Why are they call­ing our dog ‘Cu­rios­ity’? I didn’t re­ally want to hear the an­swer

Bray People - - NEWS - Jus­tine O'Ma­hony

We GOT very trau­matic news from home at the week­end. The dog, our much loved but some­times vi­cious fam­ily pet, had been thrown out of the dog min­ders for bit­ing an­other dog.

The poor lady rang at 7.45 a.m. to ask us to get some­one to col­lect him im­me­di­ately. It had taken her­self and her hus­band to pull them apart and the other dog had to be brought to the vet for treat­ment.

Mor­ti­fi­ca­tion. Ob­vi­ously we apol­o­gised pro­fusely and said we would cover all costs in­curred. But part of me was think­ing it was our fault, for leav­ing him with strangers. And he wasn’t used to other dogs. I was filled with ma­ter­nal guilt for aban­don­ing him.

‘Don’t be mak­ing ex­cuses for him. He’s a bloody nui­sance of a dog,’ said Him­self, pick­ing up his phone to see who could we per­suade to take him.

And that’s the thing about dogs. No­body wants the re­spon­si­bil­ity of look­ing af­ter them. I could find some­one eas­ier to take the kids than I could to mind the dog. Al­though given his re­cent list of mis­de­meanours, that’s prob­a­bly un­der­stand­able.

We rang the Fa­ther-In-Law, who pulls no punches at the best of times. ‘Are ya mad? That dog’s a lu­natic,’ he told us, re­fus­ing to take him.

Then we rang friends of ours, the kind of friends that would do any­thing for you – ex­cept mind a dog, it tran­spires. ‘Oh you know we’d do any­thing for ye but I couldn’t con­trol him.

To be hon­est, he scares the life out of me.’ Fine, I thought. Last time we’ll be bring­ing ye back duty free from hol­i­days.

In des­per­a­tion, Him­self rang his brother, who has his own dog, and to our huge re­lief he agreed to take him on pro­ba­tion. We thanked him and the sis­ter-in-law pro­fusely, promis­ing bot­tles of gin and vodka to beat the band.

We texted the next day. He’d al­ready been given two ver­bal warn­ings, one for eat­ing their dog’s food as well as his own, and the other for rob­bing their dog’s bed.

Then late last night we re­ceived a cryptic text. ‘We have de­cided to re­name Bowser ‘Cu­rios­ity’.

‘What are they talk­ing about?’ I asked as I watched Him­self turn pale. He was al­ways quicker on the up­take than me.

He started tex­ting fu­ri­ously still not telling me what it meant. 30 sec­onds later he turned ashen. ‘What?’ I asked hes­i­tantly, know­ing I re­ally didn’t want to hear the an­swer.

‘What did cu­rios­ity do?’

I stared at him blankly. ‘What are are you go­ing on about? Oh no... killed the cat?’ I asked in hor­ror.

‘Ex­actly. Their neigh­bour’s 19-year-old cat to be pre­cise.’ He has now been de­tained in a sort of ca­nine de­ten­tion cen­tre till our re­turn.

Any­one in­ter­ested in a dog of, eh, mixed lin­eage, great at killing mice, rats, eh, cats and pos­si­bly post­men? You know where to find me.


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