Out With Spike

I have two dogs, Rocky, a one year old Border Terrier and Spike, a five year old Black Labrador.

Today’s story is about Spike (pictured), I will chat about Rocky another day.

Spike is a lovely dog – a bit stupid, but so loving and friendly that in a fight, he not only wouldn’t fight back, he also wouldn’t run away for fear of offending his aggressor. He has a heart of gold.

But he is a terrible thief.

I can’t let him off the lead in a park (no matter what its size) if there are kids playing football. Spike will no doubt make a bee-line straight for them, steal the ball and burst it. At which point, the fun seems to be over, so he runs back to me on the other side of the park.

Now for a thief, this isn’t an amazing talent. If only I could teach him to steal handbags or jewellery – then I would have a potentially profitable situation that I could blame on my dog and deny all knowledge of.

Instead all I have is a shed full of footballs. All of which are burst.

Anyway, to my main story that happened the other day…

I was walking with Spike around Newlands Park in the late evening, when we came across a group of youths sitting on one of the benches, drinking cider out of plastic bottles.

Spike, being as friendly as he is, decided to go and say hello (I think he was also angling for some cider), with no reservations about approaching neds in the park.

As Spike approached, one of the females in the group got up and ran towards him, patting him and motioning all her friends over. When I arrived, she told me of her knowledge and love of dogs before proclaiming:

“I know everything about dogs. Is he a Labrador?”

I was quite surprised that she had got this correct and said that he was, to which she looked round at all her friends, quite chuffed at this display of intelligence before then saying:

“Is he a black one?”

Whatever notions had been built up about her broad general knowledge were smashed in seconds, as her pals all started shrieking with laughter and saying:

“Naw, he’s fucking pink ya daftie! Away sit in the corner Chantelle!”

It was at this point Spike and I left, wanting to get as far away as possible before humiliating the poor girl more by laughing in her face. A job that was already being done perfectly by her cider-drinking friends.