I think I’ve accidentally got my dog hooked on conkers

DON’T know about you, but when I’ve been wandering around for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been staring at the ground. Not all the time obviously, that would lead to bumps and bruises. Especially when it comes to crossing the road. No, my walking around with my head held down time, has been mainly when I’m out and about with the dogs. Particularly if there are conkers around.

At this point, I would like to wag the finger at the pooches, call them bad dogs, blaming their natures for being so naughty. Sadly, that wouldn’t work in this case. Because it’s all my fault. The old adage that there’s no such thing as bad dogs, just bad owners, springs to mind here. Let me explain.

When the first conkers of the season were blown from their branches by the breeze a few weeks back, I made the mistake of stamping on a few of the green spiky cases, releasing the beautiful brown beasts within. Like an over excited child I pounced on the precious cargo. Don’t know what it is about them, but to my mind, you just can’t beat the sight, sound, smell and feel of a lovely fresh conker. Can’t get enough of them. They radiate contentment. It shimmers on their shiny jackets. Those chestnut coloured hearts of hope. When out for a walk at this time of the season, I like to pick up a few choice specimens, place them in my palm, then roll them slowly around each other as I move along. Doing the conker cha cha. One of my favourite rhythms of autumn.

It’s hardly new, been doing it since I was knee high to a jammy dodger. The difference is, when I was young, conkers were currency. They were valuable. Sought after. Gangs of small boys, including my mates and me, would meet up after school, head for the trees to throw sticks and stones. We spent ages searching out the best branches and hours trying to to bring down the best conkers. Was a real labour of love. A collective way to show our gratitude to mother earth for being so generous. But not any more, it seems. Haven’t seen anyone collecting these beauties for ages. This autumn, I have not seen a single soul pick one up. Apart from myself, obviously, and I don’t watch myself. That would be weird. The dogs watch me, of course. They watch everything I do. Almost. But I digress.

Point is, no one else has been getting excited about the horse chestnuts this year. No one else has been sorting out the best ones and placing them in a secure place for later use. No one. Well. Apart from one other soul. The small and fluffy exception which proves every rule. Our new puppy. Rufus. He may have a tiny brain, and give the appearance of never using it. But turns out, that is all a ruse. A cover. He’s sneaky.

And it was the conkers that gave the game away.

You see, when we are on our walks, the two dogs are usually off and sniffing. Bouncing all over the place in search of adventure and horrible things to eat. But recently, as I have been bending down to pick up conkers, Rufus has been taking an interest. Watching my moves and trying to work out what I’m up to. Didn’t take him long to find out.

Because one thing about conkers, is that they come in many different shapes and sizes. Some are more pleasing to the hand and eye than others. Which means that sometimes when I pick one up, it doesn’t pass the test. The cute conker test. So it gets thrown back on the floor.

To Rufus, this could only mean one thing. A game. Which means that for the last few weeks I have been an unwilling player of conker fetch. I pick one up, decide it’s not good enough and throw it away in disgust. Rufus watches the flight path, bounds off in pursuit, and returns it to my feet. Usually after giving it a good chew to make sure it’s not going to cause any trouble.

Long story short, I think the poor little pooch is now firmly addicted to the taste of conker. Which can only be bad for him. No doubt they are on the long list of things which dogs must never eat. To my everlasting shame, it was me and my mad collecting of shiny brown beauties that got him hooked. Sigh. Don’t blame the dog, blame the owner. So true!

Hope you and yours are safe, well and happy.

Until next time, all the best

Stan