Dog Squad Blog – Boydog The Sequel

It's a dog's life - according to Boydog...

Last time we heard how Tania and her family met the dog now known as Boydog. In this sequel, Boydog tells it from his point of view. Woof ruff, woofity woof, Boydog (That roughly translates to, ‘thanks, you good boy’, in dog).

Hello, I’m Boydog. And yes, I know you’re thinking that someone around here lacks imagination big style, but I can assure you I’m not bothered in the slightest. If having a daft name means a life off the streets, then I can put up with the whispers and sniggering.

I was always taught when telling a story to begin at the beginning. This may be easy if you can remember the beginning. I’m not saying there wasn’t one, but most of my first seven months seemed to roll into one. I walked a lot, slept a lot, fretted quite a bit and only ate when fortunate enough to find the odd scrap, usually dropped by the dustmen. I lived for the dustbin collection days on Mondays and Thursdays, and still have a habit of shouting my thanks to them to this day.

Well, they did keep me alive during those first seven months.

My earliest recollections were the horrendous crashes and bangs and flashes of light that sent me under the nearest tree for shelter and safety. They still puzzle me now and send me undercover, although these days I run under the nearest bed or jump on a sofa which is slightly more comfortable, but still as terrifying. The heavy rain always brought fun puddles to splash in and drink, before laying in the sunshine for lazy dog day afternoons.

My favourite times were spent accompanying other dogs (I always knew I was a dog) and their people parents on long walks around the streets and forests of Souni. I learnt to find my way around and sniffed the wonderful aromas and insisted on marking every tree and lamppost as my territory. I was called to by some people to follow them, but for reasons unknown to me, I was never encouraged to join them past the garden gate. Gates and fences were always my dread and just as I started to believe this home could be the one, the clicking shut of the gate destroyed my dreams and left me with little hope.

I was also upset by the noisy machines that hurtled past, only just missing me, as I shouted at them to let the people and dogs out to walk with me. I hated that these machines were spoiling the wonderful country walks for the occupants. I did my best to rescue them, but to no avail. I could have had better success with the machines that only carried one person who wasn’t enclosed, but for some reason, I was shouted at and kicked by the driver. I will never forget that and still try to get my own back on those nasty people every time I encounter one of these machines.

It was during one of my walks that I passed a garden which didn’t seem to have the dreaded clicking gates. I hung around for a while, claimed a bit more territory and became a little inquisitive as to the nature of this place. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a cat appeared and this one was unexpectedly aggressive. It threatened me and when I made to run away, chased after me. I was so shocked that my leg went from under me which caused an agonising pain to shoot from my ankle to my knee (or what you would consider to be ankles and knees), and the pain was excruciating. I managed to get away from the crazy cat and soon found a tree to snuggle up under. I decided to have a nap, hoping the pain would lessen by the time I woke up.

It was still niggling later on, but I managed to limp back to the unenclosed garden and sat there for a while, gazing up at the house that I might one day be able to call home.

I still had a few obstacles to overcome, but a plan was starting to form, and it might just work…

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