"You found a what?" confusion hit me like a light breeze.
"A friend. We went to the Hilton and this Boxer dog has come up to us and we're now friends"
It was massive. I never realised how big these dogs are. To put a comparable size to it, in the literary style of a metaphor. It was as big as a big Boxer dog. It jumped up on me and was all rather friendly. The cat, by the way, was locked in the bedroom hiding. We decided that we should take it to the vets. It was only round the corner and the vet is a nice man. Using a cardigan as a make shift lead we walked, or more accurately, was dragged to the vets. The vet looked him over, told us he was four or five years old, was in good condition and was not tagged. You should really tag pets, especially expensive pedigree ones. The vets do not keep dogs in over night as they whine and sometimes the owners don't bother picking them up at all. So bereft of any ideas, and with the DSPCA not answering the phones, we left the vets.
In my masculine decision making mode we went to the Guards. They, to put it frankly, did not want to know and more or less told us and the dog where to go. But, not actually where to go as the best they could offer was "118-50 it?". I mean seriously. So, we put the dog in the car and drive through the rush hour traffic to the DSPCA in Rathfarnham. I love my Sat-Nav. But it took about 45 minutes to get there. Once we got there it was shut. The only numbers advertised were the ones we were trying. So back to the vets. Here we meet a woman we a Boxer but with no space to hold it, she thought the Dog could be called Rocky but I don't think it was. It looked, if anything, like a Bob. She gave us a leash and suggested we go to the War Memorial Park as that is where Dog walkers go to walk dogs. A joke about Dogging fell on death ears. Shame, as I rather liked it. So we went to the park. And no one there. Here we met up with the woman again. The time was about 7:30 and it was dark. We met up with the woman again who gave us some dog food, and even though I was hinting rather unsubtly that the woman take the dog in, she explained that she couldn't. An 85 year old mother and a small garden prevented this.
Tat the dog would have to stay over with us was becoming very real. It loomed over us like a malting shadow. A malting, slobbering, bouncy, heavy breathing shadow.
We re-tried the numbers. Nothing. We decided to go door to door. Now, this would be OK if it wasn't for my near pathological fear or knocking on people's door and then having to talk to them. I don't even like ringing take aways. Five doors in and nothing. Some one saw it earlier but not an owner. We left our number at the pub. They made a sign: "BOXER DOG FOUND CALL etc".
We went to a house where a young man answered the door. He looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at me and then scratched his arm. He revealed one of those Celtic band tattoo's around his right upper arm. We explained the situation and thankfully, if I had religion I would be praising the appropriate Deity. He took our number and took the dog. I was worried that we had left the dog with a random man, the episode of Father Ted where the eponymous Ted had to get rid of a shed load of Rabbits and goes and sees that mental one with the "I shot JR" T shirt that wants to put them into a Vice. But my fears we assuaged once I had a pint. And then back home. We had the dog for a total of 4 hours. Wasted a load of credit and load fuel. The back seat of the car is covered in hair.
I went to work the following day and the missus spent three or four hours on the phone. The owner had rang the DSPCA who had rang us, then the owner rang us and picked the dog up. Apparently it had gotten free in the morining and ran down the Old Kylemore Road and accross several main roads. And what did we get? Nothing. What did we give the nice lady who helped us out from the goodness of her heart. Nothing. So a moral? If there is one, is simple. Don't let a dog die on the roads. But don't take it in. Chip your pets and don't do anything for anyone as you won't get anything.
Tell us more about the telephone training, sounds like a strenuous and exciting job you have.
ReplyDeleteLeast you got to scare the cat for a few hours - that's what you got out of it!
Well the phone training was basically someone telling me to be polite on the phone and how to say "hello" in a corporate and business like manner. Instead of shouting "What the sweet hell do you want now!"
ReplyDeleteAs for the cat, she recovered after about 10 minutes and was back to being evil. I doubt she remembers him.
Feck the cat, I miss the dog.Could you get it back?
ReplyDeleteNah he has an owner and everything, bit too big for our house. Though I do want a dog
ReplyDelete