For Taz.

This is for Niko, who as a dog owner would never, ever kick a dog.

If he knows what's good for him.

I've had dogs all my life, apart from between the ages of eighteen to twenty-seven.(No, not prison like you Niko)

The first was "Angus", a black and white crossbreed who probably was more of a guard dog than a family pet, as my four year old self was warned not to go near him.

Yet I did, and got a vicious(to me)nip, and a chase to the end of his tether.

The next dog I knew well was a Golden Labrador brought home by my brother when I was about eight. Called "Paddy" he was a major influence in my life. Playing puppy tug with his blanket one evening, he lost his grip on it and then reaffirmed it on my tracksuit bottoms and ripped them off in full view of older girls playing next door...

Yet he became my best friend of course. I went to college one day and came back to find him gone.

For the best.

He'd had a cough, the vet was called, throat cancer was discovered, and he was put down. My eighteen year old self, distraught and taking it out on my parents, made a bad situation horrible by railing at them, saying they should have fucking waited till I'd got home.

Part of me still thinks that...

A few years later, and I got owned by a tiny Jack called "Thunder". I'd just moved to a small village and knew nobody. Going to the pub with him I became acquaintanced with his many friends, he would jump up on a barstool and stare the landlord in the eye until he got his rightful pepperami.

Then I'd get a pint as an afterthought.

He died aged eighteen, and I vowed, no more dogs. They hurt too much.

I did not reckon on my daughter. I got a phonecall at work, saying I had a "surprise" waiting for me when I got home.

Hoping it was a Harley, I opened the front door and a tiny ball of hair, pink tongue and whipping tail climbed up my trousers and leapt into my hands.

What could I do?

Um...especially since I had been talking to a guy in the pub about a pup from his nieces' Parson Russell bitch's litter...

So I had two dogs. A drunken thought of breeding them took hold. And was fulfilled.

So now I have four dogs.

Bessie:

Rescue dog,(not from a dog charity, still had fallopian tubes) Mostly Jack Russell, with a hint of Yorky.

Gizmo: Parson Jack Russell. Biggest one I have ever seen. Looks like a small Foxhound.

Alpha male, have to watch him with other male dogs.

Scruffy:

Escape artist.No hole too small, no fence too tall.

Sweetie:

Worst name ever. Tolerates humans, anything, anything else is fair game. Upper canines protrude below lower jaw, but hidden by hair. Suprises her victims.

Then kills them.

I have stories.

Another time.