In which our reluctant hero ponders the merits of housing various super furry animals. And a couple of slimy ones.
My week started with three days away from home attending a conference, which was convenient timing with the start of Easter holibobs kicking in. Faced with the prospect of being home alone, babysitting the kids, mum decided to head for the hills. To Wales. To Nana’s house.
One of my more irksome tasks when away is having to work through my backlog of admin. Not work related admin, but the time spent randomly pressing buttons to feign interest in stuff that friends, family and and an ever increasing bunch of vaguely-associateds, that seem to have collected me have on social media, have posted.
A few scrolls into Monday’s trawl, I spotted an alarming post on my wife’s Facebook feed.
“Kids have a new best friend at Nana’s #bowser”
After tutting that the correct hashtag should probably be #wowsers, being down with the kids innit, I looked closer at the attached photo. Uh-ho.
Surprisingly, it turned out that “Bowser” was, in this instance, correct. Bowser was in the photo, playing to an audience of two little people, rolling around chewing a rubber ring while proudly showing the world his bits and bobs. Yes, Bowser was a dog. No, we’re not having one. Where’s the “dislike” button, Zuckerberg? Where’s the button?
Getting a pet is like getting a cheap first car. Initially you will love and cherish it, take it out lots and give it a weekly wash and polish. However, you know that eventually it’ll start annoying you, breaking down at the most inopportune moments at great cost, and you’ll fondly reminisce that the bus wasn’t so bad after all.
If I drew up a list of things that we didn’t need, a dog would be right up there with a new (or any old) series of Mrs Brown’s Boys, or more Build-a-Bear stuff. There’s precious little time to finish pulling the year old masking tape from the utility room walls, without factoring in the zillion hours a week needed to look after a dog. A dog is for life, not just for Easter.
It turns out that meeting Bowser was a good thing for the kids, especially our four year old who lost her irrational fear of man’s allegedly best friend. Less so for our two year old boy who simply loves animals, and has no fear generally, let alone with pets. So much so that he asked the lady in the animal place that we recently visited if he could stroke the crocodile. She declined. Health and Safety gone mad.
Getting pets is supposed to be good for children as, apparently, they’ll learn to love, nurture and look after things. Knowing how well that they usually look after things, unless the pet in question is a reinforced rhino, then there’s going to be a pretty hefty vets bill.
In an attempt to deflect any further mention of dogs, I attempted to assess other potential options.
We have two already. Adding two children to the two cats simply resulted in a continual, four fold attack on me for attention and feeding. We don’t need another.
Hamster/ Mouse/ Rat/ Anything Small and Furry
The cats would eat them. Next.
I’ve never had much luck with fish. Those ones we used to get in Snappies bags at the school fete invariably ended up down the toilet. Worse still, we once dug a pond to accommodate a rescue goldfish, only for GLC (Goldie Lookin Chain) to disappear in mysterious circumstances shortly after. As did whichever of his replacements out of Freddie or Freda has also gone awol. In unrelated news, the cats like hanging around the pond. Hmmm.
There’s frogspawn a plenty in the pond, so we’re guaranteed frogs hopping out of it at some point. Then into the house to play with the cats, because the cats like playing with them. Sorted, until they croak it. But despite the cute jumping amphibians not being an issue last year, I’m slightly apprehensive after observing our eldest’s reaction to Baron Greenback’s grand entrance in the Danger Mouse show on holiday. Not fazed by the giant mouse with an eyepatch, mind.
Now this should be an easy option as they manage to survive in the lawn all by themselves. And as children, we all learned the bonafide fact that if you accidentally (ahem…) chopped one in half then you simply have two worms. Then four. Then six. Also cat proof, so a possibility.
Easier than the worms, you would think, yes? After all, they eat common stuff from the average kitchen. Like chocolate cake, ice-cream cones, pickles, Swiss cheese, salami, lollipops, cherry pie, sausages, cupcakes, and watermelon. Salami, yes, but not spring greens. Well, not unless they’re organic spring greens as a friend found out while trying to raise one. Cause of death? Pesticides. The murderer.
As far as I’m aware, that’s everything covered and there are no more pets to consider. Ever. Again.
The moral of the story? Need a pet that needs minimal looking after, is as indestructible as Arnie in “The Terminator” and won’t cost an arm and a leg? Buy a wormery.
And no. We still don’t need a dog.