This boy is my constant companion, loyal, gentle and friendly. He’s elderly now and we work hard to keep arthritis at bay, but Alfie doesn’t accept his limitations and loves to play. The perfect dog, you might think.
I think so too, most of the time. Yesterday it was a different story.
We are enjoying lovely warm spring weather and I was hanging washing in the garden. Alfie loves to be with me when I do that, sniffing around or having a lovely roll on the lawn.
Suddenly I realised something was happening. The old boy scampered round the patio chasing something on the ground. I thought it might be a mouse.
Not a mouse. A small, fluffy, newly fledged bird. A sparrow, I think. This time of year the young ones practise flying from one side of our garden to the other and they often seem fearless.They haven’t yet developed their parents’ wariness of humans and happily hop up and down the lower branches of our shrubs and even wander along on the ground. This one had no idea that it was courting danger by hopping around the patio.
The chase swiftly came to an end. Alfie trapped the unsuspecting youngster in his capacious mouth. He has the gentle jaws of a gun dog, soft folds of lips capable of carrying game without damaging it. He also has great big teeth and a limitless appetite.
I watched helplessly as my dear gentle boy made the tiny bird disappear, chomping once or twice and then easily swallowing it, whole. I was horrified. I hadn’t managed to reach him in time to attempt a rescue and all I could do was shout about how awful it all was.
Then of course came the worry about what it might do to his digestive system. Too late for the bird, but what happens to a dog who eats a whole one? A spot of googling and a long conversation with a knowledgeable friend left me prepared to wait patiently to see what happened. I didn’t relish the idea of a trip to the vet (it wouldn’t be the first, or even the second, as a result of him eating something he shouldn’t) but I was prepared to take him if he seemed unwell. I am still prepared but, more than 24 hours later, he seems fine so far.
In fact, he has been quite pleased with himself. I’m the one who’s had to recover from shock. Every now and then something happens to remind me that Alfie is a dog, rather than some sort of adorable, fluffy, non-judgmental human in canine form. This was one of those incidents. Right now, he’s lying a few feet from my desk, needing to stay close, ready to jump up and follow me if I move to another room. I can’t believe he’d do anything awful. But the truth is, he is a dog and he has certain instincts, plus a questionable sense of right and wrong.
Even as a dog, he’s far from perfect. This reminds me that no-one, human or otherwise, is all good or all bad. Life is made up of shades of grey. I’ll accept that my adored pet is imperfect (or to put it more bluntly, is prone to chasing, murdering and devouring innocent creatures much smaller than he is) and then I’ll work on accepting imperfection in the rest of the world.
