Introducing Marty the Brittany Spaniel

I've always thought people fall into two categories - dog people and cat people.

I've always placed myself in the latter category and not just because I spend most of my life putting out fires with gasoline.

Cats are cool and self sufficient. Dogs are yappy and annoying. The last dog foisted on me, Yoda, a neurotic Chihuahua, was a nervous and extremely yappy, snappy man hater who would cozy up to women and go crazy when men entered the room.

I used to have this odd recurring dream that Yoda was a football but best stop before PETA stages a naked protest on the front yard. Yoda died and you can read about his demise if you trawl through the bowels of this blog, not something I'd recommend anyone does lightly.

Now I find myself the partial owner another dog after Marty, a Brittany Spaniel pup was given to us. At least he's from sort of British/French descent which was a plus in my book.

I was rather reticent about the whole spaniel thing, recalling vague memories of a friend who had one that would jump on me and slobber on my pants (as ya do). Indeed the fear of Slobber Dog became so great I gave up visiting. They were also dull friends.

Marty is a bit hyperactive and I recently found myself cursing a lot when I took him for a walk around the reservoir when he kept getting under foot.

But I do find myself thinking he's rather cute, even if he has that unpleasant, nose curling dog smell about him which I'm told is typical of dogs and the once pleasant back garden is now a minefield of puppy poo. He also has a disconcerting knack of delivering dissected slivers of squirrel on the doorstep, testimony to his breed's efficacy for hunting, although I can't believe he has actually killed them himself.

For all his downsides the boy seems to have a rather friendly temperament, shows no sign of being a yappy  man hater and is rather partial to a tummy tickle. Say no more.