Doin’ it Doggy Style. For Mandela.

Every year on Nelson Mandela’s birthday, which is on the 18th of July, there is a call on South Africans to give 67 minutes of their precious time and get involved in their community.  Even if he’s no longer with us.  It’s an ongoing initiative, attempting to get people off their butts and contribute something.  Make them do something useful.  Other than complain, which we do extremely well.  And anything goes.  Picking up garbage, cleaning the rivers, distributing food, supplying blankets, entertaining orphans, mowing my lawn, taking out my trash, paint my house, fix that damn roof leak that only bothers me when it rains…anything.

(You can read more about the initiative here)

This year our company opted to offer our service to the local animal shelter.  There were two main considerations in our choice: (1) Pets can’t take care of themselves, as humans took over their feeding duties centuries ago and (2) No one can shout discrimination when you talk about neglected and abandoned animals.  In South Africa you have to be very careful if you want to supply corporate assistance to a specific group because by doing that it implies you are excluding another group.  Besides complaining, South Africans also like to shout discrimination at anything.  Racism, Ageism, Sexism, Nepotism, and any other -ism you can think of.  It’s one of our many pet complaints.

So we stuck to pets. Abandoned pets which, by definition, exclude cats.  I’m not discriminating against felines, even though I hate them, it’s just that when you see a stray cat that animal is not really a stray cat.  It’s a cat with a free spirit who chose a life without human contact so that he can screw every other cat in the neighborhood.  Almost like a feline James Bond but without the tux and martini’s.  Remember cat’s abandon people, not the other way around.  Cats are pretentious, condescending animals that will use cuteness to beat you into submission, if they decide you’re worthy enough to touch them.

Enough of my cat love.  Let’s move on to dogs as they are always happy to see me.

Not being one to shy away from work, especially if it means getting out of the office, I joined the team.  I knew from the start that this was going to be one tough assignment as the “team” consisted of two guys and five ladies.  I also don’t have anything against ladies but being married to one, there are certain things you always try and keep away from them.  Certain things that are just automatically linked to the open setting of their tear ducts.  Like if they kill Dr McDreamy.  Or seeing a nice pair of shoes with a broken heal.  Or realizing that a dress looks better on their enemy.  Or the big one which is seeing skinny, neglected puppies.

I don’t know what to do when the two woman in my life would cry simultaneously, how was I suppose to manage five of them!  Google didn’t know either.  I just knew I had to be strong.  Me man.  Me tough.  Me big and strong.  Me don’t cry.  Me protect woman.

Here are a few of the puppies the humans took care of.

I'm the tall one.

I’m the tall one.

Sorry, I meant to say here are the humans the dogs took care of.

As part of our 67 minutes we carried a LOT of dog food from our cars, cleaned some of the kennels, fed dog treats to everyone who wanted one and even supplied a few blankets to the 35 critters currently in their care.  Then it was time to play.  As all work an no play makes Pieter a dull boy.  We took a few dogs for a walk.  Who knew it could be so much fun?  I opted for a very happy looking dog that had no name.  A stray.  What could happen, right?

A big mistake.  Huge.  Massive.

We hit it off.  Me and that mutt.  I fell in love.  The gorgeous stray stole my heart.  He didn’t look like a show dog but he had a joyous personality.  Something we had in common.  I couldn’t put him back.  I tried phoning the Wife because we needed to adopt immediately.  She didn’t pick up any of my twenty calls.  I’m not man enough to make such a crucial decision on my own, which is why I have a partner in crime.  Besides who else was going to feed him?  And wash him?  And walk him?  The Wife obviously knows me very well, ignoring my calls like she was expecting it.  I don’t like to use emotional blackmail, but I was prepared to cry and beg.  Severely.  I just never got the chance.

I mean, look at us? I’m expecting a phone call from Hallmark any moment.

I'm the ugly one.

I’m the ugly one.

In the end the family decided not to adopt the stray.  I think deep down I knew our loved wasn’t meant to last longer than those exhilarating 67 minutes.  Sometimes life just works out that way.  Moments where you appreciate love.  And life. And dogs.  There are many reasons why our relationship was doomed from the beginning, too many complications.  The biggest reason would be the ferocious beast King that’s living in our house.  He would’ve definitely not been impressed if Daddy brought home another member of the family without prior discussion, notification and his written consent.

And who is this ferocious beast?  It’s Pippa, our gay French Poodle off course.

P1030295

I will kill you. With love.

Moral of the story?

If your sulk, sad and done

Just get off your lazy butt.

For you might meet someone

even if it’s just a friendly mutt.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Doin’ it Doggy Style. For Mandela.

  1. Pingback: Who let the dogs out? – A Song Diary

I won't bite, I promise...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s