Turning the house upside down

If you follow Maria Zannini’s blog, you’d know that she has two Rottweilers, Tank and Iko. And even though I’m a little so-so about Rotties, I have to admit that Iko is a fine-looking young man. Another friend of mine, I just found out this week, has a Bichon, that white fluffy iconic breed that makes me think of mop-heads and cleaning floors whenever I see one.

Sausage is … well, not like either of those. She’s manic and cute in a truly ugly way. Think I’m joking? Cop this:

I took the photo at Christmas and it’s one of my favourites but you can’t tell me she doesn’t look like she’s just walked off the set of The Spiderwick Chronicles?

With that big nose of hers, she manages to poke herself into every situation, often getting scratches from Fluff and Squeak as a result. Does that faze her? Not a bit. Give her ten minutes and she’s back to wagging her tail and barking in front of a disdainful feline, just daring one to give her a good ole chase. Whether it’s a cat chasing Sausage or Sausage chasing a cat makes no difference to her; the game’s the thing.

Watching her interact with us, the cats, the fish(*) and other people, I can’t believe how bull terriers got the terrible reputation they did. Oh, they’re physically strong dogs, as well as being headstrong, but they’re so forgiving that you just wish they’d be a tad more cynical and live up to their “so ugly it’s cute” appearance, especially around two feline heavyweights. Here she is on one of the living room chairs, making herself comfortable:

There are a lot of dog breeds out there that are much better looking than Sausage. They’re more obedient, they’re cuter, they’re smarter, they “talk” more, and they don’t have manic half-hours. But the truth of the matter is, bull terriers have wormed their way into my affections and for me — and, increasing I think, for the rest of the family — there will never be another dog breed that usurps that place in our hearts.

(*) Please don’t make the mistake of feeling sorry for our koi, captive in our courtyard pool, tantalisingly close to snoozing cats and a curious dog. It didn’t take long for the fish to figure out our four-legged pet vulnerabilities. They splash. It happens every time either Fluff, Squeak or Sausage annoy them in some way by getting too close or trying to bob for fish food during feeding time. They’ll dive, flexing their tail at the same time, sending a fountain of water towards the miscreant. It’s 100% effective. Anyone who keeps fish will tell you they are far from the brainless, purely instinct-driven animals we were taught about in school. They recognise people, can come when called and, as I’ve just related, are smart enough to take care of themselves, thank you very much. Still doesn’t stop me from enjoying a nice meal of grilled fish though. I just hurry the supermarket bag past the big sliding doors into the kitchen so our own finned friends can’t see what I’m doing.