Willy And Woof!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

A barking dog is often more useful than a sleeping lion.

I’ve always thought the shortened form of the name William was a curious one. If you turn out to be a big guy in later life, say 6 feet tall or better, then you’re fine, but if you happen to end up as closer to the 5 feet mark in stature then the name isn’t so good. Being called ‘Big Willy’ all the time must make for more of a confidence builder than being stuck all your life as ‘Small Willy’ or ‘Wee Willy’.

Fortunately women don’t seem to have the same problem, at least not since the name ‘Fanny’ has gone out of fashion.

This is all by way of introduction to a man I knew called, you’ve probably guessed already, ‘Willy’. He was just medium height and so everybody just called him ‘Willy’ -  to his face that is. Behind his back ‘Willy’ had another nick name.

Willy was a curious bloke. He was by far and away the most disobliging man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. And selfish and bad tempered as well. Everything was about him, what he wanted, and when he wanted it. Nobody else mattered.

And to top it all off, he was as dumb as they come. He never finished school or learned a trade. Any time he was employed it was only for a short while quite frankly because no one could stick his attitude for very long. If he was given a job to do he did it, but as reluctantly and as badly as possible and would never help out any of his colleagues – even when doing so would have helped himself.

Willy was also born with a cleft pallet sometimes known as a ‘hair lip’. In his day the surgical techniques for correcting such an infliction were not as advanced as nowadays and Willy ended up with a quite pronounced speech impediment for the rest of his life.

Eventually though he found a woman desperate enough to take him on and they got married. Her name was Ruth, a nice name. At least it was to everybody but ‘Willy’. For a short time after they were married he called her Ruth, naturally enough, that was her name. But then after a few weeks or months he changed her name (unofficially) to ‘Margaret’, which was not and had never been her name or part of it. But from then on to him she was ‘Margaret’, Ruth was no more.

It wasn’t because he didn’t like her real name, or because he had forgotten it, he wasn’t quite as stupid as that, I don’t think so anyhow. He had an entirely different reason.

It was also the time that ‘Willy’ became known to one and all in the district as “The Dog”.

You see, because of his affliction and consequent speech impediment, ‘Willy’ could not say the name ‘Ruth’ properly – why did he choose a woman with that name to begin with you ask? I think perhaps the number he had to choose from was very small.  

When he was out in company, or even just shouting around his own house or garden for his wife, in his head ‘Willy’ was saying ‘Ruth, Ruth’. But what the rest of us heard was only ‘Woof, Woof’.

Now I may be an evil person, I hope not, but this just cracked me up every time I heard it. One ‘Woof’ was funny enough, but when he put two or three of them together, ‘Woof, Woof, Woof’ it was just too much. Absolutely hilarious seeing and hearing this grown man walking about shouting ‘Woof’ like a demented dog. Hence the nickname he got lumbered with for the rest of his days.

Of course all the hilarity made him even crosser than he normally was and the situation was never helped when some of the local wits handed him a dog biscuit when he was in full flight, or tried to feel his nose to see if it was cold, to which he invariably replied ‘WTF’ or in ‘Willy’s’ case make that ‘WTH’!

And that was the tale of Willy and Woof!

Have you had similar experiences? Send them along. Let the world know what is happening before it is too late.

Sometimes Dogs Know More Than We Give Them Credit For!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

It’s Friday 13^th today apparently. Superstitious people would tell you that that’s bad luck. Well your getting yet another blog post from me so I suppose there might be something in it. Not that I’m superstitious in the least – I think being superstitious is bad luck.

On a similar subject to Wednesday’s post about Oscar the Grim Reaper cat, but staying with dogs again, here’s another short story about our German Shepherd dog.

As I think I’ve said already this dog had become a member of the family. He was a great companion and he liked me a lot because I fed him and took him for walks and played in the yard with him and all that good stuff that you do. But nevertheless he was always fonder of my mother than anyone else.

He loved all the family too, of course, and was ultra protective. As you know from yesterday, he did not like strangers at all and was particularly vicious in his distaste for the postman who rolled in every morning about 10 or 10.30 am.

A routine had developed in the house. When the doorbell would sound there was a scramble to get to the front door first. Lots of running and skidding and if truth be told, sometime the breaking of wind could be heard too. And the dog was almost as bad!

He was tail up, barking, growling and pawing at the glass in the door busting to get at whoever it was. I made valiant attempts, but I seldom if ever got there first, although I would capture him at the door and then attend to the visitors.

If the person there was authorized to come inside he allowed it, but reluctantly and always made sure he was between my mother and the stranger. Never left her side in fact. He never touched anyone, but it did make for some short visits by some of her cronies, not that I was particularly annoyed about that.

At night he would always take up guard duty on the landing outside her bedroom door and that’s where he slept every night.

That routine went on for several years and then unfortunately my mother became ill. As she got worse we moved her downstairs to a study, which was more convenient for everyone and she did not have to cope with the stairs. The dog duly took up sentry position outside that door every night. Eventually one morning she passed away.

Now if you have ever experienced that, one thing that happens is that a lot of people call at the house. And I mean a LOT. It goes on all day. It starts almost immediately when the Doctor calls. Then there are relatives who start to appear. Then the undertaker arrives. Then more people, neighbors, friends, more relatives and so forth. I must say people are incredibly kind at times like that, bringing food, helping to cater for the rest etc.

On a normal day this activity would have caused me a lot of bother running after the dog every time the doorbell sounded and making sure everyone got ushered into the house and then back out again without interference.

However, that morning was completely different. The dog walked away from the bedroom door and went into the dining room and lay down on the floor.

The Doctor arrived. The dog didn’t move, or bark, or even get up. Same with the undertaker and everyone else who arrived. Even when the postman drove in the dog only glanced in the direction of the door but didn’t make a move towards it or the postman.

And that went on the whole day. The only time he got up was when I took him outside for a while for a walk round the yard. Dogs are remarkable animals, especially the intelligent ones. They don’t say much but they are ultra sensitive to people’s moods and what’s happening around them.

In fact sometimes they know a lot more than we give them credit for and frequently they know a lot more than their owners!

Grim Reaper, Part 2, Meet Oscar

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

I’ve said before that I’m a doggie person. But we have a cat and a dog that thinks it’s a cat, so I don’t mind having a cat around the place either – except when it decides to attack the birds in the garden. Then there is a heated dispute.

Having said that, however I’m not so sure that I would like a cat like Oscar around. Certainly the people I was talking about yesterday in the post about Harry Meadows and the Home for the Elderly might get a little nervous!  

You see, Oscar the cat seems to have an uncanny knack for predicting when nursing home patients are going to die, by curling up next to them during their final hours. His accuracy, observed in twenty-five cases, has led the staff at the Home to call family members once he has chosen someone. It usually means they have less than four hours to live.

"He doesn't make too many mistakes. He seems to understand when patients are about to die," said Dr. David Dosa a geriatrician and assistant professor of medicine at Brown University. "Many family members take some solace from it. They appreciate the companionship that the cat provides for their dying loved one," said Dosa.

Oscar was adopted as a kitten and grew up in a third-floor dementia unit at the Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence, Rhode Island. The facility treats people with Alzheimer's, Parkinson's disease and other illnesses.

After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He'd sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would wind up dying in a few hours.

Dosa said Oscar seems to take his work seriously and is generally aloof. "This is not a cat that's friendly to people," he said.

Oscar is better at predicting death than the people who work there, said Dr. Joan Teno of Brown University, who treats patients at the nursing home and is an expert on care for the terminally ill

She was convinced of Oscar's talent when he made his 13th correct call. While observing one patient, Teno said she noticed the woman wasn't eating, was breathing with difficulty and that her legs had a bluish tinge, signs that often mean death is near.

Oscar wouldn't stay inside the room though, so Teno thought his streak was broken. Instead, it turned out the doctor's prediction was roughly ten hours too early. Sure enough, during the patient's final two hours, nurses told Teno that Oscar joined the woman at her bedside.

Doctors say most of the people who get a visit from the sweet-faced, gray-and-white cat are so ill they probably don't know he's there, so patients aren't aware he's a harbinger of death. Most families are grateful for the advanced warning, although one wanted Oscar out of the room while a family member died. When Oscar is put outside, he paces and meows his displeasure.

No one's certain if Oscar's behavior is scientifically significant or points to a cause. Teno wonders if the cat notices telltale scents or reads something into the behavior of the nurses who raised him.

So is Oscar really is a furry grim reaper? No one is saying for sure but he did recently received a wall plaque publicly commending his "compassionate hospice care."

I Am A Doggie Person

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

I am an unashamed doggie person. They’re great company, fiercely loyal, offer friendship and protection and if you understand them they’re just great to have around. As someone else noted, you can also say whatever balderdash you can think of to them and they’ll always look up at you with that “That was really awesome, I wish I’d thought of that” look on their faces.

Now I know that dog ownership is a very subjective thing, a bit like cars, some people like Ford others Mercedes, or Toyota, or whatever. With dogs some people like big dogs, others small dogs, other a specific breed etc., etc. 

I like almost all dogs, with the exception of the tiny, pampered, useless and obnoxiously yappy sort. I’m a bit the same with people, come to think of it. And most dogs seem to like me, though not all. I remember my cousin used to have a collie dog that got along with everyone - except me. When I was in his house all it would do was lie in beneath the television table and growl and growl, teeth beared and ready to pounce (it seemed). It never did, but that probably had more to do with the fact that I never took my eyes off it.  

I have owned a few dogs. The first was a Toy Terrier, when I was a kid. Nice little dog, went blind late in its life. Then we’ve had another small white terrier-type mongrel thingy. Very friendly, very, very stupid. Just could not be taught to do anything. There was also a Rotpit or Bullweiller (a cross between a Rottweiler and a Pitbull whatever that makes), friendly with the family, not so keen on strangers, incredibly strong and just demolished everything in its path, particularly the garden. Again dumb as the proverbial “bag of hammers”.

Now we have a cross between a Chihuahua and a Dachshund or Doberman. It was hard to tell with this lot because no three of the puppies were alike (I think their mummy must have been a bit of a floosie!). Lovely looking little doggie and very friendly, but unfortunately it is really stupid too and, probably as a consequence, disobedient.   

Oh yes, and it also thinks it’s a cat! It refuses to eat anything but cat food. And now our cat has had kittens again and the dog spends it’s time picking them up and carrying them about and reorganizing them. Until Mrs Cat sees him that is. Then there is a few harsh words spat in his direction, cat claws start flying and she gives him a few right hooks and left jabs until he thinks better of it and runs away, leaving her to collect the kittens and assemble them back in her bed. I think if I was a dog and a cat beat me up I find it hard to live with, but as I said, he’s not so bright!

The best dogs I ever had, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have had two of them, were German Shepherds. They have a bad reputation in some less well informed circles, but if you want a proper dog, one that can protect you and yours and one that is super-intelligent then you won’t be disappointed. They really are a cut above the rest.

So what brought all this on? Well a friend sent me some photos of dogs on Monday. Have a look below, particularly at the expressions on their faces, and if you don’t laugh then there is definitely something wrong with you. They are from a series called underwater dogs.

Enjoy!