Rupert and the Peanuts
Monday 29th February 2016
Warning: do not read this if you are eating, have just eaten, are about to eat, and/or object to the word arse (for my USA-based reader, this is ass).
So, Rupert is both clever and deeply stupid. He is the greediest dog I have ever met, and his greed creates levels of cunning that are quite awesome. He knows that in Lily’s room there are lots of lovely things. He once hit the mother-lode in there and snaffled a whole Thornton’s Easter egg, resulting in an emergency dash to the vet for stomach evacuating. So we are very vigilant about keeping it firmly latched. But, with the cunning of a fox who has the keys to KFC, he has now learned that if he hurls his stumpy, barrel-chested little body at the door over and over again, it sometimes de-latches. And then he is in.
Last week, two things happened which became related. First, Florence and Will moved house. This is their first home-owner house and it’s lovely, but it is a project. Second, Rupert, un-be-known to us de-latched the door to Lily’s room. Some time later, Lily came home and asked me if peanuts were harmful to dogs. I was of course instantly on high-alert. She had found an empty, carefully ripped-open, bag of peanuts. It had been full and in tact. A swift Googleize revealed that they are not toxic but being high in fat, they are not recommended. In bulk.
That day, we toiled for hours helping with the move. The dogs were left at home with one of us taking it in turns to be with them, let them out and so on. That evening, we went back to the new house with the traditional moving in day offering – fish and chips and champagne. We took the dogs. Rupert seemed a little restless but the day had been unusual.
As soon as we entered the new house, he began sniffing and running round, stopping, sniffing, running…There is a kaleidoscope of patterned carpets in this new house, riots of florals, swirls and curls – a migraine at your feet. On a patterned carpet of many shades, it is hard to see peanuts which are being forcibly ejected from a dog’s arse. It is far easier to feel them, with your stocking-ed feet. At the same moment as the stench of peanut-poo hit my nose, Florence skidded through a small but crunchy portion of re-cycled peanut. The poor neighbours. I have a stomach so weak, I can’t even bear to smell anything gross without actual heaving and several times, when changing nappies or cleaning up after pets, I have added to the chaos by actually vomiting.
But this was their new house. Bravely, I grabbed handfuls of the newspaper that had been wrapping china and began trying to collect the nut debris. Rupert can move quite fast when he wants to and with every bound, he fired another tiny peanut bomb out of his arse. He was clearly feeling much better with each projectile evacuation and he really picked up some pace in all the downstairs rooms. Florence was retching into the sink as she ripped off her socks. So that was no help. Finally he stopped. I then conducted a finger-tip (with rubber gloves, calm down) search of the chaotic carpets. Whole peanuts, when shot out of a dog’s bum, are beige. There is a lot of beige in the patterns of those carpets.
Anyway, I shampooed the carpets, washed the socks, immersed myself in neat Dettol, had a massive glass of Chard and really couldn’t face my fish and chips. Rupert? He’s fine. He always is.