Gnaw Place Like Home
Morris chomps indiscriminately, and since his diet includes furniture
and gates, he is literally eating Terry out of house and home.
When your dog has been designed from the jaws down, I guess it's fair
to expect him to use them occasionally. Like all bull terriers, my Morris
is anything but dentally challenged: in fact when doggie-toy manufacturers
print "virtually indestructible" on their chewy things, what they really
mean is "totally indestructible - unless that bloody Morris latches onto
My dog's lamentably short CV only includes being famously stupid, breaking wind
like a dyspeptic water buffalo and having a car crusher where his mouth should be.
Of these, the latter has been causing some concern of late.
You see, when the most energetic member of your household is limited to the three
talents already mentioned, life gets a tad fraught if he ever feels
the need to express annoyance.
Truth to tell, Morris rarely gets involved in protests of any sort.
Provided he gets his meagre daily minimum of several pounds of
designer food, at least one ox thigh to chomp on, a sheaf of new
bedding to replace the load he's just reduced to confetti, and a
route march that would be rejected by the SAS as being beyond the
limits of human endurance, Morris hardly moans at all.
Inevitably in this life, such an easy truce can't possibly last -
Morris and me are at loggerheads over something he wants to do
which I won't allow. It's not me at all, really it's HERSELF. She
refuses flat out to allow Morris to flop all over the soft furnishings
and because he's my dog whenever he is out of order, I have
to sort him out. Here is what hasn't worked so far...
1. Holking Morris off the couch and ordering him out of the room
in my most assertive voice, while wagging my most assertive finger.
RESULT: He farts a couple of times and does his okay if you won't
let me do what I want, I'm going to run madly around the
house until I knock something over routine.
2. Sneaking up on him as he sprawls on his back in HERSELF'S reclining
chair, muscly legs akimbo, snoring like a pig(which has been said
is a fair imitation of that particular chair's rightful occupant)
then walloping the arm of the chair with a rolled up newspaper.
RESULT: A gigantic fear-fart, followed by 20 minutes of continual
barking to cover Morris's embarrassment.
3. Discouraging access to sofa and chairs by placing uncomfortable
objects on them-knobbly books, mountain bike, gas cooker and so
RESULT: Morris doesn't fart this time. Instead, he pulls all
discouraging objects off the furniture and throws them around
a bit before climbing aboard. Then he farts.
4. Each time Morris is captured akip on the couch, I make him do
half an hour solitary outside in his kennel. Morris's kennel
looks like the house Heidi grew up in, has a fitted carpet and
is filled with toys, so as a means of severe punishment,
it isn't really up to much.
RESULT: He sulks. Morris sulks by chewing the hell out of anything
that will yield a ton of jaw pressure. I've discovered that most
things will yield to this.
To date, Maching gums Morris has mangled one and a half expensive
chair legs, his bed, gate, the porch, our stair carpet, other
portions of chair, some garden hose attachments and sufficient
footwear to fill a brace of wheely bins. The ferocious efficiency
of my dog's molars has to be seen to be believed-and even then
most people don't believe it.
Okay somy tactics to date have been less than successful. And
before you write in and suggestions about smearing every chewable
item with the patented Anti-Munch Unction that deterred your wee
Benji when he was a pup, be assured that I've probably tried them all.
When neat Tabasco sauce is regarded as mere gate-garnish, and the
slavering hound chews on regardless, you know you are dealing with
no ordinary dog.
I remain hopeful, and would try any sure fire cures the learned
readership cares to suggest, but right now I'm as good as preventing
Morris's oral demolition of our world as I am keeping his high
visibility, Draglon magnetic white hairs off the furniture.
Naturally, the entire situation is my fault and I've been sentenced
to an undefined period of strategic nagging as if I needed another
demonstration of mouth power.
So here I am, caught in a withering two-gob cross-fire between my partner
and my pet. The way things are going, the only white hairs to be
shed around this place are going to belong to me.
STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT TERRY AND MORRIS ADVENTURE!!