[wpvideo hSN9YIs7] Something has been troubling me for some time now.
It has been causing me such awful anxiety that last week I ripped off one of Squeaky Moo’s arms and kicked her down the stairs. She didn’t mind. She understood I was frustrated. Anyway she is from Poundland and is only my 7th best toy so she should be thankful I paid her any attention at all.
Then finally, last Sunday, I cracked.
With a quiver of emotion in my voice (which actually rather suited me) I confessed to a stocky blood hound called Suki. I knew Suki wouldn’t judge me (she can barely say her own name without unfurling her tongue to the ground) but her response filled me with hope. Quickly the whispers passed through puppy class. Shame and fear were shaken off puppy shoulders, joy abounded and pups peed freely against the agility course apparatus.
Oh good lord I thought it was just me! Oh wow. You too? What the..? I mean why do they do it? It comes out for a reason - I mean just leave it there. Seriously. You can really just leave it there. Please. Please. Just leave it there. No no no no don’t !Ooh god no don’t pick it up what’s wrong with you!? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? Oh no. No no no don’t carry it with us just put it down. PUT THE POO DOWN. No. NO! Bad human. BAD HUMAN!
We had all experienced the same thing. I thought it just poor deranged Her. Picking up my poo at 6am in her high viz and brogues (dressed half for work, half for a run – one or the other dear – and just because you put an oversized coat over it doesn’t mean people don’t notice.)
But no - each and every one of us had been going through the same trauma. Now we are no closer to finding out why they insist on doing this but it has led me to conduct a few little experiments.
I have been dropping things to see if She will pick them up. I drop my ball at Her feet. She picks it up. I bring over the remote control and drop it (I actually really want her to turn off The Great British Bake off – it’s making Her drool and that Paul one gives me the fear) – and she picks it up.
So this morning I took teddy for our walk. Strolling along the Thames path I wait until there are plenty of people about and then drop him. I give a little shimmy and walk on. Yes. YES! She picks teddy up and has to carry him for the rest of the walk. People stare. There are a few sniggers. ‘Look look! She’s carrying a teddy bear! Oh dear that’s a bit sad. Isn’t she too old for that? And why is she wearing brogues with her gym kit?’
I am still mortified She insists on bagging anything that drops from my rear end but oh my, watching Her stroll through Hammersmith carrying a teddy bear to the ridiculing whispers of passers-by certainly evens things out. Now I just need to figure out what else I can make her carry.
'Look there's a woman carrying a signed poster of One Direction!'
'Look there's a woman carrying a floral bathmat in last season's colours!'
'Look there's a woman carrying a Great British Bake Off magazine with a photo of Paul Hollywood on the front.... RUN!'
Oh the possibilities are endless!