My rat has morphed into a Bat. Apart from her whiskers and giant erect ears she is also blood thirty and equipped with the finest of fangs that can pierce even the most sun soaked skin. There was a small incident with my neighbour Tania who spends 6 months of the year in Torremolinos. Her face is clearly not as tough as it looks.
I’m surprised Pat doesn’t think her name is ‘Ouch! You Feckin Ol’ Bastard’ Especially since she wants get into Hip-Hop. I respond just like my mother lovingly says to me ‘Whatever makes you happy sweetheart’. In the last 6 weeks she has been called all the names that naturally tipple off my tongue; Pattie, Patsy, Pattacake, Little Pat, Pat the Rat, Little Baby, The Little One, Stinkers, Smelly Bum, You Little Fucking Fucker! and so on. Each name is spoken from my heart or through clenched teeth. I think she prefers the name Good Girl as it is always apostrophized with something tasty. Where as You Little Fucking Fucker often leads to her being frog marched to the kitchen where she is banished to do 30 puppy sit-ups and lick the floor until it is spotlessly clean. What won’t kill her will make her? Plus I get to kill two birds with one punishment. I hate cleaning. I think I’ll still have to take the bins down though, she’s opposed to separating rubbish into food waste and recycling. Not until she sees solid proof that the recycling in our area actually leaves a cleaner carbon paw print.
I am amazed by the lack of imagination when people train their pets. Why stop at jumping through flaming hoops. Why hasn’t there been more emphasis on house work, childcare or running general errands. How wonderful would it be if Pat knew the only way to get her dinner was to work for it like the rest of us. Imagine how much more love I’d have for her if she did the weekly food shop, its really easy now, all she has to do is copy last weeks basket and picked a delivery time.
As you can probably tell I’ve never had a dog before.
I have just recently become the proud mother/owner of a very tiny, very cute, very mental Chihuahua.
Within minutes of meeting her I knew she was going to be called Pat after my childhood cassette tape companion, Patsy Cline. The adoption process began in Woodgrange, (an East London ghetto), but since bringing her back to Parsons Green (a South West London posh patch) I have realised how much a postcode makes a puppy. She is a feisty little fucker, sorry puppy! With an attitude problem or a big personality depending on whether you are more into Freud or Jung. On route from E12 before boarding the Overground I did a full body search. On inspection sharp teeth and poo bombs were confiscated, along side the other potentially dangerous ammunition she had been harvesting in the ghetto.
They say looks can be deceiving. Well, she could work for MI5 with a licence to kill and go undetected for years and retire early with a very comfortable pension. At first glance you see a soft, fluffy, docile, meek bundle of sweetness but when we are at home alone her true temperament is unveiled. Of course she is adorable and we have our moments, I find she is especially wonderful when she is asleep. Our best time together is in the mornings, she can’t contain her excitement when she sees me and we spend at least five minutes of greeting and licking. Guess who does the licking…correct.
I have never had a puppy before, I wish she came with a manual and some sticky back ‘L’ plates for me to adorn on my forehead. I had no idea what to expect and she wasn’t a Christmas present that came with a gift receipt, I made this decision. Whoops.
Being small, Pat is a particularly pernickety little bug. I often find that I am bothering or disturbing her if you don’t mind! Naturally she is full of energy and has regular mood swings peppered with ouchie bites. I now know that this is normal, but based on no previous experience I felt like I was doing something very wrong. My Mother’s karmic wish had come true. Over the past three weeks I have felt like a failed new mum, guilty, stressed and fat.
I hastily diagnosed Pat with Manic Depression and ADHD, how else would you describe the following behaviours? After ecstatically licking every ounce of moisturiser off my face she then turns on her toys or revs up to Olympic speed to race around the kitchen in laps. This is then followed by misdirected anger towards my ankles with a finale of sleepy surrender as she curls up like a burnt Danish bun in her bed. (Just breathe and count sheep backwards right?) Someone not mentioning any names needed training and someone else, me, needed medication! (Donations of spare valium are very welcome. Still breathing sheep backwards! Its not working!)
Because I wanted her to be the best behaved puppy in the United Kingdom I engrossed myself in puppy training pamphlets, blogs, books, breeders websites and of course youtube, the modern Oracle. My first search was, how does one paper train a puppy? Basically how do I get her not to shit on my bed, in my shoe, up my dressing grown sleeve, on my toast, in the corner or on my face! The first thing that I noticed about the training information was the benevolent tone of the advice. Modern methods of Puppy training have to be done using a genuine feeling of love, as they know when you are faking it! Great! You also have to be consistent with your ‘lovingly humane’ Bollywood styli responses towards every move they make. There is no room for exceptions. I feel like a militant lunatic as I express pantomime emotions to a rat on a ribbon. Although I find the training methods and theories a bit new agie after a short while you get to the see the benefits of praising good behaviour whilst ignoring the bad. Rather than my initial ill informed practice of locking her in a box for two days without food, water or light to get the desired results.
Tip: Think ‘unwanted behaviour’ apparently its not a good idea to think or use the word ‘bad’
Sometimes I want to scream, ‘She just a dog!’ but then again she is a helpless tiny mutt that is relying on me to stay alive, so I persist. Joking aside I do find it slightly amusing the way we treat children and animals so preciously in the 21st Century. Its right of course, I wouldn’t change it, I can’t abide any unhinged cruelty. Although once…maybe a few times I couldn’t help thinking if she was born in 1912 she’d be bringing home a wage package by now. Instead I’m working extra hours to keep a roof over her head. There’s a lot to be said for factories that let the little ones sleep under the mills. As ol’ B Dylan says, “times are a changing”, I think times have changed Bob.
I do wonder what impact it has on the brains of a dog to set up Humane or should I say Dogmane terms with a long list of rules and boundaries. In essence I am ‘lovingly’ teaching my puppy to be ‘good’ (controlled), do as it’s told. As I assume I would if I had a child, lets face it no wants a baby or a puppy that thinks its cool to bark, cry, bite, chew or shit on your face.
I am learning everyday, as is she.
RT @DaughtersofEve: We would also like to say a massive con-grats to @UK_Feminista on #muffmarch it was an amazing day.! “mitts of my mu …
ANTI-LABIAPLASTY PROTEST #MUFFMARCH TODAY @ 11.30AM, MEETING IN MARYLEBONE GREEN IN REGENTS PK, INFO FB http://t.co/nB0JgBfz
Are you ready to get your Muff out on this Saturday? Only a few days left to get a bush on! The Muffia will be there!