Real life | 25 June 2015

Why won’t the middle classes shout at their dogs any more? My suspicion is that the bleeding heart liberals, having succeeded in stopping right-minded people from shouting at their children, have moved on to stopping us from emotionally scarring animals.

The result, of course, is that our four-legged friends are becoming about as unpleasant as your average infant.

The spaniel and I take our lives in our hands every time we venture on to Tooting Common, running the gauntlet of ADHD dogs throwing their weight about as their owners cower in the distance calling politely at them to desist.

These are not dangerous dogs, in any official sense, you understand. I did once see a pit bull being walked by a hoodie. But I have to say, the everyday threat is not from conventional attack dogs, it’s from the pampered pooches owned by people called Larry and Fenella.

I have learned this from painful experience. An Alsatian cross called Max, for example, once jumped me from behind nearly breaking my back. As I screamed for someone to get him off me, the well-spoken owner sauntered over murmuring absent-mindedly: ‘Oh come on now, Max…’ And then he uttered the crowning insult: ‘He does like to play, you see.’

Oh, does he? Well, why on earth didn’t you say so before? Because if he likes to play then I’m happy for him to fracture my spine in three places while attempting to hump me. I mean, what’s not to like?

I had to shake Max off myself in the end and, bent double with pain, tried to make my escape. But Max was having none of it. He jumped on the spaniel and wrestled her to the ground. Cydney likes a good rough and tumble, but she was no match for the Alsatian.