As part of my master plan to create the perfect rural idyll in which to dribble away my remaining existence, I have gone out and bought various bird feeding devices.
My aim was to attract the more picturesque species to enhance the appearance of our little garden. I am not a greedy man. A brace of Robins, a finch or two, an assortment of tits would have amply met my needs. Imagine my delight when we had a visiting great spotted woodpecker. Oh joy – oh rapture!
A false dawn I fear because despite my efforts, the contents of my birdfeeders are now pillaged by a flight of jackdaws, two squirrels and a rat. The only diminutive avians that still deign to drop by on the off chance are a flock of, frankly, rather dull and quarrelsome sparrows.
I do, however, persevere, necessitating a weekly visit to our purveyor of bird nosh which doubles as the local Pet store. This has given me considerable food for thought regarding the relationship between man and beast. I must admit that some of this has left me rather baffled as, for the life of me, I can see absolutely no point or attraction in owning most of the creatures that are offered for sale.
In one corner of the shop a gecko resides with a look of studied indifference. It seems to care not a jot whether it remains there or is relocated to a vivarium in young Oscar’s bedroom. I doubt if young Oscar will add anything meaningful to its existence or, indeed, it to his. Not for them chummy conversations and trips to the park. The only brief highlight in their mutual misery will be the offering of some hapless grasshopper once every three days.
Likewise, when the petulant Tamsin drops by to pick up a Hamster that she has been promised in a moment of parental weakness. Threats to rescind this arrangement were met by the counter threat to scream and scream until she is sick.
Hence the rodent, complete with several hundred pounds worth of extras, is procured and taken home to be adored – until the dawn of realisation. Hamsters are not self-cleaning. Tamsin will make one token effort and then it will fall to the parents to ensure perfect hamster hygiene for a period of about 18 months when it will be discovered dead and the horse-trading begins again.
Diva ... a cat
This time Tamsin will almost certainly push for a Kitten. I will concede that this does start to make a little more sense. Felines, particularly the young, will respond with just enough cuteness to ensure that they are fed and kept warm.
Once past the kitty litter stage they are also fairly independent and largely self-cleaning. I do have to say though, that the sight of a cat licking its more intimate parts is never going to be a great spectator sport.
The problem with cats is that the arrangements tend to be rather one sided. You provide the shelter, food, healthcare and affection and they provide the abuse.
The cat will go out when it likes and come back when it likes or not at all if it has discovered another lodging that better suits its requirements. The greatest gift it can bestow on you is a terminally mauled mouse, which has just enough life to crawl into the most inaccessible reaches of your home where it will expire and then, horribly, decay.
Oh, and by the way, although they will not admit it to your face, your neighbours will hate you. Having your prized Begonias used as a toilet is never likely to endear you to the welfare of Tibbles, who in the eyes of his owner is above reproach. When the cat reaches the age of five or six, Tamsin will have gone all hormonal and probably cleared off to uni leaving you with a failing feline whose sole purpose in life seems to be to prevent you from going anywhere.
Life is just too short to turn down a skiing trip because you “have no one to look after that cat”. Don’t get me started on “we have no one to feed the gecko”.
Space prevents this rant from including Rabbits, Guinea pigs, Tortoises, Rats and Snakes but the same principals apply. Fish belong only with chips. End of.
So to man’s best friend. Yes the dog will return affection. Yes the dog makes a passable companion although conversations tend not to border on the esoteric.
Yes the dog provides a great motivation for exercise as long the tedium of perpetually throwing a ball doesn’t makes you long for the thrill of the Bingo hall. However, when at a given point in the daily walk the ball is given short shrift and the hound starts to sniff in ever decreasing circles the spell is broken. You know that its behaunched shudderings are a prelude to you extracting the plastic bag for the purpose of uplifting and then disposing of excrement. If an impartial alien were to witness this procedure, he could be forgiven for not understanding who was supposed to be the superior partner in this arrangement.
For me this part of the proceedings is what you might call a deal breaker. Never mind the pet food bills, the vet bills, the kennel bills and then another set of vet bills to cure what was picked up in the kennels. And then there are the awful gaseous emissions.
Take my advice and find a friend who has a chronically constipated mutt and offer to walk it once a month.
You will thank me in the long run.
We’ve been away a while, but we’ll be back soon.
