Billy’s Beetle, by Mick Inkpen, was a favourite bedtime book for our kids when they were young, or perhaps I mean it was a favourite of mine, as reading it out loud was so much fun. Whether the little ones enjoyed it as much as I did is debatable, but I often think of it still, particularly the character of the “sniffy dog” which its owner claimed would be able to help find the eponymous errant insect.
In the Midlife Garden we have our own sniffy dog, in the shape of Badger, the dachshund. Known formally as Mr Long, he displays the classic dachshund profile of long dog, long nose. It is little wonder his life and behaviour are heavily influenced by the abundant messages coming from his snout.
Out in the field there are obvious signs that his brain is coming under a barrage of olfactory ordnance as we see his tail go into a frenzied tik-tok pattern. It is clear that he is on the trail of potential prey: deer or hares perhaps. It is prey that he has zero chance of ever catching, but it doesn’t stop him trying. In Mick Inkpen’s words, he will shoot off “like a rocket”, all be it a short legged, slightly rotund one, and he will quarter every part of a field, except of course the quarter that contains either of his increasingly irate owners who are calling him to heel.
In the confines of the home, Badger has more success catching prey and his handlers have a little more success in controlling him. Badger could well be helpful in finding Billy’s beetle but he more often finds woodlice and spiders. He has come to the rescue of Mrs B, a confirmed arachnophobe, on more than one occasion, picking up the offending spider and spitting it out, before repeating the process until it is dead.
But his Sniffy Dog qualities really come into their own when he is looking for his toys, such as ‘Carrot’ or ‘Stinky Pete’ (the ragged cuddly toy puppy). These toys are often ‘mislaid’ by his owners on top of shelves or in kitchen cupboards, but Mr Long’s snout soon rootles out where they are, even if he cannot see them, whereupon he will politely, but firmly, let us know where they are and that he requires them now, please. Using his full range of dachshund rhetoric of whines, growls, simpering or a single barked expletive, you know you will not be able relax until he has it back.
This Sniffy Dog is equally committed to discovering items of interest on your person too. If you chance to sit on the sofa, he is on your lap quick as a flash, checking your pockets for elicit substances. Be warned if you have a stray dog biscuit in your pocket: his long nose will find it. And he will frisk you anywhere you happen to be sitting, so be sure to shut the bathroom door firmly.
When I saw a police sniffer dog in action the other day, I wondered if Mr Long might have the skills to take up a role in the war against drugs. But then I remembered Christmas when a kindly neighbour gave the Long Dog a new toy as a gift. It was a squeaky, plastic gingerbread man and if previously we had thought Badger was a little obsessive over his toys, Gingerbread took it to a new level. In narcotic terms, Carrot and Stinky Pete are the gateway drugs, and plastic gingerbread is the hard stuff. Words cannot describe the mania that gripped Mr Long as he whined and slathered over this toy, agitated and stressed. The next day, while one of us took him out for his morning walk, the other disposed Gingerbread (well away from the house).
It seems cruelly ironic that at Christmas we should make our dog go cold turkey, but after 48 hours he was almost back to normal.
Whatever that is.
