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I was at mum and dad's last night, celebrating my dad's 64th birthday and trying hard not to think
about the fabulously blissed-out time I was missing out on at Glastonbury, when for no apparent reason
a 1 litre bottle of Pepsi Max exploded. Bought by my brother earlier in the day it was balanced on top
of the refrigerator and as my dad reached in to get himself another beer, it launched itself into orbit,
spraying all over the kitchen. It went off with a loud bang and I rushed into the kitchen to find my
dad liberally doused with the preferred beverage of the Extreme Sports community (or so the marketing
men would have me believe). The weirdest thing about it was not that it had exploded for no apparent
reason (it was unopened, it didn't fall, it wasn't pierced by anything) but that my dad appeared so totally
unphased by it. With Pepsi streaming down his glasses, pooling in rivulets and collecting in a pendulous
dew-drop on the end of his nose, he regarded me calmy with this "Ah yes, that'll be the bottle of Pepsi
exploding, then" look on his face and then reached into the fridge to get his beer.
(Cue outraged,
litigous letter to Britvic UK "Sir, My father is a man advanced in years. Imagine his distress, when
on the occasion of his 64th birthday etc etc".)
In fact it was their stupid dog that had to be
treated for shock. Traumatised by the bang and subsequent shower of sticky liquid, he retreated into
a crawl space behind the airing cupboard. My mum spent 40 minutes trying to tempt him out with tidbits
and reassurances that everything was OK. When she wasn't looking I poked him out with large a stick.
Spare the rod and spoil the dog, I say.
It is a source of some friction between my parents and
myself that I hate their dog. A big, nervy dufus of an animal, whose penchant for jumping up is surpassed
only by his passion for inhaling the crotches of those who cross his path, he's just a complete pain
in the ass. I've tried to get them to take him to obedience classes, to try to instill some discipline
in him, but they won't hear of it. "It's just his naturally exhuberant nature", they say. "He just wants
to make friends with the world. What's wrong with that?" They interpret my disapproving glances as the
envious response of the embittered cat owner, and pity me that I'll never enjoy the special emotional
connection you get with a dog.
The only connection I've ever experienced with their dog is when
he once vigorously affixed himself to my lower leg. Oh believe me, he won't try THAT again.
Don't
get me wrong, I don't dislike dogs per se. We had a lovely one when I was a kid. A stray, we found her
in the back garden one morning and she greeted us like old friends. I absolutely adored her. She was
like the sibling I never had (as opposed to the older brother I never wanted). I've just never warmed
to this one, he's far too big and boisterous to be allowed to gallumph around unchecked. I also hate
the almost fascistic attitude my parents have adopted, as though if you object to him jumping up, running
amock through your prize winning dahlias or trying to steal from your plate at the dinner table, there's
something wrong with you. I adore cats, but I completely accept that not everyone else does and I certainly
wouldn't blame anyone for failing to identify any redeeming feature in my own specimen. But no, according
to my parents I am heartless and cold, a 'typical cat owner'.
I am definitely a cat person rather
than a dog person, I don't deny it. It may sound odd, but I do like the fundamentally sneery nature of
your cat. Your dog is too needily co-dependent. It's all, "You're great, you are. I - I really love you...".
Ick - way too clingy. Your cat, however, is like "Oh do fuck off, can't you? I'm busy." Any animal
that licks its own arse yet has the nerve to regard itself as being higher up the evolutionary chain
than me wins my affection every time.
I don't know, maybe I'm suffering from some feline affiliated
version of the bastard syndrome. All I know is the more self centered and irritable Chloda gets, the
more I dote on her.
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