Take It To The Max: Double Trouble
Created | Updated Oct 11, 2009
Return of the Mac
Previously I'd written about taking my sister-in-law's dog for walkies along with Max, while she recovered from an operation. The great news is that she's making terrific progress, so much so that she was able to go on holiday for a week. I was delighted to be entrusted with the little fella while she was away.
Despite the fact that they have met each other before, the two dogs were extremely excited on seeing each other, and the high spirits weren't eased by Max leaping down practically a whole flight of stairs and almost landing on top of little Mac. We took the pair of them out into the garden straight away, where they could have a boisterous play around in a safe environment. Mac's family left his familiar toys, food and treats, as well as his crate where he slept at night. Once the two dogs had settled down a bit, the holiday makers said goodbye without too much fuss and we were on our own.
I was constantly surprised by the different temperaments of the two animals: OK, Mac is still only a puppy, at 10 months old, while 2-year old Max is practically an adult, but the smaller dog's continual running in and out of rooms, barking at the slightest sound or movement, and refusal to settle down was making Max look calm and sensible, which are words I never thought I'd be using to describe him. I swear he rolled his eyes at me at one point when Mac zoomed past yet again, en route to get his favourite blue squeaky shoe which became his nightly entertainment.
He's a terrific fetcher: the blue squeaky shoe, if hurled across the room, would instantly be returned to continue the game of tug of war. And I was astonished when a command of 'Go get Uncle Dai's slipper!' jokingly issued five minutes after he'd disappeared with said footwear in his mouth, resulted in him scampering off and bringing the missing slipper back.
Someone described them as being like Scooby and Scrappy-Doo: the fictional dog I thought Mac most resembled is Odie, Garfield's hyper canine companion. Amazingly their very similar names didn't seem to cause confusion, though I was tempted to change their appellations to Hurtle and Scamper after watching them play chasies in the forest. The younger dog is used to being exercised without a lead and stays close by, whereas Max is inclined, given his freedom, to dash off out of sight. But with a rival for my attention and my bag of treats, Max stayed a heck of a lot closer than he usually would on walks.
Little dog also turned out to be a keen footballer, and tried to join in the games that the local lads were playing. They in turn thought he was very cute, and gave him an old collapsed football, which he carried proudly all the way home.
We tried settling down on the sofa in the evening and watching television, and the little dog seemed to enjoy that, looking particularly enraptured by Brigadoon. He was rather disturbed by the barking dogs at the opening of the new season of Doctor Martin, though, and dashed over to the television set to join in the chorus.
Night-times had been my biggest worry. If Mac didn't settle down and go to sleep, but barked and howled instead, then we were all in for a rough week (as were our neighbours). As it was, he turned out to be a great sleeper, and it was still Max who was the earlier riser, waking sometimes as early as 5 a.m. Of course, once big dog was up, I had no chance of persuading everyone to go back to bed. So I compromised: once Max was up and both dogs had been outside to relieve themselves, I snoozed on the sofa, with Max at the other end keeping my feet warm, and Mac curled up on the beanbag footstool, which he adopted as his chilling out spot.
All too soon the week was up, and Mac had to go home to his owners (they didn't know what wine I drank, and so generously gave me a bottle each of red, white and rose). He was great fun, but like other people's children, it was nice to be able to hand him back.
