Society? Gone to the dogs!

Society? Gone to the dogs!

Walking briskly along the side of the Royal Military Canal in Hythe on a nippy spring morning, where the daffodils were standing in clustered groups, golden faces swaying in a gentle breeze, I noticed a middle aged woman walking towards me. She was wrapped up in a black 'Northface' hiking jacket, pink jeans and Ugg boots, and had two small dogs in tow on 50 metre long retractable leads. In passing her, still smiling at the colourful presence of spring, and that poem by Wordsworth fresh in my mind, I said "Good morning!" The reply was "uuugh", or something similar, and with that she started reeling in her two charges calling out " Oh do come along Charlie dear! and you too Willie darling! I know it's a lovely day, but we have lots of things to do, so come along to mummy!!"

Looking back over my shoulder, I saw that 'Charlie' had stopped to do a number two. "Oh Charlie! you really are a naughty boy" she cried out while dipping into her jacket pocket , and taking out a bright orange plastic carrier bag. She bent over and very daintily picked up the steaming lump of faecal matter, or poo if you prefer, with the bag, and tied a knot in it. Off she then went, the ten pence Sainsburys bag swinging at her side, with Willie, and a much relieved Charlie, running ahead. She tootled along behind them like Charlton Heston in Ben Hur, but on reflection, I didn't think that Sainsburys had started business back then.

My first stop was for a welcome latte at a local cafe. No sooner had I sat down at an outside table, where one could still roll a cigarette and smoke it without being berated for polluting the atmosphere and giving cancer to everyone within a five mile radius, a new looking VW, belching exhaust fumes, pulled up at the curb on double yellow lines.

An elderly gentleman, wearing a purple Burberry jacket, orange corduroy jodhpurs and bright green Crocs exited from the front passenger door, and then helped his wife, who was dressed up for dinner at Downton Abbey, from the rear door of the vehicle. She was followed by three yapping little dogs. I admit to not being 'au fait' with dog breeds, but they looked like...um...Pomegranates? or something like that.

Their chauffeur drove off, emitting an apocalyptic cloud of gas, and the old couple, or quintet really, shuffled to an adjacent table. While old Mr Quinn, I call him that for want of knowing his real name, went to place their order, Mrs Quinn reversed gracefully into a chair and said, "Right! and who is going to sit on mater's lap this morning?" The three Pomegranates, all a quiver and with ears and noses twitching, looked up excitedly. "Tuffty! it must be your turn!" she said, then picked up the lucky dog giving it a kiss on the top of its head, and sat it on her knee. "Now sit still like a good girl," said Mrs Quinn, and Tuffty obediently snuggled up, all goggle eyed, and with an obvious smirk on it's face. Mrs Quinn then eyed the two remaining Pomegranates, who were both looking a little bit miffed, saying "Pater will be here in a minute, so be patient!" They looked at one another and flopped down on the floor, both in an obvious state of total abandonment.

Mr Quinn returned and picked up the two Pomegranates, totally ignoring his wife, and sat opposite her, putting the now tail-wagging dogs on his knee. Ruffling their ears he said, "There you are! I wasn't too long! Now, now Jimmy, stop pushing Sophie like that! What will your mother think?" A few minutes later along came a waitress with a steaming pot of Jasmine tea and a cup of black coffee with a freebie biscuit next to it. Placing the tray on the table, the waitress commented on how pretty the little 'babies' were. The biscuit was quickly broken into pieces by Mr Quinn and given bit by bit to the two now fully alert Pomegranates, who ate their treat with gusto, showering crumbs and dribbling all over the place. Now it was Tufftys turn to look totally miffed off.

So, shaking my head, and leaving my still warm latte half finished, I made an early start back from whence I'd come. Half way along the side of the canal, once more rejoicing in the coming of spring, I passed a rather...um...obese young mother, probably in her late teens or early twenties. She had purple hair, and was wearing a fur trimmed Parka jacket, black skin tight leggings and gold ballet shoes. A little boy of about four years old was with her, gaily running around on the grass at the side of the path. Clasped to her pendulous bosom was some sort of oriental dog, that was merrily licking its nether regions.

"Gavin!! Come 'ere you lit'le git!" she yelled. She then lifted the funny looking dog, probably a Shitzu or something like that, up in front of her face, giving it a big kiss on it's nose and saying, "You's my good lit'le baby ain't yer!"

I slowly made my way to a nearby bench. I sat down, took a deep breath, buried my face in my hands, and thought to myself, "Somehow our society seems to have gone to the dogs."

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