Diary of an urban Grandad
DEAR Reader, I have recently discovered that a lot of things I once took to be true, are in fact, false. Complete tosh.
For instance, I used to think I was a reasonably intelligent human being. With some modest amount of brains. My wife disagreed with me, obviously. That’s her job. But I always thought she was joking. Until last week. Sigh. And it’s all down to one small, badly behaved, puppy. Let me explain.
If you follow the ups, downs and urban ways of this column you may already know that here at
Cullimore Cottage, we have a lovely dog called, Mabel. What you may not know, however, is that just before lockdown we went out and found ourselves a cute little puppy, Rufus. A fluffy companion to keep Mabel, and us, company as the years roll on by.
Over the past few weeks and months we have spent a lot of time in our garden, Rufus and I. With me trying to train him, and him trying to grow big and strong.
To be entirely honest, neither of us has had much luck. When Rufus arrived in our lives he looked like a small, fluffy rabbit. One who had no idea what was going on in the world.
Now he is approaching his first birthday, he still looks like a rabbit. Admittedly, a slightly larger one, but still, more like a big bunny than a big dog. And he still acts as if he has no idea what is going on in the world. All attempts to train him have failed. Miserably.
In truth, I have found myself questioning his intelligence at times. Wondering if he even has a brain in that fluffy little head of his. Or whether his skull is just filled with fluff, nonsense and dreams of gravy bones.
However, after going for a stroll with my eldest grandson a few days ago, I’m starting to think that maybe our Rufus is a bit of an evil genius on the side. Probably far more intelligent than some Urban Grandads we could name.
Grandson No.1 and I found ourselves strolling round Horfield Common last week because we both live in double dog households, meaning that between us we have four dogs who need regular exercise.
Turns out, taking four pooches out at one time is a sure fire recipe for doggie disaster. A gentle walk in the park nearly always turns into a chaotic canine explosion, as small dogs scatter in all directions and innocent bystanders find their quiet picnics ruined by hungry hounds with no table manners.
Long story short, we decided to take only one dog from each family with us. He had their puppy and I had Rufus. Once both dogs were off the lead and frolicking, my grandson and I got to comparing notes, discussing their personalities and, most importantly, their relative brain power.
I admitted that Rufus was impossible to train. Probably because he is a dog of little brain. To prove the point, I started playing one of his favourite games. Where I throw a tennis ball and Rufus bounces off after it. Looking for all the world like a clockwork bunny on springs.
He then picks up the ball, runs back towards me and, sure as eggs is eggs, gets diverted by some lovely smell off to one side. At which point, the ball is dropped in long grass and disappears from view. But it doesn’t get lost. Oh, no. Far from it. I have learnt to watch Rufus carefully, waiting for the moment when he inevitably drops the ball and bounces off in search of scent. I then go, retrieve and ball and get ready to throw it again. Simple. But not a lot of fun for me.
After watching Rufus and I playing this game for a while, my grandson quietly announced that I was wrong. Puppy training had obviously been going really well during lockdown. Brilliantly even. Because Rufus had got me trained to perfection. Sigh. Which is when it dawned on me.
Our new puppy pal is not the one who lacks brain power. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Getting me to do the things he wants me to do. Hmm. He hasn’t spent the past few months ignoring my commands, refusing to let me train him. Far from it. He has spent the last few months training me to respond to his commands. Which is a shame, because it means my dear lady wife may be entirely right about my intelligence levels, after all. Sigh.
Now, where did my puppy master leave that tennis ball?
Hope you and yours are safe, well and happy.
Until next time, all the best