Dog daze

I am in love and his name is Woody. My wife Lynn knows all about it and she's been very understanding; she loves Woody too. I whisper not of that love that formerly dare not speak its name. Woody is a bit of a disco cowboy (as the picture clearly shows) but not the kind you remember from the Village People. The love of which I speak is that which an Englishman naturally has for his dog. Because Woody is a 4-month-old Miniature Schnauzer puppy.

Why the name 'Woody'? As a family, we wrestled for weeks before we could agree a name. First, my son Robert wanted to call him something a bit 'gangsta', until we reminded him that this particular breed was about as 50-Cent as gingerbread. Then Robert and I wanted to call him 'Dave', you know, after Rodney. My daughter and Lynn tried to make sense prevail, worried about the attention they may get wandering the streets shouting 'Dave'. In the end, our thoughts were crystallised as we learned that his proper Kennel Club pedigree name is 'Dreamstars Cowboy'. We debated cowboy names, dismissed 'Clint' (a strong front-runner for a while) and settled on 'Woody'. As with all names, in no time at all the strange becomes the familiar and all the rejected options forgotten. Although in my opinion he still looks a bit like a Dave from the back.

I am really trying to fight my tendencies to treat him like a spoiled child, constantly reminding myself that he's 'just a dog'. I used to pitty those poor saps who designer-dressed their dogs, fed them from the best china and only went on holiday to places that poochie chose. God forbid that it should ever become so, but I now know how that madness can begin. Even Robert wants to dress Woody up as Yoda for halloween; I don't mind the canine fancy dress so much, but what's scary about Yoda? I've told him to stop being so ridiculous. Woody Kruger is a much better idea.

I fear that we have unwittingly fallen prey to becoming a stereotype. No one wants to get too Freudian about these things, but it would appear that Woody is a classic baby-substitute for two soon to be empty-nesters. We have tried to convince ourselves that we bought Woody because Robert has always wanted a dog. I am struggling to explain why we have waited until Robert is 17 and close to leaving for college. Maybe we just can't bare the thought of a house without something smelling vaguely 'funky' sprawled across the lounge or peeing on the carpet. In these regards, Robert's work is done now, apprentice Woody can carry the mantle from here. Come to think of it, Woody is naturally better at that sort of stuff. I can't remember when Robert last chewed my slippers in a cute-and-endearing way.

Whatever the deeply subconscious motivations for getting him, Woody is here to stay and we're all soppily devoted. I'm out scoopin' poop with the best of them and wondering what I did to fill my time before wrestling with squeaky toys became my primary focus. And I wouldn't have it any other way. What do you think, Dave (sorry) I mean Woody?