My almost eight-month-old golden Labrador has started to show some feline characteristics lately. She pretty much treats us as underlings, whose only reason for existence is to attend to her every whim and to be ‘it’ in chasing games. She ups the ante by stealthily acquiring highly prized objects like the TV remote, training shoes, or car keys (I’ve yet to work out how she reaches them on the upper shelf!) and running willy-nilly around the back garden, always just out of reach.
Her latest escapade, the one that really got me wondering if she is part cat, involved her charging out of our front door at Mach 2, into the field next to our house, in hot pursuit of a pheasant. Hubby and I tried in vain to get her to return to us. We offered cooked chicken, cheese, and her favourite toy, but to no avail.
In the distance, I could hear a car approaching, just as the pup turned and headed back towards us. In my mind’s eye, I could already see the inevitable outcome as she has a thing for wheels. Quick as a flash, I raced into the middle of the road, waving my apron like a warning flag. The approaching car slowed down, but didn’t stop. Out from the edge of the field, running willy-nilly (this is starting to be the norm for her) raced our hapless pup. The driver now realised why I was waving and slammed the brakes on. True to form, pup raced towards the front of the car, in search of wheels.
While she was distracted, I grabbed her collar and heaved her off the road as the driver wound down his window. I started to thank him for his quick response when he cut across me. “That dog needs to be on a leash!” he scolded. Well no shit Sherlock! Thank you Mr Obvious for your observation. I would never have worked that out for myself.
The embarrassment, terror, and exertion brought on an almighty hot flush (hot flash for you lovely readers across the pond), leaving me looking puce and sweaty, while the driver, smug-faced, drove off. So there you have it, proof that the pup is part cat and now down to eight lives.