How To Be A Gardener's Dog

by Jake-the-Dog

Mike Clark writes occasional articles for us here at Country Smallholding. Mike gave his dog, Jake, the opportunity to advance his embryo literary career by pawing an article for the  Christmas issue.

This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.

Not long after my Human adopted me, I tried my paw on His keyboard-thing. Big mistake. It was a wee bit like sitting on the remote control for the telly. Everything went blank. Except for the Human, who went ballistic.

Since then, I’m pretty much banned from the cupboard where He hides with His toys.

Then He said, right out of the blue, “Go on then, you mop-faced mutt. This is your one and only chance. Write something for Country Smallholding for Christmas.”

Well, I peed myself with excitement straight away, which was perhaps not the most auspicious start. But at least I did it on the kitchen vinyl, before I got as far as the carpet in His cupboard. Like the time I found some really rancid, tasty dead creature. And He said, “If you’re going to throw up, do it somewhere easy to clean.”  You just pick up vibes from Humans, don’t you? I mean, my earlier throwing-up moments were buried deep down the back of the couch. It seemed logical to put it well out of sight. The vibes were bad then, though.

Anyway, after a quick piddle, I got writer’s block.

But the Human was very understanding, gave me a Bonio, and told me to chill. It’ll come, He said.

I love Thursdays.

See, the Human goes out most days, to other people’s houses, and scrapes in the earth and breaks off green bits of things which grow. Neither of which He allows me to do. But the place He goes to on Thursdays has two dogs, and a huge garden, and I get to play all day.

Well, nearly all day. I get shoved in the car just before  . .  erm, what’s the expression? Lunch-time, I think the Human calls it. It’s like Dinner-time, only with food for Him but not for me. Anyway, that’s when this big yellow bus-without-windows arrives, and takes away all the tasty things in these bins outside the door. Such a waste. First time I saw these guys stealing the leftovers, I tried to stop them. As a Guard Dog it seemed only right and proper.

The Human gave me a right telling off, and it seems I’m banished to the car every Thursday dinner . . sorry, lunch-time.

I love Tuesdays, too.

On Tuesdays we go to visit my two West Highland Terrier pals. I was going to say midgets, but the Human is standing over my shoulder, and He tells me that’s not PC. I don’t understand these expressions. The thing I’m putting my paws on right now is a PC, I’m told. And the human in a serious suit who gave my Human an important piece of paper when we were really hurrying home from the supermarket with my Meaty Chunks was a PC. How many PC’s are there? My Westie pals are wee, okay? Is wee okay?

(Excuse me, I’m having difficulties with the Human. Wee is too Scottish? It can also mean what I did earlier in the kitchen? Will you guys please sort out a language, before you try to teach it to me. I have one doggy brain cell. I can’t cope with multiple meanings.)

Sorry about that. I didn’t realise writing could be so stressful.

I used to look forward to Tuesdays. Now I don’t know what to say any more.

I hate Fridays.

I used to love Fridays, because the Human goes to this place right beside the main road. And lots of busses go past. I love busses. Especially blue ones. The Human isn’t too keen on me chasing them, though.

The Human doesn’t do fun.

Now I’m Home Alone Fridays.

I spent the first two Christmases of my life in somebody’s shed. Not out of choice, you’ll understand.

But my Human rescued me.

He’s trying to teach me to be a gardener’s dog, and I’m learning. Slowly.

Here are my top tips for being a gardener’s dog.

If He digs, don’t copy.
If a bus goes past, don’t chase it.
If He stops for lunch, don’t expect anything to eat, and don’t bite the binmen.
Respect smaller canines, and don’t call them midgets.
Don’t jump up and lick other humans, unless invited.
Ditto above, but if He calls them Clients, don’t even think about it.
If you see a rabbit, by all means pursue it, but stay on the paths.
If you see a cat cr*pping on a seedbed, you’ll be forgiven for straying off the path.
If you’re banished to the car after being out in the rain, don’t sit in the driver’s seat.
If He’s in His cupboard, don’t put one paw round His neck and the other on His keyboard.

If you can cope with all these rules, you have a successful career ahead of you as a gardener’s dog.

Season’s Greetings to canines everywhere, even midgets.

© Mike Clark 2006

Published in Country Smallholding December 2006