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

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.

ANYONE INTERESTED IN A DOG OF MIXED HERITAGE, GREAT AT KILLING, YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME