This is my pooch*. There are many pooches like my pooch, but this one is mine. He is unique. He is an idiot. He sits down like a dickhead. He hasn’t yet realised that his now-adult teeth hurt a bit when he play-nibbles you. He enjoys to steal things from bins and then run away from you when you try and get it out of his mouth. Generally speaking, he is brilliant.
I joked before I got to Swiss that I would want to steal Anna’s six-month-old puppy Alfie, even if he is named after an Eastenders character. It was, of course, entirely non-serious and based on the fact that I want a dog – nothing based in reality.
Then I met the little bastard. We’ve just spent the last half an hour getting up and stopping him from rooting through something or eating something he shouldn’t be eating. It’s annoying, but it’s also hilarious because he’s a cute puppy and so can get away with anything. Possibly even murder.
But if that doesn’t appeal and I just sound like a puppy apologist** then try this: this morning he didn’t know what the command “paw” meant. Now, after a fair bit of repetition, some grabbing of the paws, a fair bit of arm and hand nibbling and hilarity (in the shit “aww, isn’t he funny!” way) we had done it. We had taught a living thing how to do something. At one point it could not do what we wanted, and now it could. This is a good feeling.
On the other hand, he keeps on farting and it smells bad. Hence, dogs are shit. Literally, in some ways.
*For the next week and a bit.
**I am one.