Shane Watson When dogs come between friends
SHANE WATSON
You think that you can’t fall out with old friends. Well, you know you might in extreme circumstances: if one of them sleeps with your other half, for example, or if you mess with their dog. And by “mess with their dog” I mean allow their dog to bite you.
There is only one outcome if your old friend’s dog sinks its teeth into your hand during a boozy Saturday night dinner in their kitchen, and that is a rapid coolingoff on their part. Their position will be that you have behaved pretty carelessly and made a lot of people feel bad, including the dog. It won’t be the dog’s fault, that’s for sure. Trust me, I am as dog mad as the next person. I am full of dog love. I just occasionally wonder if the “dog trumps friends and family” rule is fair.
I was reminded of it only last weekend while staying with our old friends, B and J. During dinner, their dog, Spike (no specific pedigree, Dalmatian-sized, getting on a bit and very much in the “where am I, everything hurts” phase), bit my finger. It punctured the skin in three places, to be exact. And, oh my goodness, was all hell let loose! B and J were mortified: “That bloody dog – he is really for it!” they roared. “I cannot believe that he bit you. The shame of it…”
Nope. That’s not what happened. You’ll have spotted how false those words sound and how unlikely they would be to come from the mouths of a British dog owner.
This is what actually occurred in the immediate aftermath. B rushed for plasters, and TCP (suspiciously close to hand in retrospect). J wondered aloud: “Does it need
a stitch?” in the way that you might say: “Anyone want coffee? Cheese?” and everyone else shrugged and moved on quickly, murmuring: “You’re lucky it wasn’t your face.” The general response, summarised, was: it was bad luck, but then again you don’t want to muck about with an old dog (by crossing the room without first putting on a bite suit or, at the very least, padded gauntlets) and anyway how do you think HE feels? Dogs hate this kind of fuss.
Some 10 minutes after “the incident” (which in B and J’s house will, no doubt, be referred to as “Shane getting herself bitten”) while I was having the wound redressed, due to blood seepage, someone said: “Poor Spike.” Then everyone, including me, swiftly agreed that Poor Spike had been through enough (rule one of how not to fall out with your friends, be first in line to forgive the dog) and he was brought out of the doghouse. He’d never really been in the doghouse, of course, but now he was definitely back. J gave him some under-the-table reassuring (congratulatory?) pats, and a private whispery pep talk, along the lines of: “Don’t worry about it, mate: no one’s cross, we’re just going through the motions. That’s a good dog.”
Rule two of how not to fall out with your friends: ignore this and assume total responsibility, which allows them to say: “Well, you can see he’s sorry” and which, in turn, you have to ignore because dogs can’t feel guilt. Don’t get into that one.
The idea that your dog can do no wrong is not new – your parents were making excuses for their dogs savaging other people’s children way back, and their parents before them – but you get the sense that it’s bigger than ever in the summer of 2017. Dogs couldn’t care less how you voted, or the ramifications of Brexit. They have never heard of Jeremy Corbyn. Dogs never change, when literally everything else around us does, and, consequently, we need them more than ever.
Old friendships are important, too, obviously, just make sure you keep on the right side of the dog.
When a dog comes between friends
If a friend’s dog bites you - and you wish to save the friendship - remember, old dogs can do no wrong ‘Dogs never change, when literally everything else around us does, and so we need them more than ever’