Doggy Style

I am always a bit nervous when calling at a house and to be greeted through a half opened front door by nervous home owners with the words "Are you alright with dogs?"

The fact that they have to ask that question can mean a number of things,

a) The aforementioned dogs do not like visitors
b) Some unfortunate souls have, in the past, been bitten
c) The dogs in fact rule the house and the human contingent are bound in servitude
d) There is a lot of dog mess everywhere.
e) Anyone calling at the house is likely to walk away covered in hairs and a distinctly damp doggy odour.

I am in fact keen on dogs, having been an owner of two beloved family pets over a period of nearly twenty years and am at ease in their company.

Dogs pick up on this sort of thing being more likely to be uneasy if they sense any inkling of panic or nervousness. If being introduced to one or more resident hounds for the first time I adopt a confident and loud manner and make it a priority to make physical contact straight away with either a pat on the head, a tousling of body hair or a facial close up to make eye contact.

If the petting is received with a low growl or negative body language I of course refrain from getting in their face and back off a bit. Dogs are not keen on being crowded out or hemmed in and I respect that. I know instantly within a couple of steps over the threshold if my acquaintance with the animal is going to be harmonious or acrimonious. I excused the Basset who just wet himself which I like to think was out of sheer anticipation of meeting me rather than a genetic bladder problem.

In most cases, after that initial display of mutual excitement and enthusiasm the situation settles down and I can get on with my job and the canine can get back to whatever it was doing, whether lazing around, watching sunbeams, enjoying daytime television or licking itself in an act of personal hygiene.

Today was just one of those slightly door ajar moments.

It was at a large and character 1930's house in Scarborough, North Yorkshire.

I had an appointment for midday and arrived on time to ring the bell. After the usual question about me and dogs I was confronted by a large head belonging to what I knew to be a German Pointer. Our own version of the same breed had been about the same size but this one was rather grey and grizzled around the muzzle indicating some seniority.

It was then that the Pointer was completely overshadowed by the bounding arrival of a second hound, one of the largest that I had ever come across. The head was monstrously huge and had I not been startled by the image I may have otherwise found its appearance to be comical. Talk about wrinkles, the face was one mass of folds and floppy skin with small beady eyes, flat nose and a small, almost rose petal mouth with tongue hanging out like a depiction of a medieval imbecile.

I recognised the breed straight away as that starring in the hit movie "Turner and Hooch", being the latter and with Tom Hanks playing the lead human role as Detective Turner.

I could not however recollect the actual formal name until provided with that information by the owners. The Dogue de Bordeaux or French Mastiff is one of the most ancient of French breeds being a working dog whose strength and size made it ideal for pulling carts, hauling heavy objects and for guard duty of livestock and property.

In spite of a long line of pedigree and breeders there were in the 1980's only 600 animals known to exist and had it not been for the big screen casting as the slobbering, well meaning and loyal Hooch the numbers may have dwindled to the edge of extinction.

The Scarborough dog, called Fezzywig, was only a puppy and yet in his welcome and attempted friendly mount of my front he loomed up to almost my own 5'10" height. I rubbed his ears and he leant in to me causing me to lose my footing and stagger back across the hallway. I remembered that the movie dog had a problem with prolific production of stringy saliva which was ejected over everyone and everything within a wide radius with the faintest twitch of the muzzle. There were the beginnings of this trait of the breed with a long strand just hanging down ready to be transferred to the leg of my suit.

In the meantime the Pointer, upstaged by the new upstart, had retired to its blanket adjacent to the staircase and looked suitably under-impressed and bored by the over the top performance of the young pretender.

I made the mistake of turning my back on Fezzywig and felt the full force of his gargantuan body on my backside as he playfully pushed me into the next room. The owners were struggling to control the dog which had by now adopted a tremendous momentum. I was only then notified that he liked to occasionally grab and gnaw on hands and fingers and I was encouraged to make my way upstairs which had obviously been established as being out of bounds.

I tried to recall when I had last had a Tetanus injection in case, on my return journey the threat of a bit of a chewing of digits took place.

My fears were unfounded as typically the dog had lost interest in me as quickly as we had become the best of buddies. I took my usual photograph of interesting pets encountered in my daily work and made a mental note to check if we still had, in our extensive DVD library a copy of the film classic featuring the oversized but cheeky monster dog.