Please Do Not Disturb
He's a very small animal. A toy poodle, apricot of colour. Sweet of temperament, generally. Ultra-needful of emotional attachment and attention. Make the mistake of noticing him, stroking him, and you are not permitted to stop. Out comes his paw, and strokes you, repeatedly, little claws included, and his message is clear: don't stop. His name is Riley, named by his breeder, and good enough for us, because he looks like a Riley with his reddish coat.
He has an enormous appetite for such a little guy. And of course we encouraged him, giving him especial treats on top of his normal mealtimes. For the first five years of his life he was so thin you could actually count his ribs. When he was bathed and shivering wet he resembled nothing so closely as a half-drowned rat. He was nimble and quick, loving to race after a tossed toy, obediently returning it so it could be re-thrown.
Then he began to resemble what we recall of how his father looked, when we first saw both of them. That's when it dawned that he was developing a little paunch, that his charming little outline was becoming somewhat less charming. It began to look like a good idea to take steps to limit his food intake, and so that's exactly what we embarked upon; a new menu plan for a tubby little dog. It has worked moderately well, and we're pleased with the results.
I've mentioned, haven't I, how lovable he is, how cuddly, how insistent upon being lapped when you're sitting reading. I guess I've overlooked a few things about his temperament. There were times when he was much, much younger, when he would seem suddenly to turn in anger at our other companion, a somewhat larger miniature poodle, Button by name, and six years his senior. He's since long overcome that tendency, but maintains his aggressive streak toward dogs he may encounter whom he doesn't know.
Imagine the outcome of an 8-lb dog making threatening advances to a 70-lb brute. Yes. So did we. We tried everything imaginable to debrief him, to cure him of his latent-suicidal behaviour, but no attempt at behaviour modification worked, from firing a cap gun when he would begin to curl his lip and advance, to shaking a tin full of coins, to squirting lemon juice at him, to remonstrating with him. We have since watched in admiration as a woman we occasionally come across in the ravine, keeps her large dog by her side and disinterested in other dogs by the simple medium of holding a treat just beyond its grasp.
Compare his behaviour with dogs to his reaction to cats - low key, interested and friendly. Same for rabbits. Does this make any kind of canine sense? And children, regardless of how young they are, he's completely trustworthy, and loves them to bits. Same for people who "notice" him and make a fuss over him; he swoons in delight, and does his utmost to persuade them that he's a poor stray and might they kindly consider taking him home with them?
And then there's his night-time manner. Button sleeps at the foot of our bed - on the bed, of course, on her own pillow and quilt. Riley has eschewed such doggy niceties and learned very early on that what most suited him was to crawl directly under the covers for complete comfort - regardless of whether it was summer or winter. How on earth does he even breathe properly, we used to wonder, but no more, for that's his preferred and as far as we can tell only mode of sleeping comfort, and that's that.
Not quite, though. He can be a pain. He sleeps on my side of the bed and there are times when I become aware that he has packed his tiny body so close to the side of mine that I cannot move, cannot turn in comfort. So I hush him away. And he growls, how dare I? If he doesn't move adequately, I hush him again with a little push for emphasis. Another growl, but he gets the picture and accommodates my need for freedom from his too-close, too-hot little bod.
Please do not disturb is a mutual necessity.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, September 06, 2006
<< Home