Norbert and Rudi: Breakfast in Berlin

“I’m most terribly sorry but I think my Border Collie has just eaten your Miniature Pinscher.”

I was trying to work out the best translation to use in response to the rather disturbing predicament occurring at my feet. The owner of the tiny mutt was standing a few feet away seemingly in deep thought waiting for the usual doggie formalities of bum sniffing to end. His gaze was pointing away from my position and so I had a little time in which to prepare a reply to what would be a thunderous reception, no doubt.

“Gosh, maybe I could interest you in free English lessons? How about that? As many as you want.”

On the off chance that he was an understanding fellow, I thought that offering him my teaching services for free would be a cunning shock diluter. On further observation though, I decided that probably wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t look the appreciative type.

“Excuse me, I think I saw your dog running after the Terrier over there.”

Now that could have worked but for two things. Firstly, I couldn’t see a Terrier, or any other dog nearby. Secondly, I was sure that a dog of that miniature size couldn’t have run further than 10 metres without collapsing in exhaustion. Time was running out.

This incident occurred a few weeks ago when I was walking the neighbours dog, Molly. I had agreed to look after the good natured Border Collie whilst the family were away on holiday. She was very well trained and charming company so it had been no problem at all.

One fine morning, Molly and I had encountered another pair of early risers in the shape of a burly man and his extremely tiny Pinscher. As is the custom, we let our canine partners explore the finer parts of each others anatomy, preferring ourselves, in the meantime, to give each other a slight nod of the head and a smile. He had then walked slowly forwards, halting a few feet away, looking towards a distant tree.

At first I thought the little dog was underneath Molly somewhere and that it would happily sprint away within a few seconds. When this didn’t transpire, I asked Molly where it had gone. Well, she looked up and there was the answer, two little hind legs disappearing into her mouth. There was no sound, no little squeaks or yelps, just a couple of mundane Collie coughs. Her eyes were as innocent as the day was young.

I looked from Molly to the big chap nearby. He was a muscular man, tall and obviously well accustomed to manual labour. He was in his 50’s, balding but with a good covering of black hair to the sides. Apart from the brief watered smile upon meeting, his face held the expression of mild dissatisfaction. Perhaps he was an ex-boxer and needed a good work-out to relieve excess tension. His ears did indeed look rather cauliflowered.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave it in the park?”

It had been a good ten seconds since he had been standing there, he was bound to turn back within moments. I thought about what car owners do when they have minor accidents, swapping their details and paying for any damage inflicted if at fault. Naturally I wouldn’t have to fork out anything, it wasn’t my dog, I was just the...walker. “Oh dear!”

It was then a rather strange thing happened. It wasn’t only bizarre but a life saver in many regards. Dear Molly suddenly coughed up the little bugger, just like a cat sicks up a fur ball. It popped out, head first and landed with a thud on the pavement. With a tiny bark and brief all body shake, it got to it’s feet and trundled off, slightly bewildered. The owner then looked around and issued an order for the little Pincher to come to heel, which it did. It seemed to be fine, a little damp around the edges but that could be blamed on the excitement. They walked away.

On later retrospection I couldn’t quite decide whether the claws had gone down the wrong way or if Molly had purely been unable to find the little pup’s arse and had opted for a good swilling instead, without ever intending to actually consume. Whatever the reason, I was heartily relieved.

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Norbert and his little Miniature Pincher, Rudi, had an antagonistic relationship. The little dog was a source of constant embarrassment to the former bricklayer and amateur boxer who prided himself on his masculinity. His wife had recently insisted that he take Rudi for walks in the morning after her arthritis had became a problem. Forever hoping that by keeping the mutt off the leash, it would fall down a drain or be eaten by a Doberman, he was constantly being disappointed when it was still around upon reaching home.
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