Did you know that dogs, probably most of them, can read the road? Eddie could lean like a motorcycle rider on a curved road.d
I supposed it was a natural response to physical pressure of weighting to the left or right. This intrigued me enough to make an experiment to understand if the dog actually could read the road or simply responded to centrifugal forces.
On my route to town was a right-hand bend that passed over an old wooden bridge. There was also an old dirt section that went straight ahead bypassing the bridge.
To this day I carry guilt for that experiment of deception.
As it happens, most dogs can read the road, farmer’s dogs that ride on the fuel tanks of motorbikes are proof of that. As I approached that bend, however, I accelerated toward the bridge, that seemed to agitate Eddie, as though he knew we were going too fast to make the corner.
I was looking for a video of a dog on a motorbike with a farmer but stumbled on this one. Enjoy! Monty
Nevertheless, he adopted a steeper than normal cant to starboard in anticipation. At the very last second I took the dirt section straight ahead and Eddie’s lunge for the high-speed corner that did not happen caused him to fly from his seat and up against the door. If he could only swear!
But Eddie had another peculiar talent and that was to fart on command.
Now, I do agree that to use such words may not invoke rollicking laughter from all. However, Englishman and Hollywood actor David Niven in his interesting autobiography, The Moon is a Balloon did just that in his account of his boarding school days when attending the school chapel for Sunday supplications.
If memory serves, the organist was older than the Renatus Harris organ in St Botolph’s Aldgate which dates back to 1744 and may account for the frequent, off-key and out of place trills and squawks that resonated through the ceremony. Niven’s mischievous young cohorts at the back of the church would try to effect a tonal harmony by matching bursts of flatulence to the organ’s fractured quavers.
A noticeable unrest would ripple through the congregation in a mixture of disparaging sighs and muffled sniggering. That would highlight a perfect echo in the nave, combined with naughty lad’s “toot” the organist’s fumble would invoke raucous laughter whereupon those lads accompanied by a parent or guardian copped a swift clip across the ears. It’s ironic that whoopee cushions are still a favourite party joke.
But Eddie’s warbles and blurts became a must-do trick at all my customer visits. Dogs that shake hands, roll over and play dead are boring compared to the naughty Eddie. “Make him do it, make Eddie fart,” was a customer demand before any business transaction would begin. Never was there a solo audience as secretaries and other staff would mill around my van for the main event.
Eddie sat on his perch between the two front seats, his head swinging back and forth enjoying the crowd’s attention. Like an old pommy spruiker I would begin the show after requesting complete silence. After all, just how loud can a small dog’s fart be?
“Eddie.” I would call to get his attention. “Do you like Pal dog food in the can?” Eddie was on centre-stage and he knew it and loved it. But no response! This time with all hushed I would mix words for effect. “Eddie, tell me what you think about dog food from a can, do you like it, tell our friends what Pal make you do, tell them Eddie?”
Sometimes Eddie’s head would lean to one side quizzically, like dogs do when they are really listening and then for the pleasure of his eager audience, Eddie would let go a rumbling fart that would shame a drunken sot to which the audience would erupt with laughter and dismay—even applause!
“Make him do it again, make him do it again,” was always the way. Not ready to push my, or Eddie’s luck I had a pat answer. “Hey, come on now, how much wind do think a small dog has—he’s empty—deflated?” With that accepted all would return to work mumbling that Eddie should be on television or something.
To this day I never exposed how and why Eddie could fart on command. The idea probably came from the whoopee cushion that I bought from my weekly allowance as a kid and would hide it under Mother’s sofa seat waiting for one of her friends to fall prey of it. In the end and after all the false indignation and the laughter subsided I would be sent to my room as punishment, even though I knew she was laughing like hell inside.
That naughty “fart” ruse came to me when I was in an electronics shop and saw one of those electronic farting devices, a small speaker and an even smaller sender. That clever device, a big seller that they were, could be switched to cause varying degrees of “tooting.” The speaker, of course, was hidden under Eddies seat cushion and the sender in my pocket. I couldn’t have gotten away with such fraud on television.
More next week....
Chaucer
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