Gus wasn’t an ordinary dog; fact is, from the hour of his birth, he was different
Gus wasn’t an ordinary dog; fact is, from the hour of his birth, he was different. For a start Gus was the ugliest of his brothers and sisters –he was the most gluttonous; and from his incessant love of eating, which included my electric razor, he was the biggest, so – when the time came for the litter to depart from the happy abode, it was Gus who remained, and it was Gus that stood supreme at the entrance to his kennel to ward off any intruder to the household. Now it’s been said that mans best friend is his dog, this may well be, especially when man is eventually left on his own and in the autumn of his years, so I chose a boxer. It was a good idea to have a hobby, and having a dog certainly makes companionship. It is also known that Boxers are notoriously boisterous, and Gus, to phrase a cliché; ‘took the biscuit’, or the box, or the entire shopping basket! If dogs could speak, his tale would enlist the support of any reader, but who could compete with just a few, from this loveable devoted incredible hulk of red and white mischief, who certainly gave my insurance broker, an ulcer! Gus loved to fetch things, but definitely not little things, like normal dogs. Bits of wood and small balls were small fry. His favourite ball was a 10 pound bowling ball. After spending all day smashing the damm thing against the drive gates, it suddenly disappeared into the road, rolling down the hill and giving the driver of a rather expensive car quite a shock when he discovered it was now jammed under his front wheel arch. Ropes, absolutely delicious, especially when moored to a boat, his tug’o’war play was certainly not appreciated by two young ladies sunbathing on the deck, only to be covered by spilled ice drinks when the vessel hit the embankment. Prize marrows, leeks, carrots and turnips at the village Horticultural Show, all suffered the same teeth marks as soon as the judge wasn’t looking. Nice new tasty rubber tyres found in masters garage. Bottles of washing up liquid, absolutely glorious when punctured and of course wheelie bins and towels conveniently dangling from the rotary roundabout in the back garden, which ended up with the smalls: being hastily buried neath masters prize Dahlias. The garden was a wonder, especially for Gus. Spring bulbs were a dead cert for a chew up; and young shrubs soon killed off by his persistent leg lifting. The lawn mower just wasn’t in the secure part of his memory bank, once it started, he started, and heaven forbid if he was not on his check chain, the mower would be attacked as if it were some alien from space.
The garden Hoover is nothing more than a mechanical monster; it doesn’t pick up much now, having had its mouth disfigured. His latest escapade was a brilliant four paw landing on top of a very expensive model aeroplane; he even demanded a pat on the head before the hysterical owner could retrieve the two metre wing span from his frothing jaws. I received a missive complete with a hefty bill from the riled owner .The charming lady on the beach thought that Gus was ‘absolutely adorable’, but soon found that it was fatal when she began to fondle his floppy ears, something moved, and the sudden appearance of a huge Boxer dog shaking a long golden hairpiece along the promenade whilst a bald headed owner tried frantically to cover up a bald headed lady, was to say the least, very embarrassing. Gus loved children, but who was the cause of the black eye to the youngster who charmed him with Pontefract cakes? Gus loved to jump; if there was a doggie Grand National, he would never rate an outsider. Gates and hedges were a cinch, but to ‘look before you leap’ was mental oblivion. Gus well and truly proved this deduction when he majestically sailed over the sea wall, only to plunge head long into the briny, causing two local fishermen the loss of a good catch and their precious bait. What other dog in the world would wander through a sewerage pit and come bouncing back and invite himself to a Sunday afternoon picnic with complete strangers. Who took the dustman’s cap and glove and chewed them to pieces. Who snapped at the electric meter reader, stole his computer pad and buried it in the rear garden. We all know who killed Cock Robin, but I know who killed my Bantam Rooster. I also unravelled the secret of numerous tracts that confettied my driveway when I saw the remains of somebody’s underwear on the front gate. The plucky Jehovah’s Witness had made his one and only visit. The telephone ,manager sent me a charming letter requesting that I refrain from leaving my phone off the hook, I was not there when it happened, but Gus was! Have you seen a dog in war paint? I have! Complete with blue and white stripes, thanks to my neighbours indiscretion when painting his fence.
What other dog in the world has been brought back from the village pub, drunk and disorderly by the local police, having consumed numerous varieties of beer and spirits from the local darts team. What dog in the world would jump into the rear of a hatchback with a yard broom in the centre of his jaws only to be immediately rejected with five loose teeth, and a further two, left at the vets! My vets a nice guy but not when Gus scarpered through the surgery with his thermometer stuck in his end. The dear old lady holding her sick Budgie in a cage nearly expired on the spot and the lass holding the Persian cat with the bandaged ear took shelter behind reception. Who stuck his paw to the carpet with super glue, who persistently sounded the horn on master’s car when out shopping? Who howled at Max Bygraves, or the sound of Des O’Connor, whined at East- Enders, licked the screen at Lassie films, growled at Martyn Lewis the newsreader, slobbered at all the dog food ad’s and wiped his nose on the screen. Who rattled the windows when he snored? Who cleared the room with his flatulence leaving the household in pandemonium and the rush to open every window in the dead of winter? Who dropped balls of juicy horse dung on master’s bed? Who ate Hermit the frog and stole two prize fish from the garden pond. Who had the courage to bare his remaining teeth to strangers and tried it on with the prized bitch in the dog show. Who baptised the parson’s leg and took advantage of ‘Lucy’ his French poodle. Who upset Father Christmas by opening all his presents a week before Christmas? Who stole the garlic from the kitchen and promptly pounced on sleeping mother-in-law, nearly giving her a cardiac arrest. Who ate grand-ma’s corn paste? Who chewed up his pedigree and vaccination certificate then washed it down with two cartons of strawberry yoghurt, a pound of pork sausages, two eggs, and half a pound of camembert and the remains of the wander phone, all found in the kitchen. Who chewed the remote control at three in the morning, opening the curtains, switching on lights, blazing the house with a midnight movie, and setting off the burglar alarm! What idiot barked at the other dog in the bathroom mirror? Who crept up behind master when in the shower and licked his rear causing him to bump his head on the shelf. Who sneaked biscuits from the cupboard, barked at spiders, snapped at house flies, ate worms, then made the disgusting habit of up chucking the lot on the living room carpet? The dustman kept his distance, the post folk refused to pass his kennel, but the milkman — Ah! That was a different story. Fact is, he owned a Boxer bitch, and Gus patiently awaited the aroma of her season so he could hare it off for hours on end until I got that familiar call….he’s here!…its then that Gus would snuggle close against my lap as we headed back along the country lanes of Essex, to his kennel ,and home.
Dor ‘Gorn’it –sure was a dog’s life!
…………………………………………….. He is sadly missed.
By J Henry Foster
© J Henry Foster
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