Monday, 23 January 2012

Tax breaks for Labrador owners

You're lucky if they are to be found lurching and panting at the end of a leash, hauling their sweat-panted owners behind them. But usually, they are charging around on their hideous little legs, foaming from their over-developed jaws and staring menacingly.
I always suspect that my overwhelming, paralysing fear and hatred of "status dogs" is perhaps misplaced - along with my fear of ladders, motorbikes, parachuting and aircraft.
But when I heard a girl had been mauled in a Chingford park this weekend - just miles from my home - I started to think that perhaps I am right.
When one or more of these beasts comes scampering into view, I have an overwhelming urge to riddle it's stocky little body with a thousand shotgun pellets.
If its owner tells me not to be scared, then promptly kicks the dog, I have an overwhelming desire to take out my Uzi and get going on them too. If an owner kicks the dog it means the dog is preparing its revenge on all of humankind and could lash out any moment.
An then there's running. I've actually attempted to climb a tree when confronted by a fighting dog whilst out for a jog. Somehow, I feel more vulnerable in shorts.
And I used to be such a nice person.
Maybe I should move to the country and get chased by a herd of cows (check!) or butted into the air by a horny old ram (check!)
I know it's hard for the Government to do anything about this - legislation is not something the status dog keeping classes are known to respect - but perhaps a disease could be developed which could quietly kill certain breeds off, like Dutch Elm?
Perhaps there could be tax breaks for Labrador owners? Vets' vouchers for the Springer Spaniel classes? Free food for the first year of life, if you invest in a Collie? The formidable "Staffies Are Lovely" movement, along with the "Mastiffs Are So Gentle" brigade would probably accuse the Government of "dog racism" on Twitter and Cameron would be forced to resign. This is looking like a good plan.
Forgive me God, for the dogs know not what they do, but allow me this moment of fury.

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