Dog in a manger

Elle has a dog who I will call Mister B. He’s a Canis Africanus - an African dog, born and bred. Lean and muscular with one half-cocked ear, he’s a pirate of a dog. Tough, resourceful and good-natured, but fiercely protective of Elle. Threaten her and he will eat you. Make no bones about that. This is his default position.

My arrival on the scene has not been easy for Mister B. Both of us have had to make some adjustments to the ‘new order’ of things. Like a child from a previous marriage, I’ve had to recognise that he has certain inalienable rights - the right to lick the dinner plates clean, to chew sticks on the bed and to bark at anything and anyone he chooses no matter how annoying. Likewise he too has had to make compromises albeit more subtle ones. Used to sleeping in the bed with Elle, he’s now pretty much consigned to floor (although he stills get ‘under the duvet’ time in the mornings).

You can sense he’s not entirely happy about his perceived slippage in the Alpha male rankings and I’m reminded of this when I try to go to bed at night. If Elle is already in bed, I have to go through a regular Mexican ‘stand-off’ routine with him, in which he snarls, bares his teeth and threatens to go for my nether regions. It’s only after he’s been hugged, patted, kissed and reassured by Elle, that he allows me to get into bed. This has become a ritual now. Like trying to get past the bouncer into the nightclub.

This ongoing battle to regain No 1 spot in Elle’s affections has taken a new turn in the last 24 hours and I have to say his new strategy is a little disappointing given his tough reputation. He’s developed a limp in his left leg, which according to Elle is psychosomatic and a merely a cry for ‘attention’. I wouldn’t have believed that until I caught him limping on his right.

Going to Katima tomorrow. This means a full English breakfast and the chance to sit on a real toilet seat!