Honey, honey

“The dog needs brushed,” I say.
“Remind me later,” comes the reply.

“Have you fed the dog?” I enquire.

“I’ll do it now.”

“Don’t forget to give him fresh water,” I say.

“I will.”

“Did you give him his ear medicine?” I ask.

“I’ll do it after.”

Habitually though, none of this happens unless yours truly carries through on the tasks. So as well as catering to the Hound’s every grooming, medical and gastronomic need, it also falls to me to make sure he’s walked and pooped and peed of a morning.

“Get a dog, they said. It’ll be good craic, they said,” I mutter, bleary-eyed as I’m stepping around in the dawning of a new day, the aforementioned dog at my heels, steadfastly refusing to poo or pee.

“Just do your dump and be done with it,” I usually have to snap. “Are you saving it up for Christmas or wha’?”

It’s no small responsibility looking after a dog, though, as I have latterly come to appreciate, despite my own rampant dull-wittedness. Which is why people are often rejecting dogs; because having a pet doesn’t fit in with their busy TikTok lifestyles and which is why charities such as The Dogs Trust even exist. Some people just aren’t cut out to be dog owners. That Instagram isn’t going to scroll itself, you know.

As much as I complain about Waffle (you should try actually living with me to hear it in real time), even I am attuned to the solid gold fact that you have to invest time and effort in a dog in order for there to be any kind of harmonious, symbiotic relationship. They’re not something you can simply bring home and leave to their own devices. They need care and time and understanding and, dare I say it, love. Of course they also have to be told to, “Spit that sock out, fool!” from time to time. But that’s all par for the course.

However, as has happened with the human race since time immemorial, people tend to underestimate dogs and the effort required to care for them. As has also been the case since Methuselah was in short trousers, those same underestimators will cast off the very responsibility that they themselves assumed, when they discover that having a dog takes effort. I can’t help thinking that they’d have been better off buying a new fridge magnet. At least it would have been kinder on the dog.

News recently about the “unluckiest dog in rescue,” Honey the English Bull Terrier, was enough to put a lump in a stone’s throat.

Honey first became lost, then she was reunited with her owner, then she was rejected, then re-homed twice, only to find herself back in the re-homing centre.

Maybe it’s just me, but going by the sequence of events there, isn’t it a bit suspicious that Honey became ‘lost’ in the first place?

Honey was also in bad shape by the time she made it back to the centre. She needed an operation to remove a non-cancerous lump, as well as extensive dental work.

Maybe I’m being a little cynical and to boot, you never know what troubles people have behind closed doors but still: Do dogs really have to suffer for humanity’s vanity?

Or maybe I’m being a little soft when it comes to suffering of any kind. Yet it strikes me that people get away with treating animals with such indifference and cruelty simply because those animals don’t have a voice.

Mistreatment is mistreatment, whether it’s neglect or violence or even, if it’s based on a rampant dull-witted underestimation of the care required.

There is no vetting process which takes place before a person procures a dog. Neither are there any measures which are undertaken to make sure said dog is being cared for or not. It seems to me that some people are afforded more common sense than they are due. Others, of course, are just congenital idiots who don’t know one end of a dog from another. I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I wouldn’t want to be cared for by a congenital idiot.

Maybe a good idea would be to have a questionnaire added to any council-led dog-licensing application. It wouldn’t have to be overly technical either and it could include the following question…

Would you rather have a new fridge magnet or a new dog?

You’d be surprised how many of the fools would trip themselves up on that one.

At the time of writing, Honey (aged ten) is still looking for a forever home. God knows, she deserves one.

As for me, I will never complain about Waffle again.

At least not until he steals the next sock.