It’s not in my genes.
When I was growing up the dogs in my life were the farm dogs on my Grandfather’s farm. They were working animals, and lived outside year round. They weren’t allowed in the house. The one I remember was Patch. He was barking. Mad. Literally. Whenever a car arrived or departed from the farm he would chase the vehicle, barking savagely at the wheels. How he didn’t get run over I’ll never know.
At home we had a cat. Bimbo. So no dog in the house. At one point we also had gerbils. We had two gerbils to start with, both girls, but they quickly multiplied….! I remember my mother wondering why they were playing with chunks of beetroot - they’d not been given any - before realising they’d had babies.
When my family moved to Hong Kong in 1980 I lived with my best friend’s family for 9 months or so, in order to complete my ‘O’-levels. They had traditionally kept Lancashire Heelers - short legged dogs, black and tan, a little like a Daschund, but more personality. Around the time I lodged they got a Heinz 57 type dog called Maisie. Not being used to living with dogs in the house, Maisie would drive me crazy, and I would be constantly opening the back door for her to go out into the garden. Eventually either I trained her or she trained the family, but when I left, to go to Hong Kong, Maisie would woof to be let out to do her business….
The next dog I met was Bertha. My then boyfriend, now husband’s, mother Verity, had a rescued Rottweiler bitch. She (Bertha, not Verity) had evidently been mistreated in the past, and didn’t really like men, but other than that she was a good ambassador for her kind. They followed up Bertha with Kruger, and he also demonstrated that it’s not the breed that deserves the ‘bad’ name, but the owners….
So, how come I ‘have’ a Dalmation called Roly? I'll tell you next time! In the meantime here's a photo of the hens, so you know what they look like...
Gotta dash, lots to do, thanks for reading! Kat
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