of self respect but you don’t exactly help your cause when you pull silly stunts like that.
Everyone thinks it’s cute!
Maybe that’s what they tell you to your face. I think you look a bit needy and desperate. Give it up.
How’s about this one then … look at how I run around in tiny circles yapping just to show I’m pleased to see you. Crowd pleaser, this is.
Sorry, can I get back to my writing? The laptop is running out of battery and the toast is getting cold.
Toast! Did you say toast? Fling us a bit … go on, fling as high as you like. You’ll love this – positively acrobatic the way I launch myself from a crouched position and snatch the rocketing toast from several feet in the air … you know if I were a human being I could jump that greenhouse!
Very impressive. Really must get on now … bye.
Right, ok, yes … just one more try … how about the way I scrape at the back door, cock my head to one side and whimper appealingly when I want to go do a tinkle.
When you want to do a WHAT?
Tinkle! That’s what they say when they take me out to do my business. It’s just natural.
Aagh! Hell, I can put up with a lot of things. I can even tolerate a talking terrier that’s just snaffled half my breakfast. But one thing I shall not stand is any of those lame, puerile, witless, repellent euphemisms sneaking into my blog post … like I said, dogs are just machines for manufacturing shit. Now will you please bugger off and go chew a slipper or whatever it is you dogs do for fun these days.
No, not till you take that back and write something nice.
There’s nothing nice about shit.
You’d soon change your tune if I dashed over there and nipped you in the backside, wouldn’t you! Anyway, it’s not our fault. We didn’t ask to be domesticated. Deal with it. Remember the guy with the Alsations?
What guy?
In the street the other day. Always walks his dogs before work. Dresses nice, drives an Audi.
Yes, he’s always on his mobile phone making deals at seven in the morning, loudly. So what, not unusual. Except he’s got three Alsations.
You’re not telling the whole story, Kirby. As usual. Go on, say it …
Say what? There’s no story … one of the dogs … no, all of the dogs use the street as a toilet … what do you want me to do? Like you say, it’s natural.
You’ve asked the dogs? Asked them if they wouldn’t mind doing their business somewhere else?
Of course not. Dogs don’t talk …they are Alsations!
Actually, some of my best friends are Alsations … those three are reasonable types …
Really, I’m sorry if I have maligned your canine chums. But let’s be serious.
So, if you are not going to talk to the dogs about depositing in a more acceptable place, why haven’t you collared the owner – the big guy with the booming voice who obviously goes to the gym everyday … couldn’t you make your displeasure plain? Why don’t you speak to him?
He’s always on the phone. Like I said, wheeling and dealing.
That so?
Last time one of the dogs crapped right outside the house he just turned away as if to give it some privacy, stared me right in the eye and carried on his phone conversation about property portfolios and project deadlines … felt rude to interrupt.
That’s people for you.
I felt a bit sorry for the dog, I have to say. Poor thing looked embarrassed.
If you’d had to hold it in all night and then was made to wait till some idiot got off the phone before you could do your business then you might have a bit more sympathy with what us dogs have to put up with.
Maybe … and that guy doesn’t even pretend to carry poop bags! I’ll have to have a word … when I can.
Make sure you do. When you can.
And if I find time I’ll write something positive about dogs, though can’t promise when.
If you write something nice then I’ll refrain from digging up your rose bushes and cocking my leg against your fence … if I can.