St Bernard
Yesterday, at a pet shop near my place, I saw a St Bernard in the flesh for the first time. Which means that in addition to a dream car (the Golf GTI), I now have a dream dog.
The St Bernard, as some of you already know, is not a handsome type of dog. In fact, it rather looks like a brute. Its cheeks sag to the floor and its eyes are droopy, meaning that it bears a striking resemblance to James Earl Jones. But unlike other brutish looking dogs such as the pug and the shar pei, it’s got the size to match its face. I mean, weighing in at up to 90kg, this isn’t a dog you’d want to trifle with. The specimen I saw yesterday had paws the size of steering wheels and a head even more cavernous than mine. Any burglar who had the temerity to break into a house guarded by one of these would be remembered in the morning with nothing more than a burp.
And yet it must be said that the St Bernard is a gentle giant. The one from yesterday was running around quite happily with poodles and pomeranians though it could have quite easily popped them like aspirins. They’re good with children too. Which is actually something of a downer for me. I’d hoped that if my child should one day get out of hand, I could simply call upon the dog to erase it from existence. I’ll just have to stick with the mincer.
Of course, the sheer size of a St Bernard poses some problems of its own. For example, if the dog should decide to have a poo, I’d never be able to clear it out because I can’t fit a bulldozer in my living room. And if it should have a little wee, then I’d have to go and put on my snorkel. Therefore, from an early age, the dog must be taught to relieve itself around my neighbour’s front door. That’ll teach them to dump shit outside my house on the pretext of fertilising their plants.
There is one more thing though. St Bernards don’t like being left alone for long periods. Now that’d be ok with a small dog because they can’t do much harm to your furniture. With a St Bernard, however, you’d be coming home to a war zone every evening. And that’s assuming you make it past the mountain of manure and the rivers of wee. It just sounds too daunting.
I’m sad to say, then, that the St Bernard will have to wait. In the meantime, I’ll just have to make do with the (now bald) maltese.
The St Bernard, as some of you already know, is not a handsome type of dog. In fact, it rather looks like a brute. Its cheeks sag to the floor and its eyes are droopy, meaning that it bears a striking resemblance to James Earl Jones. But unlike other brutish looking dogs such as the pug and the shar pei, it’s got the size to match its face. I mean, weighing in at up to 90kg, this isn’t a dog you’d want to trifle with. The specimen I saw yesterday had paws the size of steering wheels and a head even more cavernous than mine. Any burglar who had the temerity to break into a house guarded by one of these would be remembered in the morning with nothing more than a burp.
And yet it must be said that the St Bernard is a gentle giant. The one from yesterday was running around quite happily with poodles and pomeranians though it could have quite easily popped them like aspirins. They’re good with children too. Which is actually something of a downer for me. I’d hoped that if my child should one day get out of hand, I could simply call upon the dog to erase it from existence. I’ll just have to stick with the mincer.
Of course, the sheer size of a St Bernard poses some problems of its own. For example, if the dog should decide to have a poo, I’d never be able to clear it out because I can’t fit a bulldozer in my living room. And if it should have a little wee, then I’d have to go and put on my snorkel. Therefore, from an early age, the dog must be taught to relieve itself around my neighbour’s front door. That’ll teach them to dump shit outside my house on the pretext of fertilising their plants.
There is one more thing though. St Bernards don’t like being left alone for long periods. Now that’d be ok with a small dog because they can’t do much harm to your furniture. With a St Bernard, however, you’d be coming home to a war zone every evening. And that’s assuming you make it past the mountain of manure and the rivers of wee. It just sounds too daunting.
I’m sad to say, then, that the St Bernard will have to wait. In the meantime, I’ll just have to make do with the (now bald) maltese.
2 Comments:
oh I so sworn by getting a St.Bernard after watching "Beethoven". Sadly till now, it has never happened. Must tell me where that pet shop is~
They are pretty cute. One lick from your loving pet Saint and you'll get a free facial soak in the process! And a shirtful of hair as a free gift.
I'll continue to wishing for a Miniature Pinscher (and a solo apartment while I'm at it.)
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