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The dog next door


panadolsandwich
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I feel sorry for this dog.  He sits forlorn on the landing staring in through the glass doors whilst the occupants carouse and generally have a grand old time.  Perhaps I'm overly sentimental, but it made me kind of reconsider the whole notion of owning a dog.  For a start - do you really own the dog?  If so, what does that make you - a slave owner?  I was contemplating this over a fine glass of Irish whisky.

A dog is quite obviously a social animal.  The contempt shown for this dog is terrible, they even taunt it through the glass. 

I don't care for it - from the human next door. 

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Had a neighbor once who also treated their dog the same way.  Chained up all day, no attention.  It was a very good dog.  One night some dastardly person snuck into the yard, after consuming alcohol, and the dog disappeared.  Only a coincidence that my friend in the next town over received a very nice dog the next day which has been treated as part of the family since.

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I'm over-complicating it.  You treat a dog as part of the family.  Ideally get another dog or even a cat to be a friend to the poor bastard if you don't have enough time. 

My formative experience was with a dog that had been very well taken care of by a family that were being relocated on a diplomatic mission.  He was mixed, a true mongrel, but he was truly a king among dogs.  Now that I think about it, we never truly 'owned' him, he did what he wanted really - I mind the time he came back with chicken feathers still stuck on his face.  When I went to school he'd follow me and I'd tell him to go home.  He'd hide behind a telegraph pole, except he only hid his face with his body exposed - he must have thought that if I can't see him, then I can't see you.  Also he was shagging almost everything in the neighbourhood.  I still remember being deeply confused at the age of nine to see him inextricably conjoined with this other dog. 

A bully followed me home one day and he met up with my dog.  There was no contest - he had the guy by the throat in split-second.  I got invited to a birthday party and naturally my dog tagged along.  There were all those children games, hide and seek, musical seats etc.  Screams filled the air amidst this pleasant scene, my dog was vigorously shaking the very life out of a hapless possum.  It turned out the possum was kind of a family pet they'd kind of domesticated and been feeding, even given it the name of Mr Fluffles.  As my dog and I trudged back home, even then at that young age I thought well done! and gave him a pat on the head.  

One thing that I know is that dog was given a brilliant life.  Now I see people poncing about with bloody Labradoodles! 

Strange world - and getting stranger.

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I always resist urges - I mean I often want to punch someone in the face.  Instead I employ a kind of diplomacy - I always think that I'm a level above Jake the Muss, not very far above - kind of hovering, and in the end I'll shout Jake a round and he's too fucked to notice I'm not really his friend.  I'll admit, it is not a high bar to attain but there you have it.

Anyhow this is the board bar - get another round in!

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