Happy Bonfire Night, everyone!
As usual, taking advantage of the fact that we have a large and messy garden, we set off some fireworks in the bonfire pit. The theory goes that, by November, it’s so wet that we can’t actually set the garden on fire, and even if we did, the garden couldn’t look any worse than it already does. So far, it’s proven to be a fairly sound theory because the garden has not caught fire (yet).
My sole duty in all of this was to sit on the floor and physically restrain one of the dogs from jumping on the fireworks. Every other animal we own is sensible and disappears indoors to hide when the fireworks come out, but Kya likes to buck the trend by actively seeking out loud, flashy and dangerous things. For a dog that came from an abusive household and who goes to pieces at the sight of a swanee whistle, this appears to be a fairly unusual trait. She also thinks that rifles are The Greatest Dog Toys Ever™ and likes to sit under the barrel and jump for the bullet. This is difficult to prevent, as she is Queen of All Escape Artists and could give Steve McQueen a run for his money if we were able to lock the two into my house, put a rifle outside the back door and told them to go get it.
We took all the dogs to the Isle of Wight last Wednesday and two out of three of them proved that they cannot be trusted on ferries. We officially have the worst dogs in the south of England. Other candidates (such as the 10-week-old puppy who spent the entire crossing fast asleep) were blown out of the water (pun not entirely unintended) by Freddie’s insistence at trying to pee on everything and Kya’s frantic barking at everyone and everything on the ferry. This included terrifying a small child, who moved seats several times and was found by Kya each time. She also managed to trip several people using her lead, nearly garroted herself on a railing, and topped the whole thing off by trying to throw herself off the side of the ship after spying a seagull.
When we finally landed on the island, she kicked sand at several more small children, growled at a few families and provided a soundtrack in the form of frantic yaps while she chased my brother’s kite up and down the beach (this also resulted in a few people getting their shins bulldozed).
To top it off, my father’s attempts to keep her calm while my mother and I visited a glass shop resulted in a local threatening to call the police to report him for animal abuse (my father was making her sit outside the car because she wouldn’t stop climbing on everything and barking frantically at passers-by).
However, as she refrained from savaging anyone’s prized chihuahua (or spaniel, or rottweiler), her praises were sung by all of us on the return journey, in which she slept like a baby across the entire back seat (and my brother and I).