Why I’ll Never Have a Dog — Ten Days of Dog Sitting Hell

After driving 480 km from Arcachon to Alaigne, 25 km south-west of Carcassonne, I finally met up with the three dogs I was going to be looking after for the next ten days.

Fuck!

Two crazed Parson Russell Terriers (like a Jack Russell but with longer legs) and a Golden Labrador with big dark lonely dopey eyes.

The fun started on my first morning when I was towed up a hill by the male terrier, Idéfix.

He’s only a foot tall, but has the power of The Hulk. His little hind legs pumping furiously ten feet in front of me, and ignoring my cries to slow down ‘YOU STUPID RUNT’ as my shoulder came out of its socket.

The owner had advised me not to let go of the extendable lead under any circumstances.

No Shit!

‘If you do that,’ she said, ‘you’ll never see him again.’

What a shame!

The other two dogs, Carla (the other terrier) and Holly (the sad Labrador) seemed placid by comparison. Almost normal.

Although the Labrador did make a habit on that first walk — and every walk after— of eating the two other dogs’ turds. Which is utterly fucking disgusting, but did save me the even worse task of putting my hand into a thin plastic bag, then wrapping my hand around warm dog turds and trying to pretend they were just small balls of plasticine.

Yuk! And you want a dog?

But that was the least of my worries, as the terrier was utterly nuts, pulling and dragging me all over the place like it was being powered by an Elon Musk space rocket.

And it made me wonder whether I’d been hired specifically to walk the damn terrier as I’d stupidly put on my dog sitting application: A KEEN ATHLETE.

That was ten days ago, and I can categorically say that I will not be having a dog. Which was the main reason for hiring myself out in the first place. To see if I really wanted one, or if it was just a passing fad.

It was a passing fad. A TRY BEFORE YOU BUY experiment which I advise all potential dog owners to undertake before you get one.

It’s why they give you free slices of salami or cheese in supermarkets. Give you a taste of Brand X before you become a slave to it.

Luckily, I tried DOG X and said no. Which was a good move because if I had bought one, I would have regretted it. For the rest of my life.

I suppose I’d have got used to it. But I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, and would always be looking for a way out. Most likely taking a long walk with a loaded rifle. (For the dog, not me.)

The worst part of having a dog (apart from the turds) is the forced wake-up call EVERY SINGLE morning. Like having kids but worse. At least children don’t breathe the remains of a dead badger into your face every morning.

And with kids, you can at least tell them at the weekends to lie in, or watch TV. No such luck with a dog. They don’t understand English, or French, or well, anything.

So when I left last week, and made my way back home, I knew there would never be a dog in my house. I might have a cat. Or a fish. Or a chicken. Or a wooden horse.

But not a dog. However innocent they look.