DNA lotto

You shift sixteen tons, and what do you get?

Well, you spend sixty quid, then. On getting your dog’s DNA looked at by some internet charlatans. That’s what the owner of D the Dog’s brother did. Obviously, being bit of a handful runs in the family, because the dog training person (another bunch of charlatans as far as I’m concerned – apologies to any that are genuine, successful and value for money, I think they’re all latter day Barbara Woodhouses, not much practical use (emotionally and socially they fulfil a purpose, paid on performance results they’d not be on minimum wage) and too dogmatic (geddit?) in their approach) said she needed to know the characteristics to determine how to go about training him.

Now, without spending sixty quid, I think I’ve identified bit of a shortcut here. For example, if Labrador DNA suggests food interest and morsels as a training aid, why not try offering morsels of food (at, say, £0.10 a pop) and see how that goes?

Anyway, it seems you pay £60 to play the internet dog bloodline fruit machine, the reels spin, and there’s your random report, nice colour pictures and graphics and all the scientific substance of a toothpaste advert. Look, there’s even double-helix motifs between the generations, can’t get more scientific than that, can you?

On one side, apparently, and despite not looking anything like either, D is half Bouvier des Flandres (stocky giant poodle with gym membership and access to steroids) and half Weimaraner (itself a greyhound / supermodel cross).

On the other side, pure German Spitz (fluffy terrier (you sure about the ‘German’ bit? there's little suggestion of the efficiency and functionality associated with the Germans – this is a vorsprung durch handbag dog if you ask me)) which is about a millionth of the size D has attained at nine months old.

This from the dog trainer BLISS has been to:

1. You must be the most interesting thing for him, if you want his instant interest.
2. You must be the boss not a playmate.

Sorry love. I’m not a dog expert. I’m just a bloke. D the Dog’s a bloke. (1) and (2) are mutually exclusive. Yes, you can be the boss of me, now, (unfortunately we all have people to answer to), but that rules you out of contention for being of the remotest interest, or being anyone I’ll ever gravitate to. Or any bloke (human, canine, whatever) will ever gravitate to.

Another year older and deeper in debt

Thanks a billion (probably several, paid in bonuses) to the bankers and their mates in all parties, all I can see the future bringing is more work, more twelve to fourteen hour days, a brief spell in hospital (not too bad – heart attack (now heart ‘event’ see the New Oxford Politically Correct moron’s dictionary) mild stroke, nervous exhaustion or similar) followed close on the heels by a longer one (cancer, severe heart event, etc) and the popping of the clogs without a day of retirement to enjoy.

I hope you choke on your huge bonuses, your 11% payrise (just this year), and your all-expenses-paid lifestyles. I’ll read the obituaries with glee.