The West Highland White Terrier is by nature deemed to be a friendly breed.
Definition: "Good companion dog, good with children, cheerful, playful and full of fun. A Westie makes a loyal and faithful pet".
I look at my canine friend with wonderment, trying to fathom where the definition and reality come together. For much of the time this little bundle of Scottish white fluff, measuring not more than 9 inches from top to bottom can be found nuzzling like a baby under my arm, wet nose occasionally nudging to be pet, letting me know she is there. So far so good.
In an unnervingly 'not quite the definition' kind of experience, however, there are three daily occasions when this little lady becomes full blown werewolf.
Occasion 1: Walkies
At the first sight of a handsome red leather lead, adorned with more than a sprinkle of glittering diamonte, especially for the cutesie pie dog, this Westie metemorphasizes into Rottweiler. A frenzy ensues during which flashes of red leather fly around in an episode of crazy, mouth frothing activity and piercingly unidentifiable noises are emitted from this apparently now rabied dog. Lead placed firmly between Westie teeth. Owner and ownee become interchangeable. Who is taking who for the walk here? OK, so I put this down to excitement. I know that when we actually arrive out of doors, that the battle will cease........except when Occasion 1 quickly moves along to Occasion 2.
Occasion 2: Shoe fetish
During which the subsequent and slightly more alarming canine behaviour shows itself. Believe me, the shoe fetish is not limited to being a human anomaly. Within a few blessedly peaceful seconds of the (under normal circumstances) soothing and, often therapeutic, dog walk, whilst lulled into a false sense of security that dog and owner are trotting in unison, the battle begins again. With a quick turn of those dainty doggy heels, the focus of the beast becomes shoes. Predominantly mine, but indeed any shoes that also happen to be walking by. An onlooker would surely think that this dog has indeed gone barking mad. In a feeble attempt to curtail an ugly, frenzied attack on my favourite sparkly treads, I try to implement a good dose of canine behaviour therapy. After a lot of tugging and pulling, it would appear that the beast becomes tamed. For now. Equilibrium is restored: The role of owner and ownee is correct. I am the leader. Me. All is as it should be...... until time for bed.
Occasion 3: Bedtime
In a bizarre, but religious nightly ceremony, the werewolf rears its head for the final time before sleep. As doors are locked and the lights switched off, a dark, hard, fixed glare appears where big soft brown eyes once were. The infamous Westie "smile" disappears, replaced by the bearing of little, but lethal, 'ready to tear apart teeth'. The target? My old, comfortable, pink foot attire - yes - slippers. And so the battle recommences.
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