Nine years ago (approximate timings ok) a friend called me out of the blue and asked a favour. She lived in a shared house and had bought a puppy, the other residents were cool about it but the landlord was coming back to stay for six weeks and dogs were banned. I didn't query her logic in buying the dog - I'm not like that. So, she asked me if I could look after her 12 week old puppy for six weeks.
I didn't know the first thing about dogs but, given I always try to help, I finally said OK and Willey arrived. A bubbly Staffy who just wanted to be happy.
Over the next six weeks I grew to love his company. I made a fist of being the good dog parent and we got on just fine. Then I had to give him back. It broke my heart.
As you do, I decided I'd get a dog of my own. As I do, I ran up a specification (female, small, intelligent) and set off looking. I settled on a Jack Russell but then read they were a bit yappy. But after a bit more research discovered that if they were crossed the barking often stopped and the brains came to the front. Enter Izzy, a Jack Russell Lakeland Terrier cross.
I took her to puppy school, I learned how to make her do tricks and be obedient, we both excelled at it and our happy co-existence began.
Izzy brings joy to me everyday and I try to do my bit for her, but she's an old girl now and she's got fat and lazy. She never really liked walking unless it was somewhere new - her brains get the better of her - and now she really objects, so I drag her three or four miles everyday.
Then she started limping. One of her back legs was hurting her so she hopped on three legs - to the vets we go. I then get chewed out cos she's fat (about 3.5 kilos overweight he says) and the guilt trip starts. I put her on a diet, now she cries a lot and looks unhappy all the time, but she is losing weight. Cruel to be kind they say.......
Now I'm a musician. I gigged till I was 50 and spent 30 years underweight after my first appearance on Top of the Pops and seeing myself back on the tele. I guess I should be 12 stone but I went down to 11 (or under). Food became the enemy, and ironically bourbon became my friend. I smoked to stop hunger pangs, I drank to stop hunger pangs, I messed up my body so much I'm sometimes amazed I'm still here.
Then I retired from the stage......... and I put on weight. Now I'm a stone overweight and hate it. I'm vain and I don't like what I see in the mirror. I have money but I never buy nice clothes - I mentally bribe myself "you can have that when you've lost the weight" - but I don't.
So me and Izzy have a lot in common. We're both overweight, we both hate exercise, we both like food.
Because I'm a sentient being I can think it out, I don't do a great job of it but I know that as you get older the girth widens and use that excuse a lot. But she's a dumb animal and I'm supposed to make the decisions. I'm also under pressure from the vet who clearly knows better than me.
But I've come to an epiphany. I'm overweight, I smoke, I drink, I eat chocolate and it works for me. I know I'm probably cutting ten years off my life but so what. Being old isn't much fun and the spin put on it by fit 80 year olds is just so much bullshit. I'm happy to croke at 70 to be honest. And I think Izzy is ok with the same logic.
So, stuff the vet, me and her are going to get old and fat together and if he doesn't like it he can stuff it up his righteous arse. No more broccoli florets and carrots as treats- it's just not happening.
We all have a right to 'be' and quite frankly she's more intelligent than some of the folk I see on Facebook, so she has that right too.
But maybe I'm just not cut out to be a dog owner. Maybe I'm no good at it. Perhaps I should give her to somebody who will starve her into shape and let her live till she's 20. I'm suffering lots of self doubt now. And all over a cute furry white lady who loves me.
Izzy and I are a team, but does that mean we are fit for each other? Fucked if I know......
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