I’ll admit it, I am naturally a cat person. I like their pretend independence and their ability to pull up their own personal duvet and sleep anywhere. I like the way they act all indignant when you pick them up and then flop about like a baby when they think no-one else is looking. I can ignore their sadistic torturing behaviour by labelling it ‘instinct’ and turning a blind eye because, I honestly believe, I could not live without a cat.
The same can not be said of dogs.
When I had my first dog, dear old Murphy, he drove me so insane I had to get a cat to calm me down. The instant Mcavity, a one toothed’ half tailed rescue moggie, moved in, my whole body relaxed.
In fact, many of the dogs I’ve known, and certainly the two I’ve owned, have had a bewildering tendency to insanity. Murphy disliked people in scruffy grey trousers to the point of biting them on the back side. Diesal, on the other, lunatic, hand, hates dogs. God alone knows what Diesal thinks he is.
If he thinks at all.
Which I seriously doubt.
Diesal has broken me several times. He tore a ligament in my thigh by pulling me over a park bench. He was trying to get to a German Shepherd Dog he fancied for lunch. He has also broken my finger trying to eat Henry, a neighbouring, entirely placid, sheep dog.
I am pretty convinced Diesal has some kind of dog autism. He communicates fine with people – albeit with a limited lexicon of “bonio”, “dinner”, “outside” and a few commands he may or may not obey. Yet his entire dog vocabulary is, “I hate you, I’m going to kill you”.
The only dog Diesal ever liked was Murphy and when he died, Diesal was bereft.
Maybe that has something to do with it? Perhaps he hates other dogs for not being Murphy.
I love him though, the irritating twit. He may drive me mad and break my fingers but he also makes me laugh like a drain by doing things like this.