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It's a Dog's Life

"If you're going to spend more time travelling, then I want a dog."

And so, once I'd drifted off to the shores of the northern lakes and the fair city of Toronto back in August, I came home to a dog.

But I got to name him.

He was originally going to be called Pratchett. Until my sister-in-law pointed out that that sounded far too much like "Cat shit" and did I really want to be shouting that across the park when the little four legged bugger had bounded off after a bunch of pigeons.

So he became Arthur C Pratchett, named after two of my favourite writers. And Arthur does seem to suit him.

I never thought we'd have a dog. We have four kids, numerous house guests (more kids), a Siamese cat (who hates me, and virtually everyone else but my kids and my wife) and enough stuffed toys to re-stock Toys R Us. I thought this was more than enough. But, my wife had grown up in a zoo (40 odd animals) so the case was made for Arthur, and given that the case was made by my wife, I immediately lost the argument.

As anyone who's owned a puppy will know, they're both cute, and painful. The baby teeth thing has meant that stocks of stuffed toys are falling, the stair carpet has gone for a burton, and various trousers, shoes, plastic action figures, and part of the printer have been destroyed.

But he loves the cat.

The cat, true to form hates his guts and currently sits just outside the property boundary trying to entice the dog onto the road. I've always thought the cat was bright, but I hadn't realised she had murderous inclinations too. Never underestimate the lengths a cat will go to to annoy a dog. Let's hope they never develop opposable thumbs.

We may yet have to rename him Houdini, as our elderly neighbour regularly brings back a vigourously struggling puppy. Thankfully they think he's cute, and there's usually a smile and a comment along the lines of "He's fine dear, don't worry. It's just that he'd started to chew the tyres on John's wheelchair so we thought we'd better call time at the bar."

Arthur has the knack of escape and camouflage, and being utterly black blends perfectly into the slate floor in the kitchen. For safety reasons we're now thinking of getting a little flourescent jacket made for him with the words 'Trip Hazard' written on it. Although that does sound suspiciosly like a character from The Simpsons.

He does have the beneficial characteristic of needing a walk though which means that every now and again I have to unplug Brian from the computer and take 'son of Houdini' for a walk. The downside is that you have to pick up the odd steaming poop (in a sealed bag) but these can be good as a hand warmer on a cold day, as long as you don't think too much on the contents therein.

I used to firmly be a cat man, but as our current cat hates the very ground I walk on, I think I'm content to declare myself a dog man for a while. And if the cat ever develops opposable thumbs she can start doing the bloomin washing up: once she's stopped making rude signs at me.