Tag Archives: dogs

An Interview With My Guide Dog Trigger

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Me: “Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed Trigger”.

“Trigger: “I only agreed because you promised me a large marrow bone”.

“Me: “I don’t remember making any such promise!”

Trigger: “No bone, no interview”.

Me: “OK, you win but I’m not happy about this!”

Trigger: “Just get on with it will you. I can see a fox in the garden below. I want to go and play with him”.

Me: “You know foxes don’t appreciate your idea of play”.

Trigger: “All I want to do is play chase the tail. Really I can’t imagine why that silly fox objects to me wanting to catch him by the tail”.

Me: “Well I will explain, its … oh lets forget about it. Whatever I say, the next time you are off the lead you will still chase that poor fox”.

Trigger: “To be honest I’m getting bored with foxes. I’d love to play with one of those squirrel creatures. They really are most unsporting. Whenever I get near one they go and climb a tree. I can’t climb trees”. (Trigger looks sorrowful and his tail droops between his legs).

Me: “You love going into the office with me. Can you tell my readers what you like about my place of work?”

Trigger: “Everyone is so kind. People leave all kinds of tasty morsels within easy reach of a large lab/retriever. All I need to do is put my nose onto the desk and the prize is mine! I especially enjoy a challenge. Some workers put their food in plastic containers. These present a little more of a challenge. I have, however easily mastered the world of tuppaware containers”.

Me: “Is there anything you would like to say to my colleagues?”

Trigger: “Thank you for feeding me but, in future please just leave eatables on the floor it makes things much easier for me!”

Me: “what is your philosophy of life?”

Trigger: “If it’s vaguely edible eat it and, even if its inedible chew it anyway as this can be tremendous fun”.

Me: “Thank you Trigger. I’m off for a slice of chocolate cake. Trigger have you seen my cake? Bad dog, come here …!”

Dogs Prefer Physical Contact To Verbal Praise Study Claims

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A study has concluded that our four legged friends prefer being petted to verbal praise and being fed over petting. Now there’s a surprise. I never, in my wildest dreams would have guessed that dogs prefer food over strokes or pats! To be fair this is a summary, in the Daily Mail of what is a rather complex piece of research and I am sure, as is often the case, that the press have simplified the findings. None the less I (along with millions of other dog lovers) could have told the researchers that canines prefer food to a good old fashioned fuss.

For the article please visit http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2744762/Don-t-bother-talking-Fido-PET-Dogs-prefer-physical-contact-vocal-praise-study-claims.html

A Walk In Woolton Woods

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This morning my mum, her partner, the 2 dogs and I visited Woolton Woods and Camp Hill which are a 10 minute drive from my mum’s home.

The ancient woods where full of the scent of newly mown grass, the heady smell being heightened by the showers which for brief periods chased the sun away.

Both the woods and Camp Hill which abut them contain many ancient oaks. I have always had an affinity with these great trees which derives from happy recollections of collecting acorns with my grandfather. I love the smooth feel of the outer shell of the acorn and how it contrasts with the softer seed within.

One huge oak branch lay on the ground. The wood felt hard to the touch indicating that it haden’t resided long on the woodland floor and was, perhaps a casualty of the recent after effects of the tail end of the hurricane which recently invaded our shores.

A large tree stump stood on the ground it’s roots still clearly visible. The great cycle had begun with grass growing out of this once venerable tree as, imperceptibly decay set in. In years to come this tree trunk will, no doubt fertilise the woodland floor allowing new saplings to take it’s place.

Feeling a little self conscious I tried to put my arms around a huge oak. Unsurprisingly they reached barely halfway round the trunk. The rough bark felt good under my hands, the tree and I sharing a connection – both products of nature’s rich tapestry. This great oak and the others surrounding it have been there long before I was born and unless a mighty natural disaster uproots them will remain long after I have ceased to be. Whenever I see ancient trees the paltry arrogance of humanity is put firmly in it’s place. Those oaks have doubtless seen generations come and go, people living what, for them are lives full of meaning while the great trees look on silently watching generation succeed generation.

Something Found By A Dog In A Graveyard

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My dog found something in a graveyard, was it a bone I wonder? Chomp went his jaws, bone or whatever it was consigned to oblivion, to rumble and tumble in a canine’s stomach. Then out again, back to the ground, from the earth we come and to the earth we shall return.

What Is That Sound Which So Thrills The Ear?

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Several days ago I was browsing Youtube on my iPad when I came across the following squeaky toy sound effect, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9U86c2Zf5og. My guide dog, Trigger is a lover of squeaky toys and has often driven me half mad running up and down my flat excitedly squeaking one of his toys, his tail wagging furiously. Given Trigger’s love of things which go squeak in the night I was interested to see how he would react to the Youtube clip.

On clicking on Youtube, Trigger jumped out of his bed and looked around a puzzled expression (well as puzzled as any canine can look) on his face. He then proceeded to investigate my iPad with his nose but, eventually retired in disgust to his bed wondering why whatever was making that squeaking sound refused to be played with! Trigger is now wise to what is happening and hardly dains to lift his head when that new elusive squeaky toy starts it’s squeaking.

Barking

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Standing in my kitchen, peeling an orange, I was arrested in my progress by a sound cold, short and sharp –  The barking of one of the many foxes who make their homes in and around Crystal Palace. “Bark” the sound sent a shiver down my spine. Once again, “bark”, what are you about my friend? Do you hunt for food or call to your brethren? My dog lies seemingly unperturbed in his bed. He is your distant cousin but on this evening acknowledges you not. Sometimes he stands, nose pressed against the window, intent on you, his distant relative in the garden far below, but tonight he communes not with you. Fox, dog, so close and yet so far removed. Creature of domesticity, something wild lurks within. Sometimes you give short, sharp barks like your relation yet, if your paths chanced to cross you would give chase. You are, my dog, mine but not wholly so. You are part of the domestic hearth but yet have a paw in the wilderness. When you dream you are, I think closer to the wild fox calling at my window than you are to puny man.

The barking has ceased but the sound of death lingers on.

Shades Of The Prison House Begin To Close Around The Growing Boy

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Walking in the park something smooth and round under my feet. I long to explore like the small boy I once was, to bend down and pick it up. What will people think, A strange middle-aged man bending over in a park full of autumn? The child thirsting for discovery contends with the staid adult who stands on ceremony. The child wins. I bend retrieving the smooth round conker. No not quite smooth but beautiful in it’s imperfection, soft in my hands. Should I take it home to harden in the dark like the small boy I once was?

Thoughts of my grandfather. Walking in the woods full of autumn. Us two together gathering nature’s fallen fruit. Opening acorns my blind hands feeling the kernel inside. Part of something I didn’t then understand.

The conker slips from my hands. I bend trying to retrieve the fallen prize. So many conkers, impossible to know which one it is.

I return home and play rough and tumble with my dog. His tail wags furiously no sad thoughts fill his head.

London Fox

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I lie my mind attempting to focus after deep slumber. A sound cold and sharp reaches me. The bark of a fox hunting or calling to it’s mate. The quilt has fallen. The cold sound of the fox mingles with my coldness. I shiver pulling the cover over me. Bark, bark the noise fills the early morning.

3.30ish. I need to drink. Entering my living room, on the way to the kitchen I pass my domesticated fox. No not a fox but my dog seemingly unaware of his cousin outside. He lies sleeping separated by the thin veil of domesticity from his wild relation.

The sound has ceased. I fall asleep and dream confusedly of dogs and wolves.

The Tumult and The Shouting Dies

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Yesterday morning as I stood patiently in line waiting to enter the underground at London’s Victoria station, surrounded by the hussle and bussle of rush hour, I longed to be anywhere other than the capital of this United Kingdom. Well the tumult and the shouting can be put aside for a while as I’m off to Liverpool this evening to spend time with my mum, her partner and my sister, not forgetting Lilley my mum’s black Labrador. I do hope that my guide dog, Trigger doesn’t cause chaos by chasing Lilley around the house but that is, alas I fear to much to wish for!

I will be returning to London on 9 August and it is unlikely that I’ll blog while I’m away. See you all on or around 9 August.

 

Kevin