WHEN Wags and I are on our regular outings – me to get some air, and Wags to release some pent up, albeit less than aromatic, energy – we like to keep to ourselves.
Wags will sniff the occasional bits of a four-legged passer-by, but I feel it’s out of courtesy moreso than curiosity.
Because after he’s had his whiff, he often looks at me with disappointment or disdain, to which I return serve by raising the corner of my top lip and shrugging my shoulders.
We agree we prefer each other’s company and move on.
It’s a simple process and while Wags is somewhat more sociable than I am, he’s comfortable and it’s important for him to be him.
Which brings me to the results of a survey I read during the week.
It would appear that 41.4% of pet owners allow their furry friends to sleep with them in bed.
At this point, it is important to note that Wags has a very soft bed full of his own smells, big enough for three dogs if he so chose, and filled with enough blankets and pillows for him to throw a slumber party.
Next to the bed is water, and often some kibbles he’ll eat if the flow of human delicacies has dried up for the day.
Some dentists say it’s a good idea to brush your dog’s teeth, but I fear no end of bristles will rid Wags of breath fuelled by a canned fish dinner.
That’s one reason I won’t be allowing the little chap under the sheets where Wanda and I dream through the night.
There are other reasons.
The dog snores. Not just heavy breathing, he rips a chainsaw through one log, catches his breath, rolls into a different position, and lets rip with the machinery again.
Then there’s the worst of it. During those polite sniffing exchanges with his acquaintances in the park, he’ll occasionally feel the need to taste.
I don’t ask why. Maybe it’s confirmation that whatever he was out to achieve via his nasal passage was a true reflection of whatever he needed to know.
Later, he’ll feel the need to clean himself. None of it looks pleasant to me, but it’s what he does and I’ve come to accept it.
Whatever the case, it means he’s put his little tongue in places I never want to go.
Which leads me to the next astonishing stat from our insurance survey.
If those answering the questions can be believed, 3% of people allow their dogs to kiss them on the lips.
Not that I checked, but that means three of the people on the bowling green last weekend had puppy flatulence breath.
If it was Beryl, I saw her picking her teeth before she dipped her fingers into the devilled eggs.
I have a few words for Beryl and anyone else who wants to kiss their dogs: parvovirus, hookworm, giardia.
Oh, there are other possibilities. But I wouldn’t have thought it necessary to offer up a medical science lesson to help anyone understand that dog poop, whether eaten or ejected, is bad for human health.
No matter how many wet wipes you’ve invested, bacteria remains.
This is quite simply not a question of love for your fur-baby. It’s a matter of basic hygiene. And the survey’s got me nothing short of angry.
So if you’ve got a pet sleeping in your bed, take it away from your clammy feet or sweaty armpits, and keep your Dutch oven to yourself.
And stop the creepy mouth to mouth licking action.
Hey Wanda, can you believe a third of people don’t go on holidays because they’re worried about their pet? It’s in a survey I’m reading from a mob trying to flog insurance..
What’s that? You’ve rescheduled our weekend away because the kids can’t look after Wags?
Fair enough.
