We have had the annual sporting invasion of the rellies. This year there were so many small children and stray belongings that we were beginning to look and feel like a refugee camp – the forlorn single wellie boot abandoned in the road, the child wa
iling for its mother, the incessant feeding of hungry mouths.
Happily we were in no immediate danger except from asphyxiation by Flo, my brother's old, suppurating black lab who smells like an over-ripe gorgonzola and slobbers. Even worse, the smell rubbed off on both Mango, our golden retriever, and Crumpet, the cocker spaniel puppy.
I am happy to say that my brother's family is well enough adjusted not to be mortally offended when it is suggested their dog stinks. But you live dangerously when you criticise a person's dog. It is almost as bad as criticising their children or their driving. To suggest a dog smells – unless it has clearly rolled in fox or badger – is akin to questioning the owner's personal hygiene.
It has taken us three years to convince the family that Flo stinks. They sort of know this but have become so used to it (their people carrier will be quite unsellable) that they treat it all as a bit of a joke and rather think you are making a fuss about nothing.
Within two minutes of the whole shebang disembarking from their foetid transport, Flo had plonked herself down in the kitchen on her travelling basket, dragged in with the suitcases, and settled in for a good reek. We did not actually want to say: "Put her in the car – now." So we started up a series of jovial observations along the lines of: "Gosh, what's that awful smell, you don't think it could be Flo do you?" And: "Have you had her ears checked?" And: "One of ours once had a boil on its bottom that smelt a bit like Flo."
Helpful hints. As if smelling isn't enough, Flo's other trick is to slobber all over the dog water bowl and leave a minor flood in her wake. For the first 24 hours our delicately barbed remarks about hygiene fell largely on deaf ears.
But I am afraid that when I spotted Crumpet the puppy snuggling up to Flo and licking a line of slobber off her chops during supper, it all became too much. It was actually so bad that one nephew, having had the phenomenon gleefully pointed out by his siblings, abandoned his mince and tatties and went off to be sick.
Flo was banished from the house and had to sleep in the car. No one seemed remotely bothered. Not even Flo, who would occasionally attempt entry if a door was left open, which happened quite a lot as by now we had 12 extra people in the house, six of whom were children. Flo would wander in and just stand there unconcernedly radiating pong until shoo-ed out.
We knew the message had got through when an attempt was made to shampoo her, but to no obvious avail. To give Flo her due, she didn't piddle on the carpet, which is a common trait among visiting bitches. We have since had thank you letters from all the children each humourously apologising for Flo, and a telephone call from a less enthusiastic sister-in-law to say she had taken Flo to the vet who poked about her anal glands, pronounced her fit and well, if smelly, but offered no explanation and sent in a bill for £43 plus vat.
arobertson@scots-man.com
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