Dogging

Its summer and I know this not just because there is actually sunlight! Not only because everyone is out in vest tops even though there was a frost this morning. Not only because someone actually nodded a greeting at me but essentially because my neighbour opposite has begun to 'share' his music. He does this each summer placing his speakers carefully in his windows and pushing the dial up to G20 riot police mode. Luckily his taste is not as bad as the Status Quo fundi down the road or the ghastly fizzy popped mass produced puke flooding from most radios (At the moment it's Red Hot Chili Peppers; last summer it was endless Mark Ronsen remixes. )

Annoyingly it is still loud enough to overpower my TV even with all the windows and doors shut. There will be reaction. There is every year. Most of my neighbours have small children and after 9pm a lone voice will begin screaming at the neighbour's open window. Sooner or later there will be screaming back and then potentially - should he not turn the volume down- the low explosion of an air rifle fitted with a nappy silencer.

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I’m keeping a low profile today as I also upset my neighbours this morning by stomping in a showy kind of way around the block several times holding onto a man who in turn was wearing a dog harness. A nice thick leather harness with a sold lead and chunky silver studs…..and a long yellow handle. Fetishism and all before lunch time…

Luckily I had already been through this ritual humiliation back in 2005 when I first thought about a guide dog so I was ready for the gasps and tutts, the dragging away of the children, the stifled giggles of the crowds around the supermarket. The idea is that the Guide Dog Man (or woman – they call them ‘beetches’) knows the guide dogs are worth a phenomenal amount of dosh what with all the breeding, training and vet bills and so before handing one to a ruffian such as myself they do an assessment of MY walking speed, ability to learn basic instructions and –obviously- ability to ignore a taunting mob. This is to ensure the dog doesn't end up with the wrong human.

'Wait.' I say firmly holding the yellow handle and therefore the nice Guide Dog man. The man waits by the kerb. A passing granny falls off her zimmer frame. I take a step back, raise my arm, gesture . 'Forward!' I command, my voice ringing out above the ice cream van and the open mouthed children. I tug the harness and the nice man crosses the road. 'Good boy.' I say. He is well over 6 foot tall or I would pat his head.

'Straight on,' I call and on we go, a trail of curious teenages following. He is walking too fast. A sharp tug on the harness and a warning ‘Steady’. He slows and I reach for a biscuit.
You think I am kidding.
I am not.


At least he didn't need to pee................