Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

What is it with Naughty George? The naughtier he is, the more of a fan club he seems to generate. He even features on other people's blogs, like this one I found yesterday; Naughty George popped up on someone else's blog. I can only conclude either that naughtiness is endearing, or that people revel in my pain. I am kinda hoping that it is the former of the two.

And, you will be pleased to hear that the little git has been properly living up to his rep. Only today, I took him on his daily drag around the fields, when he decided to start a fight with the only other animal we encountered.

Before I explain what happened, there is one thing you need to know about NG and fighting: He never lets the size or apparent ferocity of his opponent deter him from getting stuck in. Similarly, he tends to start fights on a whim rather than a provocation. It's a bad combo.   

And today's victim was....... a horse. Yep, Naughty George decided to take on a bloody great dobbin for no apparent reason. It all started innocuously enough. The rain was drizzling, the wind was blowing, and we were tramping our way through a deserted field. Deserted except for an oblivious grazing dobbin that is.

Naughty George saw it and stopped dead in his tracks. I clocked him and immediately knew what he was thinking. I ran over to try and grab him, but I was too late. The git had launched a flat-out full-frontal assault on the hapless horse.
 

"NOOOOOO!" I shouted running towards them, by which time NG was jumping up at the legs of the horse, nipping at it's hoofs and barking ferociously. To be fair, the horse wasn't freaking as much as I expected, but it had lifted up it's back paw in readiness to teach NG a lesson.

"Naughty George! Come here!" I shouted urgently, realising that a hoof in his head would probably spoil his day somewhat. Luckily, he saw me hollering and decided to avoid a bollocking by running away. What a bloody git. I ran after him, only to see him disappearing through a gate at the end of the field.

I tried but failed to keep him in my sights. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I probably looked like a total mentalist. I mean, who goes jogging through a village wearing wellies and donning a lead with no dog on the end of it?

I finally found my mutt at the village pub, The White Horse Inn, where he was woofing vacuously at the Landlord (called Anwar) who was outside chatting to some customers.

Anwar saw me and waved, shouting; "Hey Annie, your dog is over here!"

I arrived, out of breath and half thanking, half apologising to Anwar.

He regarded the still-barking NG with deliberation, "Jeez, your dog is a dick," he said.

"I know," I said nodding apologetically, "even dog-lovers hate him."

And so I dragged Naughty George out of the pub and back home, where he looked sheepish for a couple of hours whilst I sat at my computer surfing the net for "dog exchange schemes".

Unfortunately they do not exist, so it looks like I am stuck with NG's antics for the foreseeable future. Sigh.