Kevin Page: Turning adults into pup pets

Mrs P and I have recently become parents again.

While we both remain trim, taut and terrific with boundless enthusiasm - she for shopping at Briscoes, me for building storage to take the new purchases - neither of us was prepared for raising another nipper after doing it four times already.

The biggest problem we faced initially has been finding a suitable name. We settled on George. It seems to go with his long floppy ears and butter-wouldn't-melt facial expressions. George, of course, is a puppy gifted to us. He has taken over our lives.

As I write this George is stretched out under my desk laying ON my feet. Not beside them, you understand, but on them. He either has no sense of smell, or he simply can't bear to be parted from us. I'm picking it's the latter.

Dr Google tells me George does this because he regards me as the leader of the pack. Apparently George's actions will often ape those of the leader.

I am somewhat confused by this. Never have I welcomed friends to my house by sniffing their crotch or licking their face as George does.

Anyway, I'm not entirely unhappy with being labelled leader of the pack. I've always fancied myself in that mould. A rough, tough man of the land, striding out in all weather with my faithful servant alongside ready to do battle with ferocious wolves (unlikely out Eastside I know) knowing full well he might only get a pat on the head as a reward.

To this end George and I set out for a stroll on a remote forestry road recently - me in my best man of the land stubbies and workboots and George in his third new collar, (he chewed the other two apart) with only the increasingly heavy patter of rain on the conifers to keep us company.

It was a good walk. We played games like Chase the Mountainbiker and Eat the Possum Poo. Well, George did.

At the end of it all two sodden and bedraggled characters made it home for a fun wrestle and dry session. Our puppy was in his element. Full of beans.

Then Mrs P arrived home.

George, who normally wets himself with excitement when Mum returns, suddenly decided to be this very coy, lethargic creature. Dr Google was consulted and Mrs P deduced her baby was suffering hypothermia. Within minutes I was branded the villain who had literally dragged this poor, unsuspecting little bundle of fluff out into the ice and snow.

I was made to sit on the naughty chair while George was wrapped in warm blankets with a hot water bottle and then placed on my lap. I drew the line at singing softly to him to keep his spirits up.

If I was going to sing it would be a heavy metal classic befitting my man of the land stature. In the end we reached a satisfactory agreement ... and I hummed Georgie Porgy, pudding and pie. By this stage George was absolutely in his element and warm as toast on my lap while I was getting cramp. The little sod even managed a yawn and a look up at me as if to say: "You absolutely fell for that one Dad". Then he broke wind and went back to dreaming about humping chair legs.

It would be fair to say we are still learning to become "dog people". George is being gentle with us and dog obedience classes are looming. Hopefully he'll let us go.

We are pretty determined that he won't completely rule our lives but there are obviously some times when you just have to drop everything and tend to your pet. Like now. He's just peed on my foot.