Now Shadow must be about ten or even eleven by now and if you’re wondering why I don’t know his actual age, it’s because Shadow was part of the family before I arrived late in 1999, so he’s at least ten years old. Anyway, he’s a great dog. A bit unconventional but generally very well behaved.
I think, he thinks he’s actually a child (albeit a 70 year old child) and therefore part of the family in a human sense. He loves sleeping on the carpet in the bedroom, where his snores form a harmony with J’s. He loves lying in front of the fire in the lounge, gently bbqing his tummy and I’m sure he watches the telly although he does tend to go out of the room when the ‘Dog Whisperer’ comes on. He knows instinctively (or is it because he can read ‘EDs’ on her bags?) when J has been to Ed’s supermarket and waits patiently for his bag of bones – he never shows any interest when J has been to one of the other shops. He knows when Angie next door is cooking burgers and will stroll, and I mean stroll, over there just in case she’s made a spare one.
So far, so good and I really shouldn’t complain because everybody who meets Shadow says what a wonderful dog he is (maybe his head is getting too big?) but it’s when I want him to be a proper dog that he lets me down. And badly!
Before I arrived down here all those years ago, Shadow really did think he was a child which maybe had something to do with the fact that J put nappies on him and fed him from a bottle for the first 6 months (joking) so I had to teach him to bark (seriously), give a paw (when asked) and sit (when told). I’ve got to literally throw him in the river to fetch a stick, which is particularly embarrassing when there’s a few other people around with dogs, all of which happily bound into the river, fetch the stick and then drop it at their master’s feet, wagging their tails and looking gleefully into their owner’s eyes. Shadow reluctantly gets the stick (but not if it the river is too deep) and then drops it back into the water before he gets out and then covers everybody within a 5 metre distance as he shakes the water off of himself. Having done that he then finds the nearest patch of mud and then rolls in it! I mean, what’s the point of that?
Getting a ball is something he never does. Throw a ball and say, ‘get the ball Shadow’, and he just stands there, looks at you as if you are completely off your rocker and then walks off. It’s so frustrating.
If I drag him down the lane where we empty our bins, he’ll very reluctantly walk with you but as soon as your back is turned, he does a runner, straight back to the house and I’m left looking like an idiot, walking along saying ‘Shadow – good boy’, to absolutely nobody or nothing! I thought when I was writing this paragraph that I was exaggerating a bit but no. Last evening, Shadow was reluctantly dragged from his bed as Guy and I set off to empty the bins. We only got as far as our front gate when ‘old Frenchie’ stopped us and said ‘bonjour’. ‘Bonjour’ we replied (Guy with a much better accent than me). Old Frenchie was setting up an electric fence, ostensibly to keep out the deer but as we’ve only just had one visit from them in the last ten years, it seemed a bit extreme, but we had a bit of a chat about it (Guy more than me) and then when we turned round to continue our journey, Shadow was nowhere to be seen! He’d done it again.
He slept in the lounge one night as burglars wandered around, yes in the lounge, and never moved, but when the police came to do their report, he went for them! He obviously doesn’t like uniforms!
After being told he’s not getting any treats because he’s ‘broken into the kitchen’, eaten the cats food, drunk their milk and then puked all over the house, he looks at you with his sad eyes and goes and lies down in his bed, no doubt thinking of life’s injustices and how best to contact Amnesty International or the RSPCA. Showing him the empty cat’s bowls to try and get him to acknowledge or even register his crime, meets with a look of utter disdain. And he’s been doing this for about a year now!
Every morning when he goes out to ‘do his business’ he wanders off down through the ‘jungle’ and gets covered in all sorts of twigs and other plant life which attaches to his fur. He loves that morning stroll down to see his doggy friends but if I try and take him down there, where I am currently working every morning, he steadfastly refuses to move from his bed. You’d think he’d love rooting about in the leaves and discovering parts of the ‘jungle’ where even he has not been able to go because of the thickness of the undergrowth. But no. And if you’re thinking why I don’t just get his lead on him and drag him down there with me, you’ve never seen Shadow dig his four paws in and refuse to budge – he must be all of about 30 to 40 kilos!
So, in many ways he’s not a man’s dog but when he comes in at night and lays down in front of the fire and looks at me with those eyes (one white, one brown) and you can see the absolute adoration he has for me (I think that’s what it is), all is forgiven.
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