Not so Saintly - that Darling Dog

I like dogs but more importantly dogs seem to like me.

That is an important factor in my day to day workload of inspecting houses and over thirty years or so of have been bitten just the once.  I do admit to having been a bit scared on a few occasions when coming across a canine unexpectedly. 

The most common scenario is after being allowed access by key to a house if the owner/occupiers are absent but with no warning or even a mention that a pet is in residence. Being granted sole responsibility for the family home really brings out the protective instincts in a hound, whether a pocket rocket breed or a really big cross bred bruiser. 

I was once forced by aggrieved owners to chase after and re-capture their dog whose escape I had unwittingly aided after going through a side gate . This took some time and negotiation of quite a few surrounding gardens to round it up. 

Another small and wiry beast shot out from behind a kitchen door and hid itself under a bed and was only enticed out after I had rifled a few cupboards to find a tempting snack to wave under its damp nose. 

In one very compact bungalow I was confronted by fourteen Pekinese and a lone Highland Terrier that belonged to a retired dog breeder. Who, in any business or hobby holds onto their stock after giving up the job? I will spare you a description of the land at the back of the house which served as the main toilet facility, suffice to say that I discovered that I was really quite nimble on tip toes. 

A few breeds behave to type. 

There are always the mad Cocker Spaniels who just run riot for the first few minutes after my arrival and then shrink away nervously. 

I always feel sorry for the dogs who just wet themselves whenever they meet a stranger. That does however tend to relieve any stress and tension in a homeowner as it gives them something busy to do rather than follow me around. 

A few years ago I met a family timidly besieged in their own kitchen because their two huge Rhodesian Ridgebacks had taken up exclusive occupation of what was once quite a nice sitting room. I expect that they bought a couple of cute, big pawed puppies but could not have anticipated that they would, when fully grown, take over the house in that way. On the plus side, no one ever attempted to make a cold call at the front door after seeing two massive shapes looming up at the adjacent window. 

There can be some hints about the size and power of a dog in any one house. An extra high and strong fence is a bit of a giveaway together with a few illustrated signs threatening the presence of an ill tempered beast. 

My first encounter with a house dog consists of the usual sniff of discovery. That refers of course to the immediate impression in my nostrils of a dog odour. That is followed by the inevitable burying of a cold wet nose, yes, the dog’s, into my lower midriff. 

An owner typically attributes this to a fussy trait in the animal and assurances that they wouldn’t harm a fly, etc, etc. 

I have a bit of a rule in that if the dog lingers too long in that position it means that my work trousers are overdue a dry clean. I do tend to pick up the scent of quite a few pets in any one working day and that must make me quite an interesting and somewhat confusing entity. 

An increasing trend over recent years is for there to be a wire crate in which the dog lives or can be placed if there is likely to be a confrontation with a visitor. I could only imagine the creature that growled menacingly at me as I walked past its blanket covered cage in a back kitchen room. I was not overcome with curiosity to take a peek. 

So to my encounter a couple of weeks ago. 

The dog was of a breed that I very rarely see, a wonderfully droopy eyed Saint Bernard. 

It took up the whole of the entrance hall in the terraced house that I was visiting and had to reverse to let me pass as it was just too long and broad to make a 180 degree turn. 

They are a sociable and friendly sort, famously known for their brandy carrying rescue work in the Alps. This particular one stuck very close to me as I made my way about the downstairs rooms, so much so that I had to adopt a crab like stance to clear the furniture and furnishings. 

We were quite inseparable and I did make encouraging noises that kept the hound interested and attentive. 

I don’t think it could have made it up the characteristically steep stairs in that older house inspite of having a genetic disposition to scale gradients in the wide open mountains and valleys of its natural environment. 

Faithfully it sat across the bottom of the steps awaiting my descent but unfortunately without the customary alcoholic tipple in a barrel. 

I was ready to make an exit and gave that wonderful dog a good pat on the head and a rub on its tummy. 

The owners thanked me for coming and then apologised, somewhat over profusely for the state of my trousers. 

I had, in my enthusiasm for the dog, not even noticed that during its close marshalling  it had transferred a good proportion of its loose fur onto me. My lower half now resembled well, a Bigfoot or a Wookie. 

I was considerate in not making a fuss and just shook myself out on the street in best dog fashion. 

As the front door closed I just caught a last glimpse of those doleful eyes .

I may have been mistaken but there was something of a triumphal look in them.