MKH Dog Pack Status Report
by
For a fleeting moment, I was going to label this a Progress Report. Then I realised that would be misleading.
I can't remember how many dogs there were when I sent my first article to BritishExpat. Since then I have farmed one out to a friend who needed something more intimidating than their old Lassie-type sheltie. Their maid successfully refused entry to a guy who said that 'Madam' had asked him to call about chopping branches off a tree. When the security guard from up the road arrived to find out what the argument was about, he was beaten up by the 'treecutter'. They needed an intimidating dog which tolerated four-year-olds.
Actually, Bruno is a gentle creature, but he's quite big and there's something about his eyes that scares strangers. Did you ever read Frank Muir's tale about the dog he christened 'Whatamess'? Bruno looks exactly like him.
That left me with ten of Phyllis's dogs and three belonging to my lodger Pieter and his girlfriend. Her spaniel, Gabriel, is younger and even worse than Stanley, the ageing, selfish and brainless creature that I have thrown out of the window three times for stealing the cats' food. Gabriel attacks Achilles tendons.
Her other dog, Bianca, is a white labrador that can't stand still and eats everything she can reach at a rate that would shame a nurse during a shift break. The boss, Max, is an uncastrated male of a breed that South Africans call a labrador. By UK standards, he has a large head and a massive neck, and can be very aggressive when he's frightened or when trying to assert himself as head of the whole pack.
Initially, the guest dogs stayed down their own end of the garden. Phyllis tried to train Bianca not to gobble by making her sit and by giving her a few bits of food at a time. Otherwise, Bianca wolfed her food and then swiped Max's. After Phyllis left to sort out our French home and to earn some money to keep us alive, I got bored with this game and put on my lateral thinking hat. Now I throw Bianca's food all over the ground, and even in the grass. She has lots of fun hunting for it, and Max manages to finish most of his bowl without me having to stand guard.
The problems started with the coming of the thunderstorms. Max is a total wimp as soon as there is a cloud in the sky, or even when there is a storm rumbling so far away that I can't hear it. This huge dog appears inside the house, walking up and down, hyperventilating like a steam engine climbing an escarpment. I have to lock him in the bathroom all night, and go outside in the rain if I needed a pee.
Now he shared territory with our lot, and bullied his way to the head of the pack without anyone actually getting hurt. Bianca was the first to cause real trouble. I came home to find our oldest female, Blossom, on her back with Bianca shaking the loose skin round her throat, and the rest of the pack shouting or helping. By the time I separated them, Blossom had a flap of lose skin right round to her ear. I carted her off to the vet and sat in as his assistant in an operation that lasted nearly two hours.
All was quiet for about a month after that, but Max was slowly beginning to bully ME. He would snap and bark at me when I tried to chase him out of the house, and swiping at him with a sjambok (not a real one - a modern plastic imitation of an Afrikaner rhino tail whip) was only just convincing him.
Then my son, who had just graduated as a vet and doesn't stand aggression from any creature, including humans, was on the receiving end of this behaviour. The air was blue for about ten minutes, and Max ended up cowering at the other end of the garden for half an hour. Nick warned me that I would need to assert my authority, because if Max attacked me and knocked me to the ground the whole pack would pile in. He told me I should not rely on the sjambok, but carry a weapon with which I could kill Max if I needed to. He even showed me how.
A few days later, I carried out his instructions. Max became very aggressive. I picked up a heavy iron spearhead a couple of feet long and remembered my teenage fencing lessons, lunging at him as I screamed abuse. Max, still barking and snapping, backed out of the doorway. I followed through, chasing him round the garden until his tail went down. I did it twice more that day and once a day for two more days. In between, he would happily lick my hand and trot along for his feed. By the third day, he even lay on his back inside my house to have his tummy tickled.
I still get the occasional bit of trouble. The first time, I use my old technique - grab him by the tail and haul him to the doorway, then swing him round and boot him out. If he does it again the same day, he gets chased round the garden with the spear. During thunderstorms, I just grab him by the scruff and slide him along the floor like a CND protestor and lock him in the bathroom.
A few days ago, the whole pack escaped through the gate and rushed over to confront a fierce, noisy bull terrier though its own steel barred gate. As often happens, the pack got excited and started snapping at one another. Next thing I knew, Bianca had ripped another throat - skin only, like the previous effort, and not quite so badly. Bianca's not vicious - just a big dog that gets overexcited. I had to delay my departure for South Africa to cart the victim to the vet.
I'm a peace-loving character who always avoids confrontation in human situations, and never screams and swears. Looking after this lot gives me an adrenalin rush just about every day, and my swearing is getting loud and fluent.
It's quite difficult to find a way of getting regular exercise around here now that I don't work in a third floor office. I suppose these regular and intense bouts of exercise help, but I'm not sure about the screaming and swearing. I know that bottling up emotions is bad for your blood pressure, but without this pack there wouldn't be anything to bottle up in the first place. Why can't Phyllis be satisfied with two peace-loving dogs like most of our friends?
When we're back together in the same house with the dogs again, I'm going on strike for a year.
Oh, I suppose there has been SOME progress. Since I went into my more assertive mode, the dogs don't even sleep in the same room as me any more, let alone shove me off the edge of the bed.
