Feeling a little morose this morning. I’m about to have my weekly Zoom (actually Teams) French lesson, so I can’t explain myself right now, but will do so later.
Did I mention what happened last week when I was in the spa pool? I heard a querulous voice say “Hello? Is anyone home?” and my elderly neighbour but one, Barb, hoved into view. When she saw me in the spa pool, she launched straight in. No, that’s quite the wrong phrase to use if it’s giving you the mental picture it’s just given me. She pressed ahead with an obviously preprepared speech. “Did you know your dog is out of your section? It’s the second time today!” “Oh dear!” I said, climbing out “I’ll get straight on it!” and in my wet togs, I went down to the fence and called the dog, who was making friends with a passer by and his dog. I called her name and she jumped straight back over the fence to greet me. Meanwhile, Goofy was escorting the nosey neighbour back to the front gate with much excited barking. I left for town shortly afterwards so there were no further escape attempts.
I was reluctant to tell my husband about the episode, as he remains mentally scarred from the many thousands of dollars and hours of time spent fixing up the fence at our home in Island Bay for our last escape artist dog, a border collie called Jamie two. Jamie one had been a litter mate, super friendly and lovely but who had unfortunately succumbed to a congenital liver condition and the breeder had given us the last remaining pup of the litter as a replacement, a misanthrope that makes Goofy look positively well adjusted. Jamie two had a tendency to run after people and dogs and bite them. No one was ever severely injured, apart from one incident in which it was alleged by a grumpy woman that her dog was attacked after walking past minding its own business and had needed several stitches at the vet. She did bite a delivery man on the ankle once, but even he conceded she didn’t puncture the skin. Anyway, the grumpy lady complained to the council and Jamie two was slapped with a menacing dog label, as was our other blameless dog, a fat Cairn terrier who was more of a danger to shoes than people or other dogs. That menacing dog label caused me much heartache for the year or so that it applied, until by some divine retribution, the animal control officer in charge was fired for irregularities (making things up?) on his job application, and as a result, all of his judgements in the job were quashed in one fell swoop.
In any event, in the interests of full disclosure, I did fess up eventually to Simon about Catdogs escaping tendencies, but we had made no decisions about what to do about it before I came back up this weekend. For a dog who still hasn’t mastered the dog flap, she is incredibly adroit at escapology. No area of the fence here is immune, so dog proofing it would be a huge job.
Anyway, this morning I was sitting in the spa pool, enjoying Nabokov’s Pale Fire (recommended), when I heard the front gate open and shut, and shortly afterwards Cat dog appeared, and my heart sank. I’m not sure who had delivered the dog back, whether it was the nosey one of the week before, who feared a repeat of Goofy’s attentions, or some other kind soul, but clearly we’re going to have to do something about the recurrent escaping. Not that I care so much about what my neighbours think, being in a cul de sac (dead end street may be a better term) in God’s waiting room. The sooner some of these people are farmed out to retirement homes, the better, in my view. No, what I’m nervous about is if the dog gets it into her head to attack the native wildlife. That rare white heron is still hanging around, can you imagine the furore if Cat dog had a go at it? A national outcry I expect. Too awful to contemplate. Something must be done. But first, a nap.