Cody

(from 2015)

Cody was originally the title of a John Stewart song that my daughter heard – perhaps rather too often – on the cassette player on her way to and from school. But when she decided she wanted a dog – that was the name she chose.

Our lifestyle precluded pets that required a lot of attention, so fish and hamsters had been the order of the day for some years. But in my daughter’s late teens, suddenly there was the opportunity for a real pet – a dog!

My work was going to take me away from time to time, possibly leaving her on rare occasion on her own. A dog would be protection and company. Her best friend had found a stray dog in the rural area where they lived, and had taken it home, only to find out eight reasons why it had been abandoned – the number of puppies of indeterminate breed that were produced. They needed to have homes. My daughter had to have one! So – weakness prevailing – she did. And Cody came to our home.

A bright-eyed dog of very mixed pedigree – and surprisingly tall when grown and it stood on its hind legs, and placed its paws affectionately around your neck.

Of course, her best friend had an uncle, by some quirk of history a bit younger than she. He was visiting at the same time the litter of puppies were produced. He and my daughter have been married for a good number of years now!

So quite soon after Cody joined our family, our daughter moved on. They were not allowed to have animals in their first accommodation, so – what a surprise – we inherited Cody.

Cody chewed the furniture as a matter of course. He delighted in snaffling napkins from our laps at the dinner table and running manically around the dining area daring us to catch him. We put in a dog flap in the kitchen for when we had to go out for a half day, and he pulled up the kitchen floor covering and wedged it in the dog flap, with him outside. We came home in the pouring rain, to see a bedraggled mutt peering anxiously through the garden window. There was a television programme I just loved to watch each week. As soon as I settled down, he seemed to sense it and chose that moment to attack my trouser legs. My mother, already approaching eighty, came to dinner, and – ever friendly – Cody leapt onto her lap, and her cup of tea baptised the curtains.

Yes, we had some interesting experiences with Cody. It was a shame that we really had all the puppy behaviour, the chewy-poohy stage – and not much of the settled faithful companion routine. Memories abound. There was what was claimed to be an indestructible toy made of hard blue plastic, which – in a moment of total lack of inspiration – we named “blue thing”. Blue thing lasted about two days, and we were finding lumps of blue intermingled with what dogs do in the garden for weeks afterwards. Then there was the time in the garden he snapped at a bee and caught it. There was a moment or two’s contemplation, and then a most agonized look came over his face. Two of us had to sit on him, while the third extracted the sting, before a trip to the vets.

Ultimately we had to find him a new home. Our work pattern just didn’t allow for the time needed to care for a dog properly. More responsibility came my way, now necessitating my wife and I being away for several days at a time, and kennels had their own problems. So we got in touch with a charity that organised new homes and found him a better home.

There were several false starts. There was one elderly couple (I’m probably approaching their age now, but they seemed elderly) who wanted a dog to replace a long-standing pet. We took Cody to see them. It was explained that the previous dog had lived to be about seventeen and had been nursed and coddled and – without admitting it - turned into a grandchild substitute. We were shown with hushed tones the cushion on which the previous mutt had spent his last days. As a special honor the previous toys were brought out for Cody’s inspection. Cody eyed the bendy doll figure presented, and lurched forward. Chomp! He spit out the head and went in a manic spin around the kitchen. I thought “you’ve blown it, boy!” Surprisingly they kept him for a night, but the next day the man, having taken him for a walk, with ashen face and wheezy breath, admitted that perhaps a younger family would be better.

So finally, we re-homed him with a family with lots of kids, lots of noise, lots of mess, and he spent the rest of his days in paradise.

My daughter and son in law eventually moved from their flat into their own house, and – instead of presenting us with grandchildren presented us with a grandpuppy instead. It’s not exactly treated as a child substitute – they seem to know that Walt Disney films lie – that’s why it’s called a dog. Now they have a pedigree Labrador. Docile, ever hungry, expensive when things go wrong which seems to be often – and probably the reason I am writing this now - currently under our roof.

Daughter and son in law are soaking up the sun on vacation. I am taking Muttley (not its real name) around the park, with treats in one hand, a pooh bag in the other (the fines if enforced are horrendous) – and, while warming slightly to the animal, am looking forward to the weekend when the dog goes back to its own home.

When my wife suggests a pet, I keep on suggesting goldfish.