A Dog’s Life, My Arse!

With audible similarities to an aardvark sandpapering a brandy barrel (trust me, I know), the soundscape accompanying the commencement of this blog is Deano the Lhasa Apsop’s rasping snore. Little Lord Avashight (as I tend to nickname the diminutive scamp) laid snoozing on the sofa a few feet from my scribing perch.

My view that of tassels edging the red throw upon which he slumbers eddy gently back and forth. This motion consequential of a delicate zephyr produced by old little legs’ nasal snorts.

Having earlier fleeced me out of part of my bacon sandwich breakfast, the wee fella retired to his current spot. Lord Avashight now resting in the warm and dry after his extortion exertions; a place he lain while muggings braved a rainstorm while purging the back lawn from dog poop. His similarly culpable German Shepherd sister Zella instead taking herself into the dining room post food ambush.

When I refer to the Lhasa and German Shepherd as siblings I’m of course using hyperbole – Quite clearly, both dogs weren’t from the same litter. Even in the crazy world of canine cross breeding, a mix of both genetic extractions, or indeed two different breeds in same litter, is a highly unlikely scenario to play out.

The mating alliance to produce a Lhasa Shepherd (or German Apso) no doubt rendered almost impossible by the huge size differential between the breeds. To clarify, my suggestion Deano and Zella are siblings is purely a term of endearment, indicating their collective importance within the brood.

Clearly, neither dog understand these familial terms of enamour, but such a fact doesn’t stop the clan communicating to them in a fashion as though they were in on the ruse.

Actually, saying that, I’ve no idea definitively if my furry buddies don’t understand my habitual classing of them as brother and sister. For all I know they maybe fully aware of the capricious dialect emanating from my beard surrounded gob.

After all, dogs are intelligent creatures. When exchanging glances after I inquire “Where’s your sister?” to Deano, or inform Zella “That chew’s for your brother.”, they maybe wonder why the hell yours truly persists in referring to them as siblings; particularly when they’re quite clearly from separate litters….. Barring me taking on Dr Dolittlesque animal communication skills, though, I guess I’ll never know.

I’ve never tried to train a dog but clearly many do respond to owners commands; whether that be a simple order to “Sit!” and “Heel!” or more complex training imparted on guide dogs. As a relative newcomer at doggy care, I feel I’d need a great deal more insight into canine behaviour before embarking upon an odyssey of teaching command obeyance.

As it stands, I reckon my dog coaching prowess would be a match with habitual misery Morrissey’s suitability to handle calls for the Samaritan emotional care team….. Or, indeed, playing one of his deeply downbeat songs as on-hold music as the depressed awaited their call answering.

Despite my inexperience in the field of hound ownership, I’m picking up bits and pieces of certain behavioural traits Lord Avashight and Zella exhibit. For instance, they seem happiest exploring in the local park/woods than they appear while walking the streets tethered by lead.

The venue’s locality proving to be a boon when exercising them….. Well, apart from when it’s pees it down, like it did overnight, leaving the turf saturated….. I’ve also learned not to try move Deano’s food bowl if I want to maintain five digits on each hand!

As I write the diminutive Lhasa has just woken; his head lifted but body still lain on the scarlet throw. He’s currently staring at me with a Cleopatraesque look of “Come feed me grapes, Gary!”

Footnote – Not that Cleopatra would’ve suffixed her cry to be pampered with the name Gary. Although, if truth be told I can’t proffer that with absolute certainty. After all, for all I know about naming convention during that period, my moniker may’ve been utilised in the Ptolemaic Kingdom of Egypt from 51 to 30 BC…. I somehow doubt it though!

Anyhow, I’m going to bring this prose to it’s denouement….. Now where’s those grapes?!

“Hurry up with those grapes, Gaz!!”

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