Rusty, One Hell of a Dog.

Follow up to blog dated 6th January 2010.

Diary dated February 1985.
Rusty, aged sixteen, settled into his new home. Amazingly young in spirit, Rusty courted many female dogs in his new area, alas with little success. I doubt he was ever sexually fulfilled in his entire life, but he was still trying to rid himself of his virginity well past nineteen.

One weekend a large, black, Labrador-cross walked into our house. Rusty, at eighteen, was beside himself with lust or love. For a complete evening he pursued the object of his desire round and round and round the house. Several times the Christmas tree toppled over as he fought vainly to corner the black stranger. Furniture was upturned, tempers became frayed. Only morning and the return of the stray to her own home brought relief. Rusty was nothing if not persistent.

When Rusty first arrived in our household, a scruffy, neglected dog his behaviour was at times bizarre. Particularly strange were his eating habits. We watched in disbelief as he dealt with plates piled high with food. Making no attempt to eat the food, Rusty would propel the plate, pushing, pulling until the plate and its contents nestled in some corner of a room. Not finished, Rusty would search for any items capable of covering the plate and food. Rugs, carpets, newspapers were favourite. Rusty patiently dragged his choice into position until little if anything could be seen. We watched, mesmerised by such behaviour, puzzled by at such strange antics. As time went by, Rusty's strange behaviour lessened, until at last his mealtimes became normal. And the reason for this aberration?

Presumably Rusty was storing food for later consumption. We can only assume that the poor old dog was doubtful, due to past experience, that more food would be forthcoming. In his own way he was making sure that he would not starve in future! If this is the reason (such behaviour could of course be instinctive) one can only marvel that Rusty did not become completely unbalanced rather than somewhat eccentric. (If animals can be classed as eccentric.)

Day by day Rusty settled in. His lively behaviour suggested he was living life to the full, albeit a little late. He would chase a ball with great gusto. Though in later years still, he depended on the bounce of the ball to tell him its direction, being able to hear more than he could see. Not that his old ears were exactly reliable at this stage either. Out of range on a crowded beach or promenade (Rusty 'camped' with us three successive years aged seventeen, eighteen and nineteen at Cromer in Norfolk) he would trot determinedly away from our shouts of despair bordering on rage. Nothing would turn him, the only thing to do was to head him off, a difficult task for a 'forty year plus 'semi cripple'. (Written in 1985, remember, when cripple was not the non PC word it is today.) He would often cover several hundred yards with me sweating and cursing in pursuit. 'Collared', literally, he would feign surprise, his cloudy eyes expressing a look that asked, 'Good heavens, am I really going the wrong way?'

Somewhat of a liability, Rusty both amused and alarmed. Attempting to urinate up every tent on a campsite, given the chance was amusing providing we got there in time. Not remotely funny was his indifference to traffic, especially on his courting forays. He was in fact hit seriously early in his life, a second collision with a motor at seventeen years of age would have finished most dogs.

Never the most debonair of dogs, he was idolised by his adopted family (us). Local children grew to love him, though his ever increasing left knacker was a constant source of curiosity. Adults he adored, children over four he tolerated, children under four or thereabouts he mistrusted. Poking fingers he feared and detested, failing eyes made these difficult to avoid. Consequently small children were made to keep their distance by bared teeth and a quiet but authoritative growl that suggested outstretched fingers were not welcome. Cantankerous he could be (woe betide anyone who moved beneath the sheets whilst Rusty lay on the bed,) dangerous or vicious he was not.