Occasional Scribbles

It’s a beautiful evening, the sun is still warm and everything is washed in gold.  Skinny and I fancy a walk out into the corn field now that it has been cut.  We meander along over the crunchy stubble, enjoying the peaceful tranquility and each others company, listening to the soothing sounds of doves cooing and birds singing.  We get about a third of the way down when I hear the sound of a car pulling up by the side of the field.  I glance over to see who it is and my heart sinks as I realise it the man who lives in one of the farm cottages further down the lane.

Skinny and I have met him before and hoped we wouldn’t bump into him too often.  He has a large black Labrador dog, rippling with pounds of muscle and giant manly bits dangling between his legs.  Skinny shivers as they get out of the Volvo.  I make no move towards him but he is clearly determined to come and say hello. 

Small men sometimes feel the need to make up for their size and this man is typical of that sort.  In his case he has the huge black dog that is not as fierce as he would like it to be.  He controls it with a rod of iron and has trained it to perform various tricks.  It’s obedience is impressive, but I know it is born out of fear.  The first time we met, Skinny and I were almost home when the enormous beast came charging up the field towards us, dead set on catching up with a very worried Skinny.  The man had let it off it’s lead, unaware that we were near by.  Realising his dog was heading straight for us, he leaped in his car in hot persuit, hoping to head him off before Skinny, running for her life, ended up in the road.  Luckily Skinny had the good sense to run straight home but not before the dog caught up with her.  He turned out to be an absolute gentle giant.  The man arrived, grabbed the dog and shut him into his car and turning to me, the first words out of his mouth were, ” I shall give him the hiding of his life when I get him home.”  I was rather taken aback at this.  I said not to worry, no harm done but he went on to tell me that he never diciplines his dog in public as people get the ‘wrong idea’ and think he’s being cruel.  I felt dreadful for the dog; he hadn’t really done anything wrong.  He’d been let off the lead and naturally, was curious once he saw Skinny and I further up the field.  We talked for a while and I realised that this man had no idea about dogs and shouldn’t really have one.  Worse, I knew by the time he got home and thrashed the dog, it wouldn’t have a clue what it had done to deserve such treatment.

This evening, after some small talk, he eventually let the dog out of the car.  I wasn’t too keen, fearing it would chase Skinny and Skinny wasn’t keen either and was hiding behind my legs.  The dog, as before was perfectly well behaved while the man insisted on putting him through his paces; showing me how obedient he was, how he could bring back a ball, even sitting after it had been thrown until the command came to go and retrieve it.  I watched all this, rather bored, frankly.  It was a pathetic display of this man’s dominance over what is a gentle, delightful animal.  I listened while he told me all the things he could make it do and perhaps sensing that I’m not especially thrilled to see a circus act, he saved the worst till last.

“I’ve trained him to attack me, you know?” he boasts.  “Really,” I say, “what for?”  “Well I wanted to make him into an attack dog, incase anyone went for me, I wanted him to get between me and an attacker”.  Um.  What a twit, I think to myself.  He’s trying to get a Labrador gun dog, to be an attack dog.  A Labrador, one of the best natured, family friendly dog you can get.  Honestly.

“Of course I had to make him agressive to begin with”, he starts to explain.  “I’ll show you how I did that.”  I begin to feel uncomfortable.  I can’t stand cruelty in any way, to any thing.  I try to keep a neutral expression on my face as he starts to whack the dog quickly on each side of it’s face, trying to anger it.  I feel quite sick, in fact I start to back away.  I speak to the dog, directly, “you don’t want to do that do you dog”? I say hoping the man will realise I am uncomfortable. The poor dog, simply won’t be angry and eventually the jerk gives up.  He explains that the dog is too tired and I readily agree and am thankful the disgusting scene is over. 

By now, I am sidling away a bit further and making my excuses to go home.  He can’t resist telling me which part of the dog he ‘punches’ in order to keep it under such control and I am sickend yet again.  A car comes along and he yells sternly for the dog to ‘heel’.  I gently call to Skinny, who, obedience personified, trots up and stops right by my feet, tucking herself in to allow the car to pass.  I think she is releived she belongs to me.  She shivers as she hears the man shout again at the dog to lie down.

Small men – do they really have to have big dogs?  I’d rather he boasted about his male parts frankly.