Alison O'Connor: Down from my doggy pulpit with a lesson in humility

I used to feel like a canine oracle — I am now far more humble (and exhausted) 

‘Badger’ when Alison first brought him home from the rescue home. His mother had been used to hunt and bait badgers.

You think you know it all. I certainly did. I wasn’t slow to share my “expertise” in this column, or to criticise others for how they might have gone about their doggy business.

You see, in my hubris, I really did see myself as a bit of a canine oracle. I arrived into the world over half a century ago to the presence of Dick, a wonderfully placid black Labrador. Then there was Toby, Max, Charlie, Sally, Jimbo, the list of furry friends goes on.

But I appear before you now a far more humble dog keeper, less canine expert and more exhausted but happy owner of Badger, an eight month old Patterdale terrier (with a little bit of lab), part of the family since September.

Badger is always two steps ahead. Earlier I was greeted by him stretched out on the kitchen table. He has just learned how to nudge out the chairs from the table and jump up. Before this, his trick has been to make like he needed to go into the garden — what puppy owner won’t jump up at seeing that signal? 

But by the time you’ve reached the door, Badge is over on the table eating your sandwich.

Even if you had the presence of mind to push in the chair — I never forget now — he has such a jack-in-the-box springing jump, he manages to grab the top slice. Those who are not dog lovers should look away for the next sentence. 

There ensues a battle for that top slice. If I win and if he’s only managed to get his mouth around the crust I’ll tear that bit off, put it back, and keep eating. What can I say?

You can see why we tend to refer to him as “the marauder”. We got Badger (already named) from the wonderful people at the ISPCA headquarters in Co Longford where he was born. His mother and some other dogs had been rescued from a guy who had cruelly used them to hunt and bait badgers.

Within a few days, it was clear we were in a whole new dog game.

All puppies are enthusiastic about their grub but it became clear he was obsessive. It’s almost a lock and key situation around here now to keep food safe.

Yesterday morning he nosed his way into a cupboard and attacked a box of Weetabix. Last night we counted up to 80 for the number of times he repeatedly jumped up to try and reach an empty shepherd’s pie dish on the counter. I’m confident he’d have gone 80 more but it seemed cruel to let him continue.

You just can’t keep a good dog down. I suspect he’d sell us all to a stranger for the promise of a tin of cheap dog food.

He bounds everywhere in a marvellous puppy-like way and is generally well behaved when he is out and about.

But as you can tell this street angel is a house devil. Badger bounces and bounds. He grabs and he snatches. When you sweep, he bites the brush. The hoover drives him wild. His idea of a cuddle is to suddenly jump up on you, placing two paws on your shoulders while licking your forehead and biting your hair. He’s mercurial. Territorial. Snaps unexpectedly, which scares us all a bit.

I’ve spent a fortune in pet shops throwing money at the problem of keeping Badger’s gnashers occupied. If you think groceries have gone up, take a look at the crazy sums charged to chumps like me in pet stores for stuff for our pampered pooches. Ask me anything about the longevity of the over-priced deer antler, buffalo horn, beef or horse lung, veal throat, pig pizzle or beef rumen.

But his teddies are all from charity shops. 50c a piece. His bed is a graveyard of sad, deflated bears, their insides now outside, plastic eyes gouged out ... but the sheer joy he gets from ‘killing’ them.

But I am careful now what size of teddy is handed over. One day I gave him a slightly larger one.

Rather than a savaging, it immediately got a lot of energetic ‘loving’. Nothing unusual in a humping puppy. Except Badge then began rolling around the floor, clearly in acute physical distress.

That part of his anatomy that came alive with the teddy ‘action’ had become so hugely ‘perked up’, the pleasure had turned to awful pain. He howled. I rang the vet.

We got an appointment for an hour later. Poor Badger was wrapped in a blanket, and removed from any further furry stimulation.

After 20 minutes we noticed the ‘situation’ had improved significantly. I rang back and uttered the memorable sentence: “We no longer need that appointment thank you, as Badger’s painful erection has subsided.”

Oh how my sister guffawed at that one. “Did you tell him to think of his Granny?” The schadenfreude dripped down the phone line.

No more moral superiority

You know how it is with younger siblings. Her attitude may have been spurred on by my own moral superiority in dispensing advice over the years on how to keep her adorable, but rambunctious, Cockapoo in check.

Yes, we did have him neutered recently. The plastic neck-cone drove Badger utterly whammy. We got doggie Valium. My husband gave him a double dose in error. It didn’t knock as much as a feather out of him.

Alison O'Connor's dog Max died last year.

Truly if I’d known what we were facing, those testicles would have remained firmly in situ — despite all the best advice.

I won’t lie. I did, on one very taxing day some time ago, Google whether there is a form of doggie ADHD. You’re wondering have we succumbed to that middle-class habit of engaging a dog trainer? You bet we have. She’s brilliant. I want her to move in.

But honestly we do love him to bits. At some point every day he does something or other to make us laugh.

To be fair to the little tyke, he had such big paws to fill.

He followed in the wake of the beloved Max, a central part of the family for 16 years until last May. Badge has to endure a full colour portrait of Max looking down at him in the kitchen — commissioned for me by friends for a significant birthday.

Max’s ashes were in the kitchen — where the kids insisted they remain — when Badger arrived. Sensibly, one day he began chewing the wooden box and cocked a leg on it. Max was relocated upstairs.

Perhaps we moved too quickly in getting a new dog. But he is here now and we are smitten. Not to mention that our physical reflexes are vastly improved. He provides no end of entertainment and when he submits to being rubbed it feels all the more special.

But do forgive those previous pious columns decrying people who ‘gave up’ their dogs. I can’t ever imagine doing that with a dog and definitely not our Badge — but I understand now that sometimes it might all simply be too much.