Monday, 22 December 2014

Dog rescue

Those who know me, will be well aware that I'm not an animal person.  The only fluffy things I like to stroke are erm gloves or erm jumpers.  However, I do care about animals.  I just choose to do my caring from a distance, ideally, a distance of around a mile radius.

Sadly and perhaps unsurprisingly animals don't tend to respect my mile radius boundary requirements and invade my personal space more often than I'd like.  For example, following an epic evening and equally epic hangover obtained with my lovely boyfriend and his chums, I decided to wander to my sister's house, with my wonderful daughter.  We trotted merrily down the street.  Well, I say merrily, I appeared merry but was mostly trying not to be very ill, all over the pavement.  Then, out of nowhere, a white and black Staffy cross trotted towards us.  He was without lead and bereft of collar. Said Staffy then ran out into the road and was narrowly missed by a van.  I realised, around this point, that I was going to have to do something.  I applied a high-level filter to my dog fear factor and called the Staffy to me.  Having lots of experience of dog avoiding, very little experience of dog calling and, of course, not knowing his name, I decided to clack my tongue and pat my leg at him.  This seemed to work.  He came to me and we all trotted off in search of Staffy's abode. (In truth, I must say that I tried asking Staffy dog where he lived but he didn't provide a clear answer to the question, as I recall, he peed on a bush, which was rather unhelpful).   

I thought he had come from a nearby housing estate.  So we wandered in search of erm inspiration within said housing estate.  Incredibly, given that this idea was not my most well-founded, no inspiration came but Staffy dog stayed with me.  My daughter was no doubt wondering what the hell I was doing, which is interesting because I kept wondering the same thing. 

I rang my boyfriend. He likes dogs. Genius idea, I thought.  He didn't answer the phone. I briefly wondered about a Dog Warden but was fairly sure that that wouldn't end well for Staffy dog. Thus, I rather brilliantly decided to knock on doors.  My toddler, Staffy dog and I knocked on three doors before we found someone friendly and helpful.  Though, to be honest, I mostly knocked - my toddler mostly looked bemused and Staffy dog mostly ran around sniffing and peeing.

I explained the situation to a lovely couple, who by some marvelous chance were dog lovers.  Their equally lovely neighbour popped over to ascertain what was going down.  The male half of the lovely couple took Staffy dog in his house and the female half of the lovely couple went with the lovely neighbour in search of Staffy dog's people.  They thought another neighbour owned a white Staffy cross.  My toddler and I left to resume our walk to my sister and my brother-in-law's house.

On reflection, I should have swapped details with everyone because I'd like to know if Staffy dog found his people. I do hope that he did.


1 comment:

  1. I really enjoyed reading this article! I have just launched a book on The Staffy dog care , here is the link


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