Labrador Retriever

We had a rare Saturday with nothing
already arranged. The weather was good, so we decided to ignore the various chores waiting to be done at home, and go out for the day. We are members of English Heritage, and we consulted the guidebook for a suitable venue. We were members of another similar organisation, but defected to English Heritage as they welcome dogs. When I say they welcome dogs, I really mean they welcome dogs, as opposed to just tolerating them. The organisation we left has some site which claim to welcome dogs, but that translates to permitting them in the car park on a lead. Which is absolutely no good to me or most dog owners. With rising crime it's asking for trouble to leave your dog in a car in a distant car park, apart from the dangers of overheating.

When I went to Good Citizen training classes with Buddy we met a lot of new people and dogs. Which was great for us both. Except that I'm not very good at recalling names, and suddenly I had lots to remember. The other problem I had was that many of the owners I met had given their dog a traditionally human name, which just added to my confusion. So I had not only to memorise Tara and Katie, Ellie and Sally, Nick and Harvey, and Connie and Sally, but I also had to remember which was the dog and which the person.

Tim Glass, author of Just This Side of Heaven sent me a link to a cartoon depicting what it can be like being an author with a dog at a book signing. I told him not to take it personally if people want to meet one of his lovely Beagles with more enthusiasm than they do him. Apart from the fact that dogs are usually cuter than their accompanying people, they are just more approachable too. You don't feel at all self conscious when greeting a dog, even a celebrity one.

So I finally got to see the film Marley & Me. Guess what? I cried. I don't mean sniffling in my tissue, and a bit of demure wiping of the odd tear away, I mean the kind of heartfelt sobs that shake you, and leave you fighting to draw the next breath in. I mean when your face screws up of its own accord, your mouth twitches and you feel a wail rising from deep inside you, and doing its best to escape you. (Of course I suppressed the wail for the benefit of those around me.)

I was listening to the British comedian Alan Davies telling a story about his Alsatian dog, and I noticed that he spoke of the dog as referring to him as Alan rather than Dad. This is something that becomes apparent about dog owners once you've been around them a while - some refer to themselves as their dog's mom or dad, others imagine the dog using their Christian name. I don't think there's anything wrong with either one, but I don't actually think that's how our dogs relate to us.

We had our day at the beach yesterday, and it was marvelous after the winter we've been having. The dogs had a great time; as soon as I opened the boot and let Buddy out, he was leaping about, quivering in excitement that he was going to get a run on the beach. Star takes it all a bit more in her stride, and her passion is digging. What was really enjoyable was that the beach was not crowded, so although we had the leads with us, we didn't have to attach them once. Bliss!