When I first started writing this blog over four years ago I was urged to include my musings on life with  my dog, Oscar as he had been a regular feature on my social media. But not for me the gushings on how wonderful my life had become with Oscar in it. But the hell of  day to day life  with a naughty, destructive toddler. There was very little to celebrate where Oscar was concerned. 

I got him after a sustained campaign by my son which included the occasional PowerPoint presentation. After a few years of persistent lobbying I started to think it may be a good idea. 

And it wasn’t as if I was new to dog ownership. Many years before I had owned a rough collie called Shellie. She was a beautiful dog that I felt was always there for me through good times and bad. I was devastated when she came to the end of her life. The final  thing I could do was to be with her when she was put to sleep.

Of course I’ve watched The Dog Whisperer so I knew not all dogs were like Shellie but surely any behaviour issues were the fault of the owner.

But then Oscar came along.

He was a challenge from the start. Puppy ownership is hard. They need a lot of attention and training. I expected that but we started getting glimpses that we had taken on something a little challenging. Rescuing him from the fish pond was one of many low points. How those fish hated him. Especially when he managed to disconnect the pump so that it pumped the water out but not back in. Fortunately we noticed in the nick of time.

We decided to enrol him in puppy socialisation classes. Too late did we realise that ‘socialisation’ was his middle name. Whilst most of the puppies seemed reluctant to engage Oscar and a boxer puppy were like delinquent dynamos. The trainer claimed he liked a challenge but I’m sure he was relieved when Oscar and his partner in crime ‘graduated’.

Hands up in those  early days I was tempted to get him rehomed. He was so naughty. I can’t tell you how many times I  returned from the park fuming over the way he had behaved. On one occasion he rolled in something unmentionable. He then managed to wriggle himself free of his harness before running off. Enter me running round the park trying to catch him. Sh***y harness in my hand which got even messier when I had to reinsert him back into it.

I’m the only one that is confident enough to let him off the lead. My daughter has never got over the embarrassment and humiliation of returning a chewed up frisbee to its young owner.

But I can only let him off the lead if the conditions are right. No other dogs, no cricket or football games, no barbecues, no children building snowmen. Even then I remain anxious. 

I let him off the lead as he needs the exercise. He is fat. I felt his humiliation when on one occasion the vet bent over, grabbed one of his rolls and started wiggling it about. No such thing as a body confident movement as far as vetinary surgeons are concerned. Oscar was fat. And if he was going to live the expected life span of 14 years he needed to shed 20% of his weight. I looked at the vet in horror. 14 years? My sanity was hoping for 10 at the most.

So commenced the battle to get his body weight down with no cooperation from him. He is now on an expensive metabolic diet which I measure out each day. But Oscar can run into a bush and run out again with the remains of discarded takeaway in his mouth. He is on a 24/7 mission to find food.

Even on the lead I have to watch him continuously. On one morning walk I found myself daydreaming. Not paying attention. I looked down to see that Oscar had half a french stick in his mouth. I’ve no idea where he got it from. 

What is particularly annoying about the whole Oscar experience is that my husband never wanted him. This means that I’m subjected to the occasional ‘I told you so’. This is marginally more irritating than ‘shall I show you how to load the dishwasher’. 

Another annoying thing (I’m often annoyed) is how most of the population give dogs human characteristics. A dog must love you as they are always so happy to see you. No. Dogs are pack animals. They behave in a way to reinforce acceptance  and their place in the pack. Their survival is dependent on it. A good comparison is how you may greet your boss. You may hate him/her but hopefully they will never know by your behaviour. Your future employment may dependent on it.

So Oscar has read the manual where the initial greeting is concerned. Although he is even more excited by strangers. I suspect he hasn’t given up hope of joining  a new pack.

Oscar is now six years old. If you use the seven human years to one dog year calculation he is 42 years old. However, using the more updated calculation  he is 60 years old. The same age as me. Strangely knowing this has made me view him a little differently. We are two old gits together. The Hinge and Bracket of the human/canine world if you like.

Getting Oscar was not one of my better life decisions. I do my best for him in the knowledge that he thinks he could have done better. I often catch him staring at me with a look that suggests ‘I could have done so much better’. I suspect that it is the one thing that he and my husband have in common. But for the best part of the next decade he (dog and husband) will be with me so I’d better just suck it up.