Finding a suitable mate

OFF BEAT/ I have opposed arranged marriages all along - for humans and animals

Just as babies and toddlers can do no wrong, he also couldn't, notwithstanding the fact that he relieved himself whenever he felt like and gently moaned through the night, missing the warmth of his mother's underbelly.

The moaning earned him the name Coocoo, or Coco, used interchangeably, quite appropriate for a dog born with an identity problem.

His mother was a dachshund and his father a spaniel, or was it the other way around? They should not have gone round together, but dogs will never learn.

Eventually, when Coco and his siblings arrived, it was not difficult for us, a first time dog-owning family, to get one of the litter because veteran dog lovers who lay great store by pedigree were not interested.

The Creator, having given him a doubtful beginning, decided to make amends by making a handsome dog out of him. He soon developed the superb coat of a dachshund and the drooping ears of a spaniel.

This, coupled with his jet black coat made him a hit with vets, who often asked why we didn't "show" him. It was news to me that dog shows admitted dogs with doubtful antecedents.

I was not so keen on bringing up an excessively well behaved dog who would conduct himself with the correct deportment needed at a dog show. I particularly disliked those who made their pets perform tricks before visitors.

Coco's personality was more that of the dachshund (he was sprightly, noisy and clever as hell) and the large charts at the vet's said that made him a hunting dog.

An over-domesticated hunting dog was a contradiction in terms. All he needed to do was to be faithful and loyal and love our company, which he did to a fault.

This accentuated the many ideological differences I had with my wife. Her idea of a good pet was one that was always well behaved, which Coco wasn't. Like one day when he climbed up the chair onto the dining table and finished all the fish (not the vegetables) that had been left carefully covered for the children to lunch on after returning from school.

More serious was the day when he ran down from the terrace with a dead pigeon in his mouth and laid it at the foot of my wife. She howled and declared she would have nothing to do with this horrible creature that killed a bird. I failed to convince her that he had done what a hunting dog was supposed to do and laid the kill at her feet so that she could be proud of him.

My letting Coco be more or less as the Creator has made him has had its most serious impact on his personal life. He has developed the habit of jumping over the gate or through any opening in the fence (being slightly built helps greatly) every time a girl dog in the mood for company prowls the neighbourhood.

I am quite happy to let him go like this once in a while and see him return looking contented. But my wife is outraged. How can you let him loose among filthy street dogs and allow him to bring home all kinds of infections and diseases, she asks. My protests that we bathe him regularly and he is fully covered by every kind of anticipatory shot does not impress her.

Her biggest grouse is that I will neither get him neutered, which will make him more docile and prevent him from jumping over the wall, nor arrange for him to be mated. My reply that I hate arranged marriages, which she should know from the history of our courtship, only gets her more mad over my poor sense of humour.

As for neutering, my argument that I didn't believe in changing the natural order of things only makes her retort that I can go to great lengths to rationalise my lack of initiative.

I have not tried to get Coco mated for two serious reasons. There are some who let their dogs loose during morning walks in places where other dogs come for their morning walk.

I fear that with his doubtful pedigree, he will get mixed up with the wrong kind of ladylike pedigreed dog and then I will  have to face the ire of the owner.

The other way, of course, is to take the help of the vet, which I avoided doing for long, since I know it will be quite difficult to find another specimen of the opposite sex whose parents of similar breed have been similarly indiscreet.

While I am inclined to be indulgent over one set of indiscretions, I do not really want our dog to father a set of mongrels that have God knows how many breeds in them.

The point was driven home the other day when during my morning walk I spotted another black dog just like our Coco happily trotting along by the master. I ran up and excitedly asked him if his pet was also a cross between a dachshund and a spaniel.

No, he said, the parents are dachshund and labrador. It's a very friendly dog, said the proud owner, as the tail wagged furious to say hello to my hello. I know, I said, so is ours, only the mixed breed is wrong.

I will never know if Coco proved himself a man on some of the many occasions he jumped over the wall. Once, of course, he came back severely beaten up by the street dogs' fraternity for seeking to play the fool with their women. It will be a shame if a handsome fellow like him with such strong fighting instincts doesn't do all the things a male ought to do. And he is eight years old and not getting any younger.

So, at last, recently I did what my wife has been urging me to do all along to do "" leave his particulars with the vet. If that doesn't work then I will do the ultimate, put a matrimonial ad in the papers for a suitable girl dog for a fellow whose waywardness is in his genes and who has a shiny black coat and a heart of gold.