Kevin Page: Fine tuning plans to be the 'Coolest Granddad'

George the Dog is perfect for the task I offered him. I say offered but in truth he really didn't have much choice, writes Northern Advocate columnist Kevin Page. Photo / Getty Images

This coming weekend I'm on Granddad duty so I've been getting in some practise. On my dog.

I should perhaps explain that while Banker Boy's little cherub is rapidly closing in on her second birthday, a mixture of circumstances and geographical limitations have meant opportunities to stake my claim as the Coolest Granddad in the World have been somewhat few and far between.

But I am trying to ensure I am prepared for the task ahead. And that's where George the Dog comes in.

He is of similar size to little Amelie (that's Amelie with an 'e' not Amelia with an 'a' dear reader; French don't you know) and equal in terms of boisterousness and curiosity.

Dare I say it, but at the risk of sounding weird, he's perfect for the task I have offered him. I say offered but in truth he really didn't have much choice.

And my use of the word "weird" previously would most likely also explain what he thinks about my behaviour over the last week or so.

Let me explain.

This week as I've fed him I've taken to counting out his biscuits like that Sesame Street song from my childhood. You know the one. "One, two, three ... four, five, six ... seven, eight, nine ... 10, 11, 12 ladybugs came ... to the ladybugs picnic."

A quick aside here. Any of you youngies reading this and seeing your elders smirking and singing along just relax. They haven't lost their marbles. It's an oldies thing. Just look up Sesame Street on your phone thing.

Anyway.

So George gets fed and sung to. A lot actually.

The other day down at the park I swear he was talking to his mates about me, just after they'd sniffed each others backsides. Obviously.

"You won't believe what the silly sod is doing now. He's got me playing bloody hide and seek behind the chair! Does he not know I can see his big bum sticking out the other end?"

But I don't really care.

I know Amelie's giggles will be well worth any embarrassment when the time comes. And I'm pretty sure she won't be telling her mates down at the park what a dickhead I am. Or sniffing their backsides for that matter.

Besides, I've got one super cool granddad trick up my sleeve. I'm sure I'm not alone in this one. You may have even tried it yourself.

I'm referring of course to the Granddad Horse.

Again, I've been practising with George. It took a little coaxing but eventually we've got to the stage where I get down get on all fours and he dutifully jumps aboard.

It's entirely possible he's just doing it to stop me pestering him. In fact, Mrs P says he basically sits up there quietly with a "oh for heaven's sake ... " expression.

I can't see him obviously because I am concentrating on keeping a smooth, steady gait around the lounge without dislodging him and saying silly Granddad stuff like "giddyup horsey".

So if I haven't caught sight of George's bored chops lately there is one expression I have seen lately which will stick with me.

It was that of our friendly little Indian courier driver who was standing at the front door the other day talking to Mrs P while I was trotting round the lounge on all fours with a bored dog perched on my back.

"Don't mind me," I called out. 'I'm just playing with my granddaughter".

■ Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz