In dog we trust

Everyone who has been following this section of the web probably knows that we have a very proud and camp gay dog.  The thing that no-one knew was the fact that he was also shadowing as a vigilante protecting humanity from the dark forces of the world.  He was in fact the caped crusader known as the Barking Poodle.

I'm feisty and ferocious, darlings.

I’m feisty and ferocious, darlings.

A few nights ago we were awoken by…Ok fine, that’s technically not true.  The Wife woke up due to excessive barking from Pippa who sleeps in our room.  The Wife then proceeded to wake me, by shaking me, rather violently.  This is required, as a full piece brass band playing a whole set will not achieve the same result.

Unfortunately the result of excessive shaking doesn’t provide an opportunity of me waking up like Sleeping Beauty after her true-love’s kiss.  I looks more like a combination of this:

Once I was hijacked from dreamland, it dawned on me that Pippa was barking like a canine on steroids.  The animal was running around like he was auditioning for a lead in Kujo 2 – The Ferocious French Poodle.

My impulse was to throw him with my alarm clock, but as that was out of reach, I just shouted at him to shut the f#ck up.  The Wife gently coerced me not to do this, as she said the words that makes blood drain from veins:

“I think there’s something downstairs.”

She did say “something” and for a second I thought she was joking, but once my eyes regained some focus I saw the dread looking back at me.  I jumped out of bed, as I’m the protector of the house and charged downstairs with my boxer shorts and…well just my boxer shorts.  I did say I was the protector, but I didn’t say that I was a very effective one, now did I?  In my defence, in the back of mind, I assumed that the “something downstairs” implied a cat.

Downstairs I was blinking violently at the blinking Christmas tree.  I didn’t realise fairy lights could be that bright in the middle of the night. I searched the house in the on and off glow of the tree and found nothing suspicious, unless off course you consider “suspicious” being an unlatched window.  I didn’t find the spiteful cat who dared disturbed my slumber.

I got back in bed a few minutes later with the Wife asking me if I saw anything.

“There’s definitely something in the house,” I replied and fell asleep.  It was obviously not my intention to say what I did, for I meant to use the word “nothing” in that reply.  Forgive me, but my choices in that moment was (1) Going back to sleep or (2) Checking my vocabulary.

A few hours later the Wife woke me up again.  The sun was shining, but she still had a look of dread, which was explained with another question:

“Do we have burglar bars on all our windows?”

For a moment I thought I was dreaming, for that is a rather silly question coming from someone who’s been living in the house for almost four years.  And the house is in South Africa, where most houses has a standard issue of burglar bars, six-foot high walls and an alarm system.

She saw the answer to her question reflected in my sleepy eyes, because no-one does condescending like I do.

“Then someone attempted to break in last night.”

That woke me up like nothing ever have before.  I jumped out of bed, rushed down the stairs and, low and behold, the unlatched window had no burglar bars.  It wasn’t a cat after all.  I rushed outside trying to find more evidence of the opportunistic human piece of shit, who wanted to gain illegal access to my house.  I found it.  The burglar bars was lying discarded in the garden…


I shivered violently at the prospect of what could have happened, thanking God for saving us from whatever might have been, realising that our French Poodle chased the thieves with his excessive barking.  He was a good dog.  A VERY good dog.  One that I love a lot more today.

I went back into the house and played it cool with the Wife, but ended up phoning both my friends an hour later on the way to work.

Ironically, a few nights before, we were debating whether one should allow dogs to live in the house or not.  That argument is now settled once and for all.

I salute canines for embracing humanity, for loving and trying to protect a specie who has not had the best track record when it comes to the treatment of other animals on earth.

Here’s to all the Pippa’s out there, doesn’t matter how camp they might be.

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16 thoughts on “In dog we trust

  1. You phoned both your friends? You have two friends? And well done dog! My dog wouldn’t bark at a burgler, but would run up for a cuddle.

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      • Correct. My Pomeranian is more of an actual threat than my Newfoundland, but the Newfie sounds tough. The sound of my pom growling has been likened to “a dying rooster”. She’ll take your ankles out, though. The Newf will growl and bark, but she wouldn’t actually get up and investigate an intruder. Unless she were sure– and I mean 100%, that the intruder had treats.

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  2. Pingback: I’ve got proof that I’m one of the Sleeping Dead | Ah dad...

  3. Pingback: Saying goodbye to a pet | Ah dad…

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