July 2014

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PARTING SHOT
320 July14
H e r e ’ s
y o u r
c h a n c e
t o g e t
p u b l i s h e d
– and make
some money at the same
time. We’re looking for 500-
word written contributions on
any funny, poignant, practical
or even controversial topic
that touches on expat life in
Singapore. Simply email your
stories in a Word document to
d
we’ll consider them for inclusion
in an upcoming issue.
Iam watching a dog do a handstand
on a stool, the diameter of which is
so small I doubt that I could sit on
it comfortably. But this is not the
circus, or Singapore’s Got Talent. This
is Lee, the collie, doing a demonstration
for us during our weekly dog training
class.
Surrounding me is a group of owners,
leashed dogs at their sides, all of them
thinking the same thing: “I will never get
my dog to do that.” The trainer knows
it too, as he instructs us to get back to
our more mundane exercise: teaching
our dogs to circle right. With slumped
shoulders, we begin.
Our lesson takes place in a room
littered with more trophies and medals
than I can count on our collective
hands and paws. They have been won
by handstanding Lee who, throughout
each lesson, sits on a chair fixing us with
a steely gaze. If he could talk, you know
he’d be muttering, “idiots, idiots, idiots”.
Today there are old friends and
newcomers in the class. Most of the
dogs are small toy breeds that have
been carried into the room in their
owners’ arms, the outside world too dirty
for their delicate paws.
As it is impossible for me to carry my
large, multi-breed dog into class without
putting my back out, Conker has to
rough it on the pavements. We make
up for our scruffiness by positioning
ourselves where we can shine. I grab a
stool between the out-of-control trio of
miniature poodles and the yellow-eyed
dachshund, Mimi, who has an abject
hatred for everything human or dog.
Mimi also has an abject hatred for
training. Her owner tells me she has
been coming to the class for two years,
yet she still refuses to do anything apart
from bite passing ankles. Ten minutes
into training, she is lying on her back on
her owner’s lap having a stomach rub.
He is most apologetic, but, “She had a
tiring day yesterday,” or “She’s just had
her breakfast,” or “She’s not feeling well
today.” Mimi is never going to graduate.
The oodles of poodles are banished
to the corner to do basics. I see one of
them squatting down to expel a poo,
which the owner tries to surreptitiously
sweep up. Nearby are two beefy
bulldogs who are so ponderous that by
the time they have done one circle we
have all moved on to the next task. I keep
my distance from the world’s largest
Alsatian, who is attached to the world’s
smallest owner. Last week, this same
dog decided to take a short cut through
my legs only to stop, snarling, with me
perched on top of him. My desperate
scream caught the trainer’s attention
just before Conker decided to defend
my honour. It’s not an exaggeration
to say that my life had started to flash
before my eyes.
One hour later, the lesson is over.
No one has mastered the handstand.
However, as we are leaving, the trainer
tells me that Conker is “very bright”. I
feel absurdly proud until I catch the
collie’s eye. He fixes me with his stare,
shakes his head and starts to raise his
back leg.
By Rebecca Byrne
for Thought