Sunday, July 17, 2005
You, me and Doyle
This, folks, is the face of an idiot. (Yeah But He's So Cute Though.)
Note to dog owners in cemeteries: that quaint sign that says 'dogs must be led' means 'eh, dick'ead, keep yer fookin' Staffy on a lead'. At least six of them today alone misinterpreted it as 'ah, they're all dead anyway, them people in't graves'.
Bloody people.
It is not uncommon for a dog to behave defensively while on a lead, given that flight is no longer an option. So when some idiot woman's bonny bouncing nearest-thing-to-a-pit-bull-the-law-permits ran right in K's face in playful presumption, it was almost inevitable that Idiot Woman and I would end up refereeing a somewhat one-sided fight. Not even a fight, really, more of a dog head-lock (scruff of neck meet jaws rrr rrrr rrrrrr). Obviously it was my fault for not having my dog muzzled, not her fault for letting her dog run about like a happy fool when expressly forbidden to do so by a big fuck-off sign. Definite, depressing failures of communication, twixt local council and idiot, idiot and relatively responsible dog owner, dog and dog.
Staffy according to Staffy: "Ooh, new friend! Me play. Quick go say hello fast before friend go away (me sad friend go)."
Staffy, interpreted in split-second by K: "You bastard. I'm going to fucking knife you in the gut right now. Here I come. Raining death from around where your knees would be if you had knees. Fucker. You die."
K according to K: "OK. Instinct dictates I protect myself. Sorry. I know it looks like I'm quite enjoying having a mouthful of another of my species but you should know better than to ascribe human feelings to animals. Really, you should."
It was horrid and upsetting and ghastly, but the other dog was alright, which was all I was concerned about. I did resent being berated by someone who couldn't admit even a portion of fault and was hellbent on laying it all on me - evidence of that disturbing tendency to blame absolutely everything on someone or something else that millions live by as some kind of religion. I wish each of them a very painful ulcer of some type. Take some responsibility for your actions, you dull-minded fucks. Just a portion will do, some small concession, a brief moment of consideration as to what if anything you could have done differently. Really. You'll feel so much better, and I won't have to have someone gently disentangle all my guts from each other after they've got all knotty from me hoovering up all the spare responsibility that you have discarded like the fucking sociopathic literal and figurative litter-louts you are.
It's to the credit of both of us though that we didn't swear in front of the dead people. And I did admit that maybe my dog should be muzzled, before saying that be that as it may her dog absolutely should have been on a lead. And she had some inkling way down in her belligerent head that she was at least somewhat in the wrong, because I could tell she was holding back. She wasn't firing on all available cylinders, even though she was instinctively hiking towards the moral high ground and other hackneyed phrases. She shouted, she insisted, she took up a solid stance and glared down at me (I was crouching down hanging on to my mutt, who was by now lying down with tongue a-lollin' and looking happy as a whole regiment of sandboys), but somehow the volume of outrage had been turned down a bit, as if her conscience was on the telephone.
She had a little girl with her. The girl, naturally enough, was crying. I found myself saying "it's alright now, sweetheart", realising that I'd said this before the woman had made any attempt at reassurance, and half-expecting to get clobbered. I also asked if the dog was alright, trying to see from where I was if there was any blood, but the woman barely looked. Why are people like this? They care more about confrontation and winning than they do about the things they have confrontations over.
Maybe a muzzle is inevitable. I can bitch about her not factoring in the behaviour and fuck-ups of other dogs, but I'm not doing that myself - in the knowledge that if a dog runs at my dog the other dog will get bitten if it doesn't make a quick retreat, I went out hoping that that wouldn't happen. Which isn't really good enough, because while I can keep him away from other dogs I can't necessarily keep other dogs away from him. I shouldn't have to, but there you go. You have to assume everyone is an idiot, and protect yourself accordingly.
I wish I could tell him. I wish I could do something to enable him to mingle in polite (and even rude, stupid, irresponsible, cuntish) dog society. As it is I feel it's likely he'll only ever be able to live a facsimile of a dog's ideal life. But it's more than he might have got.
Got some nice pictures, anyway. Not of dogs fighting. Just of nice trees and stuff.
There are any number of ways I could spin this to myself to make it depressing. But it's just one of those things, in which I am somewhat culpable but don't have to thrash myself over. And much as I resent having to go the extra mile because stupid people can't be arsed to, I will, because I love my dog. Fucking idiot smiling dog.
Before all of that we did manage to have a run in an empty field for the first time in many months. It was great.
And other than that, I'm quite content, really. Work is coming in, including some from an eccentric Sudoku genius who wants a book preface and a testimonial (if I can complete Sudoku with his system then I will know anyone can, and will write gushing things accordingly). Weather is beautiful. Things is OK. The next time they're not, I should refrain from whinging about it on here, because whilst most drama is in conflict and misery I maintain it doesn't make for a good blog. Nooooo.
No.
Note to dog owners in cemeteries: that quaint sign that says 'dogs must be led' means 'eh, dick'ead, keep yer fookin' Staffy on a lead'. At least six of them today alone misinterpreted it as 'ah, they're all dead anyway, them people in't graves'.
Bloody people.
It is not uncommon for a dog to behave defensively while on a lead, given that flight is no longer an option. So when some idiot woman's bonny bouncing nearest-thing-to-a-pit-bull-the-law-permits ran right in K's face in playful presumption, it was almost inevitable that Idiot Woman and I would end up refereeing a somewhat one-sided fight. Not even a fight, really, more of a dog head-lock (scruff of neck meet jaws rrr rrrr rrrrrr). Obviously it was my fault for not having my dog muzzled, not her fault for letting her dog run about like a happy fool when expressly forbidden to do so by a big fuck-off sign. Definite, depressing failures of communication, twixt local council and idiot, idiot and relatively responsible dog owner, dog and dog.
Staffy according to Staffy: "Ooh, new friend! Me play. Quick go say hello fast before friend go away (me sad friend go)."
Staffy, interpreted in split-second by K: "You bastard. I'm going to fucking knife you in the gut right now. Here I come. Raining death from around where your knees would be if you had knees. Fucker. You die."
K according to K: "OK. Instinct dictates I protect myself. Sorry. I know it looks like I'm quite enjoying having a mouthful of another of my species but you should know better than to ascribe human feelings to animals. Really, you should."
It was horrid and upsetting and ghastly, but the other dog was alright, which was all I was concerned about. I did resent being berated by someone who couldn't admit even a portion of fault and was hellbent on laying it all on me - evidence of that disturbing tendency to blame absolutely everything on someone or something else that millions live by as some kind of religion. I wish each of them a very painful ulcer of some type. Take some responsibility for your actions, you dull-minded fucks. Just a portion will do, some small concession, a brief moment of consideration as to what if anything you could have done differently. Really. You'll feel so much better, and I won't have to have someone gently disentangle all my guts from each other after they've got all knotty from me hoovering up all the spare responsibility that you have discarded like the fucking sociopathic literal and figurative litter-louts you are.
It's to the credit of both of us though that we didn't swear in front of the dead people. And I did admit that maybe my dog should be muzzled, before saying that be that as it may her dog absolutely should have been on a lead. And she had some inkling way down in her belligerent head that she was at least somewhat in the wrong, because I could tell she was holding back. She wasn't firing on all available cylinders, even though she was instinctively hiking towards the moral high ground and other hackneyed phrases. She shouted, she insisted, she took up a solid stance and glared down at me (I was crouching down hanging on to my mutt, who was by now lying down with tongue a-lollin' and looking happy as a whole regiment of sandboys), but somehow the volume of outrage had been turned down a bit, as if her conscience was on the telephone.
She had a little girl with her. The girl, naturally enough, was crying. I found myself saying "it's alright now, sweetheart", realising that I'd said this before the woman had made any attempt at reassurance, and half-expecting to get clobbered. I also asked if the dog was alright, trying to see from where I was if there was any blood, but the woman barely looked. Why are people like this? They care more about confrontation and winning than they do about the things they have confrontations over.
Maybe a muzzle is inevitable. I can bitch about her not factoring in the behaviour and fuck-ups of other dogs, but I'm not doing that myself - in the knowledge that if a dog runs at my dog the other dog will get bitten if it doesn't make a quick retreat, I went out hoping that that wouldn't happen. Which isn't really good enough, because while I can keep him away from other dogs I can't necessarily keep other dogs away from him. I shouldn't have to, but there you go. You have to assume everyone is an idiot, and protect yourself accordingly.
I wish I could tell him. I wish I could do something to enable him to mingle in polite (and even rude, stupid, irresponsible, cuntish) dog society. As it is I feel it's likely he'll only ever be able to live a facsimile of a dog's ideal life. But it's more than he might have got.
Got some nice pictures, anyway. Not of dogs fighting. Just of nice trees and stuff.
There are any number of ways I could spin this to myself to make it depressing. But it's just one of those things, in which I am somewhat culpable but don't have to thrash myself over. And much as I resent having to go the extra mile because stupid people can't be arsed to, I will, because I love my dog. Fucking idiot smiling dog.
Before all of that we did manage to have a run in an empty field for the first time in many months. It was great.
And other than that, I'm quite content, really. Work is coming in, including some from an eccentric Sudoku genius who wants a book preface and a testimonial (if I can complete Sudoku with his system then I will know anyone can, and will write gushing things accordingly). Weather is beautiful. Things is OK. The next time they're not, I should refrain from whinging about it on here, because whilst most drama is in conflict and misery I maintain it doesn't make for a good blog. Nooooo.
No.
