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George, don't do that...


Words from a Bird.  Day 97

This evening found me, the husband, son number 1 and daughter number 2 at our local vet surgery with Reg. 

Let me explain.  When you have a puppy for the first time, you have to learn lots of new things, such as handling, house training, dealing with nipping etc etc.  You do all the training classes, read breed-appropriate books, and scour the internet for information to make your dog the best it can be.  But by the time you have the second, all of this is deemed unnecessary as YOU KNOW IT ALL. 

However, we thought it would be a great idea to take Reg to the Puppy Party which the surgery holds each month.  Two hours of greeting (barking), socialising (peeing) and snacks (for the puppies, not the humans), and a chance to ask questions.

Reg was superb.  He didn't embarrass us by peeing on the floor, nor did he bark at the other puppies.  He didn't bite anyone, or jump up.  For a few minutes, we wondered whether we had brought the right dog, he was so perfect.  There's always one though, and tonight it was a Hungarian Vizler called George.  Standing two feet tall at twelve weeks, he had feet which wouldn't have looked out of place on a pony, and he created havoc amongst the other puppies, some of which wouldn't venture out from under the chairs as they were terrified of him.  Puddles appeared at regular intervals, prompted by fear, and when George finally relieved himself on the floor, we all had to lift our feet up to avoid getting our shoes wet. 

It all came to a marvellous conclusion, when the lovely lady in charge showed us all how to handle our dogs in preparation for any future vet visits.  As she had George on the examining table, stroking him reassuringly, the owner piped up....

'Just a word of warning, he can get a little over excited when you stroke him down there...'

Well, the conversation turned quite X-rated as the owner explained how George loved to mount her as she walked through the kitchen.  It was at this point that I was really hoping she was talking about the dog, and not her husband.  Turned out she was.  The dog had never mounted her husband, just her, so George was obviously making life choices already.

Some advice was given, which ended with the following sentence...

'You need to sort this now, as no one wants to be mounted by 30kg of Vizler.  You wouldn't stand a chance'.

I wanted to say that she should bring George down to the vet if he carries on with the mounting.  Not for any 'calming down surgery', but just to get his nails clipped.

At least he won't ladder her tights....

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