Boy called Lamb gets the silent nod
If dogs are meant to look like their owners, I’m wondering why I’ve just become the proud owner of a three-year-old male huntaway called Lamb. Yip - a boy called Lamb. I’m not quite sure how Lamb got his name, but in a town where one syllable dog names are de rigeur, his arrival has been met with a silent nod of approval from the farming fraternity.
In a town of Jacks and Aces, Lamb should fit in nicely.
The farmers, who mutter quietly amongst themselves about the district’s goings-on (or not going on, as it usually turns out to be) have labelled my new mutt the town’s answer to Kendall Jenner because of his slightly girly sounding name. But the fact he’s a huntaway means there will be no scorn thrown Lamb’s way.
And because he came preloaded with a name from a farm ‘up north’, the piss-taking should eventually die down.
Lamb, you see, is a manly dog and is willing to work, so he passes muster. In a town where a lazy canine would never make the grade. Huntaways, heading dogs, collies and foxies make up the canine population in our town.
There’s the odd labrador about, a golden retriever.
Most farmers have a foxy for their ratting, possuming or mousing abilities, and perhaps their ability to ignore the confines that fences provide, wander the neighbourhood like they own it, chase kids on bikes and crap on other people’s lawns.
Huntaways, heading dogs and collies earn their keep rounding up mobs of sheep or cattle, reminding them who’s boss with a good throaty bark.
A good working dog does the job of a man, I’m told. And all for the price of a few biscuits, a bone to chew on and a kennel to have a snooze in at night.
There’s not a lot of affection shown towards them, but they crave it all the same.
The odd pat on the head or slap on the side for a job well done is enough to keep the tail on your working dog wagging.
There’s not a lot of pandering and pampering and there’s certainly none of your designer breeds within cooee of our town.
You would not want to be seen dead walking your goldendoodle, labradoodle or cockapoo on our mean streets, unless you want to be subjected to much ridicule next time you try to enjoy a pint.
A farmer friend’s wife has one of those long-haired breeds living out on the farm at the moment, and I know for a fact that he’s not only never told anyone about it he hasn’t been seen with it either.
It might be a Pug’s Life if you’re into trends, but trends have never been big in our neck of the woods anyway.
Heaven forbid anyone who starts dressing their dog in designer threads, or carrying their tiny timid little thing to the shop or pub in a handbag.
Dogs are not meant to be better dressed than their owners.
Paris Hilton and her canine companions would not make the grade, I’m afraid.
Heaven forbid anyone who starts dressing their dog in designer threads...