Who let the dogs in? - Misty

Long ago - well, not so long if I didn't feel so old - we had a dog called Misty. She was hilarious. She also took it into her gorgeous Alsatian head that I was the younger member of the pack and that I could therefore be bullied.

Misty had a name for me - when she wanted me, it wasn't 'bow-wow'. It was, for some odd reason, 'Ya-woo'. Misty also pulled the warning stick out of my hand any time she wanted to. Misty jumped on me, pulled me and wouldn't let me go downstairs from the terrace when I wanted to. I mean, who was I kidding? Let it be known - she called the shots. I just called mummy. Misty never apologised - she just grinned. Elsa, my special sweetheart, scratched me in an enthusiastic frenzy just once in her life and then nuzzled me for a long time afterward in my lap with mournful eyes. Misty was always daddy's dog. But hey, we were siblings after a manner, and she was born with the right to bully me. No, she came after me but dogs come with this whole octal thing, huh.

Misty was also my protector from crows. We took an intense dislike to their violent and hostile antics from the days of our romps on the terrace. Shadow took the baton after her. Shadow, my Shadow, defender of the corvidophobic (yeah, I just looked it up), and all-round good dog. I will write about her. She deserves it.

But so does Misty - I cuddled Misty and once in a while she agreed to cuddle me. When she was much older, and just a teeny bit wiser, the girl would smile a more gentle smile instead of that war-cry-like grin she greeted me with. It was like we were playing Red Indians all the time (not that I've ever played it, and not that I don't know they're about the most peaceful people you could look up - so much for hashed metaphors).

Recently this memory came up again - when I was rehashing an old sin, fearing an old fascination, brooding over words whether two days ago or two decades/ and enjoying the feel of victimisation. Misty had another very curious habit.

We often tied her up with a leash instead of putting her in a kennel because it gave her much more room to move about. Rest assured we only ever did this when people visited. Er, Misty didn't mind tasting their ankles with of course the friendliest motives. What's a little nip between friends - she'd say. Her fashion sense was impeccable. Any uncool sunglasses, people walking about in night-clothes as if it were the fashion on the day, big straw hats in your yard - Misty was on it like a bullet. I mean, we've got to maintain some standards, puhleeeze.

So the friend who brandished his sunglasses in his hand got nabbed. As did any of us venturing out in those very fashionable hussif-y nighties, or me with a hat on ala my mum. Also as a pup, if anyone was leaving casually, they had it. Who did they think they were leaving without so much as a mention to the members of the family? - in Misty's opinion.

Well, yes I am coming to the curious habit... So with this propensity of Misty's to be law-maker, police, friend and terrorist in one, we would have to tie her up. There were times when, as a creature of habit, she would insist on it. Mealtimes. When Elsa was in. After a bath, maybe.

Misty was weirdly wary of her freedom though! When we let her out or untied her, she would just stay put. Much as if she had never been freed. I mean, we could stand outside with treats and cajoling but she would look at us quizzically from that entrance to her kennel with an eminently kissable face. We could have called all day but Misty would not have left for most of the morning, I suspect. No, she was used to being inside. Also she was suspicious in this one thing only. She never really believed the chain was off. Misty's special kink, this was!! Dumb dog! Bleh.

We had to put the end of that leash over the top of her door just where she could sniff it. Then she would sniff it and satisfy herself that it was gone. She never accepted it when the chain was just off her. I understand though - I mean she must have acclimatised herself in the space of those minutes to thinking she was a tied dog. Like me with my fears and guilt-trips! And you couldn't know for sure, you couldn't just believe that it was off without definite proof. So she would wait patiently - she must have concluded we were so stupid - and she would stay inside that kennel until that chain was under her nose, reminding her that it was the same one she'd been tied with.

All she needed to do really was step out of the kennel, just a little further than the leash would let her. But she had to see to believe. Dumb dog!

But it was finished.