Handbags and Poobags: Tales of a Soho Boxer Dog (8 page)

I’d never wake him up when he looks so comfortable but he doesn’t think twice about getting everyone else up if he is keen to get on with the day. Patrick is never allowed a lie in at the weekend because Basil will just nose him and nose him until he gets up and takes him out, he knows that when Daddy is not getting ready for work it’s a walkies with a ball day. And I am often woken up by a snorting, sniffling face pressed up against my own as Basil has come round to my side of the bed to burrow me out.  It’s quite disconcerting to open your eyes from sleep to find another big brown pair staring straight back at you first thing. I’m sure he finds it funny?

As much as I complain, we love having him so close to us. We all sleep better together. And when my husband is away for the night because of work I am thankful for Basil’s keen ears and the familiar, warm weight of him - he’ll usually take Patrick’s pillow so I never really feel alone. And cuddling your dog in the morning before you go to work is wonderful – we have at least half an hour in bed every morning with a cup of tea to chat about the day and cuddle Basil.  I think I like those parts of the day the best.

Chapter 16: THE DOING UP OF THE DOGHOUSE

Patrick and I loved our joint Camden flat but it was very much set up for a young working couple with expensive furnishings and a light colour scheme. We soon realised we were going to have to make our home more ‘dog friendly’. While he was young and being house-trained there were plenty of accidents on the floor, in a room with floorboards this was ok, but in the rooms with carpets not so ok.   We invested in various spray potions that promised to diminish every stain and smell and jet-powered water carpet cleaners that made loud noises, but we still ended up with carpets of a slightly different colour from the ones we had when we moved in. 

Basil started to favour one room in particular for throwing up, if he needed to be sick he would always stagger to this room to do it. It became known as Basil’s Vomitarium. Eventually we started pulling the carpets up as we just couldn’t go on cleaning them – the whole flat ended up as floor boards, which then really collected the dog hair. You really can’t win.

We also had to pull the carpets up for slightly more squalid reasons.  Basil started to worry the edges of them to find loose strings to pull at and soon whole rows were disappearing.  We didn’t think about where they were disappearing to until one day Patrick was taking Basil for a walk, he noticed that the dog was trying to poo but having trouble and dragging his back end along the floor.

Leaning down to inspect Patrick saw a small brush like end poking out of Basil’s backside – taking a deep breath he grabbed it and started pulling. And pulling, and pulling. He was drawing the carpet strings out from Basil’s bum! Like a magician pulling endless handkerchiefs from his sleeve - only rather more unsavoury. We had to perform this trick quite a few times until we’d unravelled what remained of the rush-matting from his insides. Ta-da!

But it wasn’t just the floors that had to be attended to, of course Patrick installed the little dog flap in the back door so Basil could get into the garden whenever he pleased but then had to spend hours constructing two little sets of steps so he could actually climb up to use it.  The back garden had to be fortified with new gates and fencing and a myriad of other home improvements and precautions were made. Including moving the toilet roll holder up a foot higher so that Basil couldn’t keep ripping the loo roll off and festooning the upstairs landing with his own paper bunting.

Around the time of getting Basil we also bought a brand new brown leather sofa from Camden Market – a very expensive but sumptuous corner unit that I loved. Some may say the timing was always going to be bad, but I thought because it was good leather it would be wipe clean and we could easily remove hairs from it. I didn’t however, think that because it smelt so good and slightly animalistic it would be so attractive to Basil.  Stray threads would be worried and worried until tiny holes began opening up along seams, soon huge holes started appearing and one day we came home to the innards of our lovely sofa strewn all over the floor.

We kept trying to patch it up using all manner of different tapes and leather samples, we even sent it back to Europe (where it was made) to be recovered – spending six weeks without a sofa, all of us sitting on the floor. But it just happened again and again. Eventually it became just a leather fringed frame sporting two huge holes stuffed with tea towels and covered over with big black plastic sheets, and only once it was totally ruined did Basil leave it alone, (“
my work here mummy is done
!”).  My dog and I fell out terribly over that sofa.

Chapter 17: THE FOLLOWING OF FASHION

It isn’t just the home that has been modified, having a dog has definitely affected my wardrobe. Don’t worry I didn’t start suddenly buying jumpers with paw prints on them or anything (I know they are available however). But I found I had to take having a dog into account very quickly when it came to getting dressed in the morning.  The usual staple of any girls’ wardrobe – black – became a problem thanks to dog hair. It gets everywhere! Believe me once the dog hairs get in your black wash your clothes are doomed. I found myself sitting in meetings obsessed with pulling the little white hairs off of lovely new, black suits.

I remember once taking a dress out of the dry-cleaners in the morning, taking it straight to work and wearing it to a premiere that night and still finding some dog-hairs on it – it hadn’t even been anywhere near the dog?  There are now lint-rollers stashed everywhere – drawers at work, all handbags, coat pockets, in the car and in the bedroom.

But dog hairs getting everywhere isn’t really Basil’s fault, his obsession with shoes and socks however, I am sure can be helped.  The young Basil took a delight in finding shoes and chewing them – usually beautiful, new high-heels – probably because the stiletto offers him something decent to get his teeth into? I can’t discuss the shoes I have had to throw away here because I would cry. But it’s terribly upsetting to have an outfit in mind and know the shoes that will go perfectly with it only to find that Basil has got there first and they are now adorned with teeth marks and ripped leather, meaning you have to hastily put together a whole new outfit.

Socks are a real problem. For some reason Basil doesn’t like anyone to wear them.  If he sees you putting them on he will try and help you to take them off. I am sure he thinks he is saving you from the evil things.  Socks without holes are a precious commodity in our house.

I often find objects you just wouldn’t think of as taking a dog’s interest covered in bite marks or dried saliva: hair grips, hair brushes, laptop bags, make-up… Thankfully as he grew he needed to chew things less and less but I am still nervous about new shoes and hide them away.

I used to love slathering on creamy body lotions after a bath and expensive face creams as I got into bed, but when you share that bed with a pooch those unctions just attract Dog Dust and hair, so you wake up feeling like you’ve rolled in sand and have grown a beard overnight. And for some reason he always, always manages to step on my toes just after I’ve had a pedicure, smudging the fresh nail-polish. It’s like he knows.

Having a dog and a dainty little handbag just doesn’t go. You have so much stuff to take around with you and there aren’t designer dog utility bags like there are for babies. (I really wish Cath Kidston would make a pretty dog tote in the same fabrics as her baby-changing bags). I needed larger and larger handbags to accommodate all of Basil’s things.

Here are seven things that are now often to be found in my handbag: 

• Poobags (when I remember obviously)
  
• Chewed piece of hide
  
• Tripe sticks
  
• Food pouches
  
• Tennis Ball
  
• Lint Roller
  
• Tin of Sardines in Oil
  

(Note: Lack of vomit, spare undies and an ashtray)

It’s more embarrassing to pull a smelly piece of cow-hide out of your bag by mistake than a tampon girls, let me tell you! If only because it’s harder to explain.

So I had to start shopping for clothes that didn’t show up the dog hair for me, but I also started looking for things for Basil.  Shopping is always wonderful even if it’s not for yourself and there is a huge array of stuff out there you can buy a dog.  I revelled in all the online shops and boutiques, and the trips to the massive pet supermarkets.  I started taking as much interest in types of dog food as I would in a restaurant’s exciting new menu.

But without a doubt the best and funniest of things you can buy are outfits. I was worried for a while that only the cute handbag type dogs would be catered for, but oh no - even Basil sized pooches get the pick of a wardrobe.  And soon I realised even more potential in Basil to be a street-stopping accessory! His puppy-cuteness grabbed enough attention as it was - but add a studded-leather collar and a green hoodie that sported the word ‘PUP’ instead of ‘GAP’ and his appeal shot into the stratosphere. 

The fact that Patrick and Basil hated all of it meant nothing to me and I ploughed on with endless outfits despite all of them eventually being confined to the bin. Here are some of the best (now lost) outfits that I still mourn to this day:

• The Black Parka
  :  worn once but when we realised his style of weeing resulted in the furry white armbands being sprayed and turning yellow it went in the bin
  
• The England Hoodie
  : bought to support England in the 2006 World Cup, it lasted about as long as they did
  
• The Santa Outfit
  : to be worn in the lead up to Christmas to the delight of all seasonal revellers (the photo opportunities are endless) and my Nan who enjoyed Basil’s delivery of a festive bottle of brandy dressed up in it
  
• The Devil Outfit
  – complete with horns: worn at a Halloween party where his photo was taken and sent in to Most Haunted Live! He looked totally miffed
  
• The Dracula Outfit
  : his second outfit for the Halloween party, pictures of him in it were used as invite for aforesaid party
  
• The Red Reindeer T-shirt
  : bought for Basil’s second Christmas, a slightly more grown up tight t-shirt with googly eyes, he looked rather camp in it
  

Some outfits didn’t have to be specifically for dogs – Patrick bought me a Tokyo t-shirt while on a business trip to Japan. He also bought the same design in a kids size for Basil and one of our best photos is a snap of both of us wearing our cool matching Japanese tees.

But I didn’t only want Basil to dress up, I wanted him to scrub up too. I love a spa day myself. He’s a short haired breed and needs very little grooming but I insisted that he should take a trip to the local pet parlour, despite Patrick insisting there was no need. So just because I wanted to experience every aspect of owning a dog (I have a terrible problem with missing out on anything) poor old Basil was booked into a Primrose Hill salon for a shampoo, set, blow-dry and nail clip.

“
You’re going to love it pal”
I whispered in his ear as he was signed into the holding pen,
“mummy does.”

Patrick and I sauntered off for lunch leaving Basil behind to enjoy his pampering session. Returning an hour later slightly inebriated and full of the joys of Spring we picked up our rejuvenated pooch. He ran out to greet us, jumping into my arms and putting his head into my neck, obviously relieved to see us again. He felt super soft and silky and smelt beautifully of yellow flowers. I was delighted.

“How did he get on?”
we asked.

“He hated it,”
was the answer.

He’s never been back since.

Chapter 18: THE CONSUMING OF PRODUCTS

But it wasn’t just the clothes, dogs need lots of stuff and there is a whole commercial industry set up around them. Patrick and I threw ourselves in wholeheartedly! We delighted in buying him big plush toys - and still do - because he absolutely adores them. Every time we go away we bring him back something stuffed that represents where we have been, i.e a duck and bear from the US, a camel from Dubai and a fish from the Maldives. Toys for dogs are amazing these days, there is every type and shape you can think of, but for some reason every single one of them has to have a squeak! It’s unbelievable that you can find a toy in the shape of a platypus if you so choose, but you can’t find one that doesn’t sound like a screeching pig when you touch it.  

But if you do give Basil a soft toy sometimes his natural instinct will take over and he’ll run around with it in his mouth shaking his head violently from side to side – before pinning the poor creature to the floor and opening it up, looking up at us gleefully as if to say ‘
look I killed it’
. We used to find this amusing until one day we noticed he was suffering from constipation, eventually he started passing what looked like stained, rough cotton wool – and he wasn’t finding it easy. The poor lad was actually shitting kapok! We try not to let him open up soft toys anymore.

Despite a few shopping successes – such as the bronze double-bowl feeder in the shape of a standing Daschund bought from an antique shop in Suffolk – nearly everything I bought turned out to be a totally naff or useless purchase.  I used to just put the words ‘Boxer Dog’ into eBay and see what would turn up before scouring online pet shops for something I could buy him. Madness.

Here are just some of my purchases and what happened to them:

• Big brown leather dog bed to match the sofa and nearly as expensive. He never used it despite me demonstrating it personally many times by pretending to go to sleep in it. Like the sofa it was sadly eaten.
  
• Soft dog blanket covered in Boxer dogs and bearing the legend:
  My Blanket.
  Also eaten.
  
• Rubber backed mat for the back door, covered in paw prints, to minimise real life paw prints muddying the floor. Not just eaten but pooed on beforehand.
  
• An A4 colour print of pop-art Boxer dog faces. Put in a drawer and never looked at again.
  
• A ball with a recordable soundchip – the idea is you record yourself saying reassuring phrases to your dog so that when he is left alone he can play with it and hear your voice. It also dispensed edible treats. Incredibly expensive but oddly ineffective and it certainly never sounded like me! The mechanism got gummed up with peanut butter.
  
• A pair of white dog towels embroidered with a Boxer face and the word BASIL. We put them proudly on display in our bathroom, but unbeknownst to us a friend secretly took a photo of them and revelled in showing it to our friends as an example of just how sad we had become. Now hidden away, we use them for scrubbing him down after muddy walks.
  

Over the years I haven’t had much time to watch TV or keep up with the soaps because I was always out so often in the evenings. But spending more time at home and having a dog has opened up a whole new world of soap operas and Dog TV to me. There are absolutely loads of canine programmes and we are aficionados of all of them. 

They fall into a few main categories:

• Naughty dogs need to get trained – usually the fault of the owner
  
• Fat dogs need to get slim because their health is at risk – always the fault of the owner
  
• Fat dogs and their owners both need to get slim and end up competing at an event
  
• Exposés of those who work in the dog world – usually includes heart-warming stories of RSPCA officers overcoming adversity or bad owners getting arrested (the American shows are better at this)
  
• Dogs doing jobs and performing amazing feats or heroic acts
  
• Rescue dogs overcoming difficulties and re-entering society thanks to charities or training centres
  
• Rescue dogs being trained up for special purposes such as being guide dogs or hearing dogs
  
• All of the above but featuring celebrities
  

Sometimes the odd Boxer dog will appear on one of these shows resulting in squeals of delight in our house and us shouting at the TV ‘
we’ll have him’
.

The granddaddy of all of these shows has to be Crufts, usually broadcast from Birmingham once a year, and we love it. Three days of endless dogs prancing and posing on TV, punctuated by live links discussing the merits of one pooch above another.  It’s unadulterated doggy joy, we get so involved we cancel all social engagements, mark it in our diaries and end up watching the extra digital coverage late into the night.

This obsession with doggy-vision extends into films too. Due to the nature of our jobs my husband and I have a large film collection, and we have now created our very own dog-related section.  I just have to seek out and watch any decent movie with a dog in it. I also read a huge amount of dog magazines and books (dogs helping others overcome disabilities, dogs changing people’s lives, disadvantaged dogs being rehabilitated, funny dog tales, dog memoirs, misery tales about dogs dying etc) and I usually get a few canine books or films for Christmas from friends and family. We could open a shop.

I remember once I was reading probably the most famous dog memoir out there (the one made into a disappointing Hollywood film a few years back) I knew that the big golden Labrador died in the end but this didn’t put me off and I set about enjoying the story. But of course, I became emotionally involved and really started to love that hound. Patrick found me sobbing in the bathroom one day, absolutely inconsolable, the book was open at my feet.

“
Oh love”
he said, as he put his arms around me. “
Has the dog died then?”

He assumed I’d finished the story.

“No. Not yet”
I gulped.
“But he is going to”.

I hadn’t even got to the end of the book but I was anticipating the coming sorrow. I’m not sure I finished it or if I did I’ve blocked it from my memory.

There is an abundance of dog related events and exhibitions you can go to and in Basil’s first year we tried out quite a few, obviously the fantastic Discover Dogs. We also ended up camping in a field in Windsor for two nights for something called Paws In The Park.  Patrick spent a small fortune on a brand new tent, outdoor seating and camping and cooking gear. But it all came down to what we could stash in the car – which wasn’t a great deal after we had managed to slot in three bottles of champagne.

I wasn’t very happy at having to spend a couple of nights under canvas and the weather was looking grim. Basil was unsure of everything and skittered around nervously as we put the tent up. I knew he would be too nervous to sleep in the tent with us, and I was right. We hitched him to a pet spike dug into the ground and he curled up just under our awning, obviously keeping an eye out for any other dog who decided to come too close to his owners new, odd sleeping arrangements. Funnily enough I didn’t sleep well either but then I’ve never been an ‘outdoorsy’ type of girl much to the disappointment of my husband.

We spent the day mooching round the varied dog related stalls, buying things we didn’t need and signing up to some more dog charities. Naturally we kept an eye out for other Boxer owners and were happy to see many of the familiar shaped faces and bodies loping around. The sun came out and so did the jugs of Pimms and as we kicked off our shoes and sat back to watch the amazing doggy display teams I found this immersion in canine life wasn’t so bad really.