Tuesday, December 27, 2016
December 27. Day 362. Flying high
Dog owners are either a) exceptionally polite or b) exceptionally stupid or c) both. As a Crazy Dog Lady I feel qualified to judge and as judge and jury I say a bit of column a and a bit of column b. I spend a lot of time on the beach throwing a ball. Almost inevitably it goes like this. Winkle chases the ball. Rumple chases Winkle. Some other dog rushes in and steals the ball. The owner of random dog apologies profusely for the canine thief. But here's the thing. The dog is trained to chase a ball. It's instinct. That instinct applies to balls. Period. By taking the ball, the dog is being a dog. If you don't accept that you should play ball at home. Dogs will be dogs and dog owners will be crazy. Canines are crazy too, in their own way. Winkle woke me up on the hour every hour last night to poo. She had clearly eaten something festering on the beach and had a dodgy tummy. But she refused to do her business on the fenced grass area near the house. She was demanding the freedom to wander further away for a private poo. I might be mad but even I refuse to wander the streets in the dead of night to indulge a secret sh*t obsession. Eventually she gave in to nature. After the sun was up, I gave into her and we all went down to the beach. The dogs did what the dogs needed to do. I did what a responsible dog owner has to to. The seagulls fed on fish and other dog owners apologized when their dogs stole my dogs' ball. We may be mad but there is method in our madness. Or madness in our method. Or both.