Last week, I met a friend of mine in the woods as I was walking the dog. He and his family adopted a rescue dog from Ireland a while back: an English staffie (Staffordshire bull terrier) with the sunny disposition of a dog without a care in the world, and the energy of a circus troupe of toddlers on a sugar high!
I knew they were in the woods when I was knocked over by a compact barrel with legs, a veritable cinnamon bun with the sheer power of a tank!
My friend, N, told me this funny story about how the Staffie had embarrassed him over Christmas. He had to nip up to the shops for some emergency food and decided to take Staffie with him for the exercise.
When he got to the supermarket, he started tying her up as usual on those doggie loops they have outside the shop. Suddenly, without any warning, she jerked the lead off the loop and made a mad dash for the shop, winding N in the process.
He sped after her, only to find her with her front paws inside the first set of automatic doors and her bum firmly outside. (It should be mentioned that there is a kind of airlock system in the shop. The first doors let you come into the lobby where you can pick up the shopping trolleys and baskets. The second set of doors open up to allow you entrance to the shop itself.)
“Gotcha!” he cackled and made a flying leap at her. Just then a large lady laden down with goodies activated the second set of doors – the ones that allow hungry dogs access to paradise!
The dog dashed triumphantly through these doors, violating every known (and unknown) Swedish health regulation (and probably all the EU ones, too!), careering past the fruit and veg as fast as her little legs could carry her and right to the back of the shop. Where she stopped. And stared. And drooled and drooled in front of the delicatessen counter.
Red-faced, N finally caught up with her, grabbed the lead and started pulling her away. Just like the sword in the stone, she refused to budge. By now, both N and Staffie had bulging eyes and pools of saliva were congealing on the floor. In the end, he had to pick her up and walk back to the doors through the whole length of the shop. The whole shop stared and tutt-tutted.
He tied her up and went back inside to buy the single item on his list.
As he waited in the queue, he could hear a weird howling sound every time the doors opened.
Silence when they shut. Then WHOOOO! HOOO! again. Poor kid bawling its eyes out, he thought. Only to have it dawn on him that it was Staffie, making a noise that she has never made before or since.
His red face turned purple, then puce. He could hear people thinking, “That’s why people like him shouldn’t have dogs like that!”
And that, dear readers, is what the smell of Christmas can do to a dog!