Unfortunately, the fact that I did not smoke meant that I remained a bit nervous and aloof on the bus, the train or in other situations of potential interaction with another human being. I always seemed to be on the outside of the acrid cloud within which others were obviously having a lot of fun. With the benefit of hindsight based on the carcinogenic effect of tobacco smoke it has proven ultimately better to be isolated than popular.
Then I became a dog owner, well two dogs actually, and found that belonging to that particular club made me approachable, affable and trusted in the eyes and perceptions of those encountered out on the path, the forest trail, river bank and down the local park. It is funny how, in an ultimately suspicious world, just standing around holding a dog leash, poop-scoop and occasionally shouting out, to no obvious recipient, encouragement or disapproval can cause complete strangers to put aside their fears and insecurities.
Scary implications for encountering those with malice aforethought.
My dogs would, within a few moments of realising that their master was not alone, emerge from the undergrowth, out of the pond or look up from whatever dead carcass they had alighted upon and rally around making the usual nasal investigations into the status of the newcomers.
They were a cute pair of hounds. Elsie, the RSPCA rescue dog of dubious breed but sensitive and loving nature and Toffy, a German Pointer with mixed parentage but in denial and a bit stuck up, hyper-active and occasionally recklessly insubordinate.
Growing up together from puppies they got on well although their roles did change radically as Toffy quickly grew to twice the size and three times the body weight of Elsie and knew how to throw it about a bit. I felt a bit sorry for Elsie but made it clear that she was always the favourite because of her temperament. On the other hand it was Toffy who always got the attention and admiring comments because of her proud and striking demeanour and athletic appearance. I felt bad sometimes by identifying myself more closely with the canine equivalent of a thoroughbred race horse and referring to Elsie as the 57 varieties type.
The most common question asked by passers by on our daily walks was "ooh, what sort of dogs are they?", followed by the rather strange "are they related in any way?", and inevitably "how old are they?".
Of course the stock response on the matter of a dog's age is always to state actual years first and then convert to the human equivalent by the 7 times multiplier.
I do not know where the conversion rate originated from but it does seem to have been set in stone in the mind of the wider general public. It turns out that from comparatively recent research this perception is wrong.
A completely new rethink and approach is required and this in itself may be very difficult to be accepted given the deep rooted, almost folk lore status of the mathematics.
Here is the science bit.
In the natural world the species of dog has a number of unusual and unique traits. The variation in breeds is extensive and this is no more emphasised by the range of size from the Chihuahua to the Great Dane. Can you imagine the horrific scenario in our own local areas if the same size range applied to the domestic cat. You would surely hesitate to walk out in the neighbourhood at night or even in broad daylight for fear or being carried off or mauled by next doors ginger tom.
In a complete reversal to much of the animal kingdom it is the case that the larger the dog the shorter its life expectancy and vice versa.
Whatever the breed there is a growth spurt in the early years in terms of maturity, reproductive capability and skeletal frame although this does vary. Researchers have speculated that on a real-age basis after two years a small dog has the human age equivalent of 25 years, a medium sized dog 21 years and a large dog 18 years. Thereafter and unlike most humans a dog is in its prime for a large proportion of its remaining life enjoying peak fitness, enthusiasm and energy levels assuming good basic health and being trained to avoid busy roads and other hazards. It is time for us to forget the 7 year rule.
Toffy died at age 10 from the side effects of taking a swim in a flooded chalk pit also frequented by disease carrying rats. Up until that tragic event she was still annoyingly hyper and ger-manic. Elsie lasted out until she was 16 dog years old although we could not face doing the humane thing and unnecessarily prolonged her life for a couple of years. I believe that she did have a good and happy existence and certainly contributed a great deal to the quality of life of our young and growing family.
It was wrong to always think of dog years in human terms and I realise now a bit disrespectful to Toffy and Elsie and indeed all faithful dogs who lived unconditionally for us.
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