The petshop boys – Wuff With The Smooth

Have you ever wondered why people who work in pet shops are so cheery all of the time?

This thought occurred to me for the umpteenth time last week as I was buying yet another bag of expensive super-food for the hound. But it’s true. People who work in pet shops are always smiley and happy and unfailingly on hand with advice when it comes to pet welfare. It’s as if their job is an extension of their love for their pets.

You may also have noticed that people who work in pet shops own multiple dogs (or cats or rodents or whatever the pet of choice).

“You need a second dog,” the helpful chap at one local establishment told me after we had gone headlong into a conversation about how whinge-y Waffle is on a regular basis.

“The second dog would be a comfort to Waffle – a friend,” the helpful chap continued. “You’d probably find that Waffle wouldn’t follow you around and get under your feet as much either, if you had another dog.”

“How many dogs do you have?” I asked, trying to be as cheerful as Helpful Chap.

“Six,” he replied with a smile. “But most of the time we have eight, because we look after my parents’ two.”

“Jesus. Eight dogs? You must be out a fortune.”

“Ah, it’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“And what about taking eight dogs for a walk,” I wondered. “And what about the vet bills and keeping an eye on them and cleaning up after them and washing them, when they’ve been nosing in another dog’s dung outside? And what about when they chew up your stuff and you want to throttle them?”

I didn’t say any of this out loud but that’s what I was thinking.

The reality was: I couldn’t believe anyone could have eight dogs and simultaneously hold down a full-time job. I have bother enough looking after one hound and even then, there have been some iffy moments.

“Eight dogs…” I repeated, glassy-eyed, for wont of something better to say.

Helpful Chap proceeded to give me the run down on each of the dogs and their names.

“Larry, Barry, Harry, Scaary, Waary, Farry, Cary and Brendan…”

These weren’t actually the names of the dogs, although they could have been, because I had kinda stopped listening. OK, so replace the word ‘kinda’ with the word ‘completely.’ I was still in shock.

“OK, OK,” I said interrupting his once-upon-a-timey tale about where each of the dogs had come from and their favourite foods. “So let me get this straight: You’ve got eight dogs and that’s a good thing?”

“Brilliant,” Helpful Chap beamed. “They’re so much fun to be around. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”

“Get a TV?” I didn’t say that either.

Helpful Chap continued, “They all have their own wee characters. They’re just so much fun.”

After another few minutes’ worth of dog chat, I paid for the bag of expensive super-food, thanked Helpful Chap and took my leave.

“BYEEEE!” he called after me. “Bring Waffle in the next time.”

I promised that I would but knew that I wouldn’t. For all I knew, I might persuade Helpful Chap to take on a ninth canine companion and then the little humans at home would lynch me.

All of this – buying expensive food, cheerily talking about one’s dogs and the impact they have on our lives – made me wonder about the reasoning for keeping dogs as pets.

The answer, of course, is a simple one. They’re always cheery and affectionate. They’re often fun to be around.

They make us forget about our own selfish tendencies and in short, they bring joy into our lives.

Later that evening as I was dishing out some of Waffle’s expensive super-food (trout and salmon with peas and asparagus), in the utility room the hound himself came waddling over and sat down beside me. Even though I’d filled his bowl, he was more focused on gaining my attention.

“Good boy, wee Waffle,” I suggested and reached out to rough up an ear.

He licked at my hand in turn and then burrowed his head into the crock of my arm. Then he turned over and lay on his back so that I could scratch at his belly. This I duly complied with and after that I started a bit of a mock fight, rubbing the sides of his head with both hands and moving him around on the floor. He reacted by growling and mock-biting at my hands, understanding immediately the name of the game. This completed, I sat back on my hunkers and he did the same, each regarding the other. I watched him watching me for a long moment and I couldn’t help but smile.

I glanced at his bowl, brimming with the expensive super-food and he did the same.

“You better eat up your supper,” I told him, nodding at the bowl.

I sat back against the wall but instead of eating, the Waff came over and lay down, his head on my lap.

It didn’t matter that his dinner was out and it didn’t matter that he was hungry. He was happy enough to soak up some good loving as an aperitif.

Lifting his chin up, I manoeuvred him away and then I stood. I realised that as long as I stayed there, he’d be happy enough to forgo the food.

“That expensive super-food isn’t going to eat itself,” I said, turning to the door. I left the room and stepped out of sight.

I waited until I was sure he wasn’t following and then, stepping quietly, I put my head around the door. As anticipated, he was neck deep in the bowl, scoffing down his supper as though afraid someone was going to take it away.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”