Wheelie dog or Rottweiler?

I've noticed, when out for walks in these times of social-distancing, that when people see me trotting down the pavement, they often cross to the opposite side of the street.

Is this what it feels to be a Rottweiler, or other breed with a reputation for being fierce?

How much I preferred it when folk would stop by to pat me, say isn't he cute and tell me I reminded them of the toy pup on wheels they had as a child.

Gail with wheelie dog c.1960

Foxtrot Alpha?

Does size matter? Or age?

It is well known that us dogs, as a species, come in all shapes and sizes.

As I walked into the park on Sunday morning, I spotted a pretty Rottweiler with a pink collar. A newcomer. Unlike her companion, a notably relaxed German shepherd whom we see quite often, this pup was kept on a lead. I bounced over to say hello. She smelled nice. Better than nice in fact.

Their accompanying human (a genial-faced chap Gail would like to know better but their small talk has never before got further than "nice day" and "handsome dog") explained that the Rottie belongs to his son, and she is eight months old and having her first 'season'.

Just as I was evaluating in my mind the practicalities of attempting to mount this large and attractively feisty lass, Gail clamped on my lead and forcibly dragged me out of lunging range, saying, "I'd better make sure my intact male dog stays well clear of her then!"

Then Gail rudely added that this particular bitch was too big and too young for me anyway.

But surely such tedious rules are not applicable to the older alpha male (human or canine)...

John and Sally Bercow - courtesy of Daily Mail 

Once out of sniffing range, my distracted mind turned to wondering what a Rottweiler x Wire-Haired Fox Terrier puppy might look like anyway. Would the cross-breed have special name? A Wiry-Weiler perhaps? No, even better, a Foxtrot!

Sadly, as it seems I won't be getting the opportunity to conduct this particular experiment myself any time soon, I resorted to searching for 'Rottweiler/Fox Terrier mix' on the internet, and found these two pups.

Aren't they just adorable?

Am I not a "real dog"?

So my nice friends Yvonne and Neil invited me and Gail round to their house last night to watch the BBC's new TV series 'Civilisations'. As Gail was cuddling me in the kitchen, Yvonne mentioned that her younger son Aaron, who is studying at university in Edinburgh, had asked on his last visit home when they were going to get another dog.

Can you imagine how insulted I felt when I learned that what Aaron has in mind is not a medium sized and unfeasibly cute terrier, but what he calls a "real dog"? He has suggested maybe a rescue Rottweiler....

Meanwhile I am still having a wee bit of trouble with my paws - hence all the cuddles. I made it very slowly to the park this morning, but then had to be carried back. Gail says at least her arms are getting lots of exercise!

PS We are waiting until my paws are no longer too sore before trying out my newly purchased boots. Yes, we know, kind of a Catch 22 situation. ..

Keeping faith with Hamish

Sometimes, posts on other dog blogs prompt Gail to tell me a story about my predecessor Hamish the Westie. So it was with Saturday's Rottrover post, in which Bart and Ruby's humans donated treats to the local dog rescue home, but decided they were not yet ready for a new pup. (In case you don't know them, I should explain that the Rottrover household recently lost one of their brave and much loved Rottweilers, Gizmo, to a nasty form of cancer).

Well Hamish, who also had a blog of course, was getting to be a very old chap by the winter of 2010. At the end of his post on Wednesday 17th February, he related how he'd collapsed on a freezing walk by the beach in Aberdeen and had to be carried back to the car. Gail has now filled me in with more details from that day.

Just before the walk they'd been to the big pet store to buy a new bag of kibble. Gail knew that her dear old Westie's health was failing, and the thought had even crossed her mind "is it worth buying him a large, 19kg bag? I'm not sure he'll last that long". She picked up a 5kg bag, then looked down at Hamish and his characterful, expressive face, and set the bag down again, feeling guilty, as if she had been about to break faith with her beloved first ever dog. She purchased the 19kg bag of 'senior' dog kibble after all.

Hamish only lasted one more day.

Shortly afterwards, an unopened 19kg bag of dog food was donated to the local stray animal shelter.

Two months later, I came to live with Gail and bring new joy to her heart.

Gail says she doesn't regret one penny she spent on that last bag of 'formulated for the senior dog' kibble.

And, phew, what a relief, she says she definitely doesn't regret that I came into her life so soon after she lost Hamish. Although she will now admit, there were moments when I was a troublesome wee pup (troublesome, me?), tearing noisily around the house and looking for more clothes to shred, when she would picture in her mind dear Hamish resting contentedly by her side on the sofa and wonder how well she and I would bond and if indeed she was the one who had bitten off more than they could chew.