On becoming (even more of a) cliché…

May 17th, 2017 / by / in: Jersey / No responses

We might be thinking about getting a dog. I know. I’m not sure I saw it coming either, or is it perhaps like moving to Jersey, you all knew it would happen, but I didn’t? Is this one of those?


It’s not as if the children haven’t been going on and on about it for years. Since the time it became clear there would be no ‘baby brother’ (big surprises notwithstanding), ‘baby’ was seamlessly shifted to ‘puppy.’ And I said no. From the outset I have been clear on that. No no no no no no NON (that was a typo, but I’m going to leave it in, adds a certain je ne sais quoi). It has always been pretty straightforward to say no to the dog issue. When we were in Bromley, I hid behind the house being too small (clearly it was plenty big enough, but don’t tell them that). I also felt strongly that I had cleared up my fair share of poo over the years, and that for us to add to the assault course that was poo-dodging on the school run every morning (it’s like people had left them as an anti-dot-to-dot, those were dots we actively AVOIDED joining up) seemed, well not appropriate.

A few things have happened to shift my thinking from a flat no to a ‘probably in the future’. These things were:

1) We moved to Jersey. Everyone has a dog. Dogs like Jersey, Jersey likes dogs. I like walking in Jersey even in the rain…*

*except cold winter rain. I’ll have to get any dog in the summer and work up to that.

2) The memory of nappy changing and potty training (the latter of which was my biggest parental fail to date, though I still have puberty x 2 to go with the girls so watch this space… if that remains my biggest fail in ten years I have WON at being a parent).

3) I perhaps got a bit broody. Not broody enough to do something like have an actual human being, but perhaps to have a dog.

4) C demonstrated some scared-of-dogs behaviour. When she met Oreo, the Bernese Mountain Dog I thought she might have an actual, public meltdown. Oh wait, she did. Then there was Badger, the (brilliantly named) French Bulldog (one of her two favourite breeds). Yes, you guessed it. Meltdown. Publicly.

When she did that with cats, we got two. Perhaps she’s more astute and manipulative than I gave her credit for….

So it seems that I have reconciled myself to perhaps getting a dog. Not yet – got to get this house done first – but perhaps then. Perhaps then we might get a dog.

Which leads to the question of WHAT SORT OF DOG. Which has reflected my inner soul more closely than I could have ever thought… Next time you see someone walking their dog I want you to first look to the dog, and then look to the owner. What do you see? I can tell you now, you’ll see more similarities than you would have ever have realised existed. I have never really wanted to admit this, but the following breakdown of our personal preferences is irrefutable (as totally circumstantial evidence can be).

M has a preference for a Labrador. This makes sense. Gentle. Mid-big in size. Eats everything. Bit of a softy.

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C wants a pug. Yappy. A bit annoying. Its very own sense of style. Deceptively solid.

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Mr R likes the fox red Labrador. More sensible sized. Stocky. Dare I say a bit ginger (or was once upon a time). Again quite gentle. Eats everything.

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And I like the Border Terrier. They look like they aren’t a purebred (my previous dog based preference was for a mongrel of indeterminate parentage as I wouldn’t want to be a dog breed cliché, nothing fashionable for me), they are persistent (again a bit stocky and a bit ginger), the chase anything if they want to, and can be a bit yappy. Their hair always does what it wants to too, no matter how much you try and coax it into behaving.

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There is still substantial dog based research to be done, but it’s good to see we’re all sort of wanting to get one that is a basically us in dog form. We’ll have to see whether the gentle or the yappy wins out…

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