Mr Dog

Mr Dog

It’s always interesting to hear different views of the same event. I believe several films have been made around that topic, most notably “Rashomon”. My own epic centres around our dog, Max, aka Mr Dog, Mr Boy, or Pinichio, and how he came to live at our house. This is how I remember it.

I was seven months pregnant and upstairs on a hideously hot summer’s day, watching “Raiders of the Lost Ark” (no multiple points of view, but an awesome film just the same). After it had finished, I was on my way to the supermarket, but couldn’t find my wallet. Around that time my brain wasn’t working so well, but my laptop computer was also not where I remembered leaving it, so I rang my then partner Michael, to ask if he’d moved them. Within moments, it became clear we’d been burgled - which meant the burglar had been there while I was upstairs. If it happened now I probably wouldn’t be so worried, being strong and able to bench press heaps of weight. Being pregnant and alone in the house, I totally flipped.

After the police came and told me that probably the house had been watched, and I was considered a “soft target”, I told Michael we could either move, or get a dog. He hated dogs, but since he hated moving more, the second option was the most palatable. So we went to the Lost Dog’s Home, where there were two dogs. One who was very timid, and another one who basically took out a top hat and cane and did a soft shoe shuffle in order to let us know he was the dog for us. We left without a dog, but I couldn’t get that hard working puppy out of my mind. The next day we went back, and he came home with us. We named him Hercules, but quickly worked out it had too many syllables. So we changed his name to Max, after Maxwell Smart. Max will be eight at Christmas time, and is the best dog ever. I know that will be disputed by many people who believe their dog is the best, but I stand by my claim.

Now back to my original point, which is how people remember events differently. We come now to Miss M’s version, which is ironic, since she was -2 months old at the time. Still, I’ve learned not to argue with her. So here it is, typed with her own two little fingers:


When my dog was a puppy he had mean owners. They were mean because they robbed. So he ran away but when he ran away he got lost but the pet shelter found him then later that day i went to the pet shelter and i bought him and now he is happy.

So there you have it. Rashomon in Richmond, with slightly less points of view. And now, I’m going to take Max for a walk, throw a ball in the river for him, and watch him swim back in the filthy water. Hopefully he doesn’t regret coming to live with us. Here’s a link to the Lost Dogs Home Newsletter from the year I got him, if you’re interested, click the link and scroll to the fifth page, where you’ll see his handsome face.

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