My best ever job (an essay on the joys of mistreating animals)

Let me tell you about the job I enjoyed most. I worked at garden centre in Finchley (long gone and replaced by a housing development) for a couple of months in the early 1980's. During the "growing season" they would employ a few extra hands to help with loadings and deliveries. There were many reasons I loved the job. I was out all day in the open air. It was strenuous physical work which I enjoyed (loadiing and unloading bags of peat, compost etc). Dealing with the customers was fun (most gardeners are lovely people). There was also a rather attractive blond called Susan who worked there who I was rather keen on. Whilst that was clearly the best part of the job, a close second was the guard dog. When I turned up, there was a compound at the end of the yard, almost hidden from customers, with a large German Sheppard dog called Winston. If anyone approached the dog, he'd go completely bonkers. One of the owners used to exercise him on a daily basis and this process started with the owner tooling up. This involved putting on protective clothing and carrying a large stick. The last job of the day was to let Winston out so he could roam the place and eat any intruders. The first job of the day was to get him back in his pen. Being a dog lover, I was rather upset when I approached this huge dog and he went bonkers. He clearly wasn't pleased to see me. A quick enquiry of the owners told me "He's psychotic, he's not a normal dog, but he's a great guard dog, stay well away".

Well, I've never been one for doing what I was told. Every day I'd bring a selection of tasty treats in for Winston and at various times nip along to his pen and give him something. After a couple of days, he'd see me and bark in a friendly manner, wagging his tail. The owner, who had been bitten several times by Winston, noticed and said "You can take him for his walk if you like". As this meant an hour of doing nothing except walking a dog, chatting to other dog walkers in the park and having a crafty smoke on the job, it seemed like a great idea. I'd always have a pocket full of bits of bacon rind, old sausages, etc which ensured total obedience. After a couple of weeks, I decided to see if Winston could be trained. It turned out that this psychotic monster was highly intelligent. Not only could he sit, I trained him to jump over benches, retrieve things I'd hidden and all sort of other things.

One of the worst problems I had with him was that as soon as he saw another dog, he went bonkers. As he was probably the largest German Sheppard I've ever seen, this presented a problem. The owner who walked him dealt with him by clubbing him with a stick (and then Winston would bite him, if he could). As I thought about this, I realised that every time he saw another dog, he realised the owner was anxious. As a result, he got anxious and went bonkers.He then got clobbered so he got angry. How do you fix this problem. You take the stress out of the situation for the dog. It took a week, but he got the idea. As his social problems diminished, I started to get to know some of the other dog owners (mostly attractive young mums). They told me how they would not buy from the nursery as the owner was so mean to the dog.

After I'd been working there for about three months, something happened. By this time, I'd let Winston off the lead and throw sticks for him. He was the perfect dog. One of the other dog walkers was an extremely attractive young woman, who asked me if I fancied a coffee. It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. The two dogs were happy playing. Anyway, rather than the usual hours walk, I ended up being gone for two hours. As I returned, the management team were looking highly anxious. Where had I gone? What had the dog done? I'd already prepared my cover story.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Winston slipped his lead and it took me an hour to get him back". The owner started screaming at me that I was an idiot and that he had to be controlled at all times. He then said "I hope you gave him a good hiding when you caught him". As he said this, he waved the stick at me. Winston was none too impressed and bit him. I immediately pulled Winston off and made him sit. The owner then started hitting him with the stick (even though he was now passive). I screamed "Leave the dog alone". At which he sacked me on the spot (Just for the avoidance of doubt, the owner wasn't Brian, who was the manager and later bought the business and is a lovely bloke).

I felt terrible. I toyed with the idea of stealing the dog but I had nowhere to keep him. I felt like I'd betrayed him. A couple of years later I was talking to someone in a pub about guard dogs. They told me that the best way to train a guard dog is to get someone they don't know to creep up on them when they are asleep and beat them with bamboo sticks. Apparently this makes them aggressive towards anyone who creeps around who they don't know.

At the time I was a teenager. I went home and told my folks I'd been sacked. My Dad asked "what for". I told him that I'd told the owner to stop beating the dog. The old man asked why he was beating the dog and I said "Because the dog bit him". The old man asked why the dog bit him and I explained what happened. The old man thought it was hilarious. He said "He must have been chuffed, he's been paying you to look after his dog and you trained it to bite him". It confirmed my Dads opinion that I was a complete idiot. As I got older I've realised that many of my dad's judgements about me at the time were spot on. I must say that this was one judgement one which I think I'll always disagree.

I don't think it's ever right to beat dogs and I think that if you do you deserve to get bitten.