Read Online Buster's Diaries: The True Story of a Dog and His Man by Roy Hattersley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roy Hattersley
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is right and what is wrong is very hard, especially for a dog whose father was
an Alsatian and who is, therefore, genetically inclined towards obedience. The problem was made worse today when the Man couldn’t
remember the right words to describe what he wanted me to do. He was totally confused about “Down.”
There is absolutely no doubt what “Down” means.When the word is spoken clearly and in an authoritative tone—particularly if the speaker is holding a biscuit—“Down” means
“Imitate one of the lions at the foot of Nelson’s Column by lying absolutely still, stomach flat on floor, back legs outstretched
and front legs neatly side by side until you are told otherwise.” It does not mean “Stop jumping up.” Yet today, immediately
after breakfast, when I made a speculative leap to test the sort of mood he was in, he pushed me away and said, “Down,” in
an absentminded sort of way. What I needed was either a rub behind the ears or a “No, Buster. Bad dog.” It is a miracle that
I am not totally out of control.
November 13, 1996
The dog warden—who is a lady—came round this morning. At first I was very frightened. I thought she had been sent by the police
to decide whether or not I am a pit bull terrier and should be shot. In fact, she was very nice and talked about me in an
affectionate way. She said she wanted us to avoid trouble. I sat very still. She gave us a leaflet.
The leaflet described the things that dogs can doin my neighborhood. It also described what they cannot do. The “cannot do” part of the leaflet took up most of the space
and even the “can do” things can be done only on the pavement, not on the road.
There was a horrible description of roundworm
(Toxocara canis),
an advertisement for something called easy-to-use pooper-scoopers, and a picture of a Fido machine. A man was leading it
along on the end of a wire. Owning a Fido machine cannot be half as much fun as having a real dog. You can take it for a walk,
but you can’t stroke or pat it and it can’t jump on your knee or lick your face. And the Fido machine cannot bark. The leaflet
says that barking is important. “One of the pleasures of owning a dog is hearing its welcoming bark when you return home.”
Quite right.
The leaflet spoilt everything by saying that “a barking dog can cause friction between neighbors” and suggesting that dog
owners go to obedience classes. I think the Man would be very boring if he was obedient all the time. If he always walked
simply by my side without ever making a noise or jumping about, life would not be much fun for me. He would be just like a
cocker spaniel—all floppy ears and dopey expression. I think men need to show a bit of character.
The dog warden told the Man that, for my own sake, I ought to join Pettrac National Pet Registration scheme. When he asked
her what I would have to do, she told him, “Have a chip implanted under the skin at the back of his neck.” The idea makes
no sense to me. When we are out late at night and I find a chip in the road, I am not allowed to eat it. I cannot imagine
enjoying having one buried under my fur even if, as the dog warden promised, it would mean that I could be “held on the national
computer.” I get held far too much anyway. But the Man is a sucker for fancy ideas. I fear that I shall soon be implanted.
Anyway, we are safe from the dog warden for a while. She is going to have a baby. After she had gone, the Man said, “At least,
Buster, nobody will be able to blame you for that.”
November 20, 1996
According to the newspapers, the Man was in court this morning, charged with behavior “contrary to Regulations 3(6)(b) of
the Royal and other parks and gardens regulations 1977.” In fact, he wasn’t really in court at all.A solicitor went for him and read out the letter the Man had written. It took him almost a whole day to write and, in the
end, he decided to tell the
an Alsatian and who is, therefore, genetically inclined towards obedience. The problem was made worse today when the Man couldn’t
remember the right words to describe what he wanted me to do. He was totally confused about “Down.”
There is absolutely no doubt what “Down” means.When the word is spoken clearly and in an authoritative tone—particularly if the speaker is holding a biscuit—“Down” means
“Imitate one of the lions at the foot of Nelson’s Column by lying absolutely still, stomach flat on floor, back legs outstretched
and front legs neatly side by side until you are told otherwise.” It does not mean “Stop jumping up.” Yet today, immediately
after breakfast, when I made a speculative leap to test the sort of mood he was in, he pushed me away and said, “Down,” in
an absentminded sort of way. What I needed was either a rub behind the ears or a “No, Buster. Bad dog.” It is a miracle that
I am not totally out of control.
November 13, 1996
The dog warden—who is a lady—came round this morning. At first I was very frightened. I thought she had been sent by the police
to decide whether or not I am a pit bull terrier and should be shot. In fact, she was very nice and talked about me in an
affectionate way. She said she wanted us to avoid trouble. I sat very still. She gave us a leaflet.
The leaflet described the things that dogs can doin my neighborhood. It also described what they cannot do. The “cannot do” part of the leaflet took up most of the space
and even the “can do” things can be done only on the pavement, not on the road.
There was a horrible description of roundworm
(Toxocara canis),
an advertisement for something called easy-to-use pooper-scoopers, and a picture of a Fido machine. A man was leading it
along on the end of a wire. Owning a Fido machine cannot be half as much fun as having a real dog. You can take it for a walk,
but you can’t stroke or pat it and it can’t jump on your knee or lick your face. And the Fido machine cannot bark. The leaflet
says that barking is important. “One of the pleasures of owning a dog is hearing its welcoming bark when you return home.”
Quite right.
The leaflet spoilt everything by saying that “a barking dog can cause friction between neighbors” and suggesting that dog
owners go to obedience classes. I think the Man would be very boring if he was obedient all the time. If he always walked
simply by my side without ever making a noise or jumping about, life would not be much fun for me. He would be just like a
cocker spaniel—all floppy ears and dopey expression. I think men need to show a bit of character.
The dog warden told the Man that, for my own sake, I ought to join Pettrac National Pet Registration scheme. When he asked
her what I would have to do, she told him, “Have a chip implanted under the skin at the back of his neck.” The idea makes
no sense to me. When we are out late at night and I find a chip in the road, I am not allowed to eat it. I cannot imagine
enjoying having one buried under my fur even if, as the dog warden promised, it would mean that I could be “held on the national
computer.” I get held far too much anyway. But the Man is a sucker for fancy ideas. I fear that I shall soon be implanted.
Anyway, we are safe from the dog warden for a while. She is going to have a baby. After she had gone, the Man said, “At least,
Buster, nobody will be able to blame you for that.”
November 20, 1996
According to the newspapers, the Man was in court this morning, charged with behavior “contrary to Regulations 3(6)(b) of
the Royal and other parks and gardens regulations 1977.” In fact, he wasn’t really in court at all.A solicitor went for him and read out the letter the Man had written. It took him almost a whole day to write and, in the
end, he decided to tell the
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