Kelly from Compelling Reads interviewed me for her book blog. In it I share a few of my well-kept doggie secrets.
The first thing I’d like to tell you is that dogs know way more than we let on. Way more. But we mostly play dumb, chase balls and wag our tails. Some dogs give away a little of what we can really do: Guide Dogs and Police Dogs, for instance. I’m a perfectly ordinary dog and I can understand everything you say. I can also open doors with my teeth and use a computer, although my big paws make tapping the keys difficult. You’d be amazed at how many dogs use Facebook and Twitter these days. Me included. Did you think they were people pretending to be dogs? Nope, they are real dogs.
My sense of smell is both my greatest asset and my downfall on many an occasion. Golden Retrievers are known to love food. But I’m a food addict. There! I’ve said it. Addict. Head drooping, tail tucked in. I’ve even thought of joining the local DWFA group (Dogs With a Food Addiction) but life’s been a bit hectic recently. Cheese makes me go weak at the knees. A discarded burger in the road is the reason why I was thrown out of the Guide Dogs in disgrace. I didn’t mean to abandon her in the middle of the road. I hang my head in shame! My obsession with food is also responsible for my unfortunate drool problem. When there’s something tasty on offer, I produce stalactites of the stuff. Very embarrassing, but I’m working on it.
Before my beloved master, Paddy, was murdered and I hooked up with detective Rose Sidebottom to find his killer, I was a carefree fellow and a bit of harmless duck- toppling was right up there at the top of my Fun List. I mean, ducks are so easy to push over when they sleep on one leg. But I never hurt them. And ducks are very capable of giving me a nasty peck, or the ultimate insult – a fart in the face. I also love fishing: standing knee-deep in cool river water and wait for a fish to get near enough so I can pounce, jaws wide. Thanks to David Attenborourgh’s program on brown bears hunting salmon, I’ve now honed my skills and catch a few.
My favourite toy is a very grubby, and therefore exactly-how-I-like-it, fluffy yellow duck. Once, Paddy placed my manky friend in the washing machine. It was a front loader, so just in time I snatched it away and hid it behind some hollyhocks. Even worse, every now and again, Paddy would insist on washing my doggie duvet cover. We’d argue over it, as I held one end in my jaws and Paddy hung on to the other. Of course, Paddy was the boss so I’d let go eventually, but I could never understand why he’d want to wash away my blissful cocktail of stink. Let me explain.
My bed is an aromatic archive of my adventures, places I’ve been, animals and people I’ve met, and even old bones I’ve chewed. Ah, those bones! Most important of all, it’s a heady history of Paddy himself. Every time he touched my bed, he left his loving scent, as well as details of where he’d been, who he’d touched and what he’d eaten. My short-term memory is as sharp as a puppy’s canines. But, my long-term memory is as poor as a where-the-hell-did-I-put-my-nuts squirrel. So, my bed holds my long-term memories for me, which means I can revisit them whenever I wish. All it takes is a quick snuffle.
Thanks for stopping by! Wooferoo!