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Roger Rabbits with |
Rule #1: Never write the sensitive stuff down because it will sure as hell come back to bite or embarrass you.
Case in point is “Anon” who unwittingly became a global laughing stock. Did he really need to write to agony aunt “Rachel”? Couldn’t he have figured it for himself? Where was the commonsense, the pride, the backbone?
Anon was in a right pickle. He told Aunt Rachel his partner of 20 years wanted their manky mutt Cavapoo – a Poodle-Cavalier King Charles Spaniel-cross – to sleep on their bed with her, and for him to sleep on the floor beside the bed – “effectively in the dog’s bed”. More like the dog box. “How?” he pleaded. “Can I convince my partner that I should stay in our bed?”
Anon’s pathetic-ness trickled all the way to Tauranga where a few red-blooded men collaborated on his behalf, struck his name off the registry of real men, and offered him this life advice pro bono.
You don’t even try to convince her, Anon. You take the cue. Next time the garden gate is left open, you rush it like the Cavapoo and make a break for freedom. Move Anon, before you get moved. Where will it end? Next she will be ordering you to “come” and “stay” – complete with hand motions. She will be whistling to summon you, you will be on a leash when you go walking, dinner will be served “dry” in a bowl on the floor, you will be off to the vet to be relieved of your manhood, and she will have you treated for roundworm and parasites before finding you a forever home. It does not augur well for you Anon.
Sniffing bottoms
Instead of obediently wagging your tail, you should bark back before you start chasing cars, howling at the moon and compulsively peeing on lampposts and sniffing bottoms. It can’t turn out well Anon. You have to say “No”.
The story of Helmut and Elke should also serve warning to the Anons of this world.
Helmut and Elke would often be seen out walking, with Helmut generally a yard astern. They were together but not. Then one day Elke appeared with a rescue greyhound on a leash. The likeness to Helmut was uncanny – long narrow face, relaxed easy gait and “please love me” written all over. Then one day it was just Elke and dog. Helmut had been cut loose. Elke had rescued one greyhound and set a human one adrift. Lovely.
Before you start sniggering and pooh-poohing, consider this. A survey of 2000 British pet owners tells us 40% love their cats and dogs more than their spouse. “I love you, but I love the dog more. So you’re gone.” Why would it be any different here?
Also, 35% will kiss a pet before their partner, 25% would rather snuggle up to a pet on the couch, they spend more on pets than partners, 33% have received a birthday card on behalf of a pet, and 23% would rather talk about a pet than a partner.
Pack your smalls
Seems a wagging tail offers more unique benefits than a pair of trousers. Like unconditional love – unwavering support and attention without the blokey bother, the judgement and expectation. Dogs, we’re told, offer emotional support and ease loneliness. Dog owners tend to be more active – have lower blood pressure. So blokes are superfluous – pack your smalls and socks now.
Dogs connect people – owners stop and blather with other owners – always the same small stuff, breeds, age, foibles and the like. But if you fancy that person, then fancy that dog first. Love me, love my dog. Dogs will happily watch anything you watch on TV. Including Dr Phil and Coronation Street. You won’t die wondering why the dog is sulking or is mad at you; a dog will like the mother-in-law; they don’t leave the toilet seat up; they’re more amenable to training; and you’ll never be made to feel insecure because the dog earns more than you.
‘Uncle Ernest’
Now this will frighten you – because in a previous incarnation I was an ‘agony uncle’ trading under the nom-de-plume “Uncle Ernest” for a metropolitan daily. Yes, a guy who’s been up the aisle more times than a bus conductor dispensing relationship advice willy-nilly. I wonder what damage I caused?
That city must have been an emotional rock because sometimes there was no “agony” submitted for me to apply my wisdom. So I’d pull some traumatic episode from my own tragic past, write it up and then offer myself some sagely advice.
You know the stuff – “My girlfriend says I smell”, “Why can’t girls see past my pimples” and “I think I am falling in love with my mother-in-law”.
Now I am not for a moment suggesting “Rachel” is an “Uncle Ernest” and Anon a figment. But he certainly got us drooling like his wife’s Cavapoo.