This is the best and worst thing about owning a dog

Dogs often feel like members of our family, but there is a double-edged sword when it comes to our furry friends.

Max Futcher's much-loved dog Mintie with her family.

Some dogs are smart. My dog is not. I wouldn’t say she’s as dumb as Shane Webcke’s dog. He ate a large rock the other day (the dog, not Webby) and needed expensive surgery. So, she’s not Webcke-dog dumb, but not much better.

We got our dog when she was five years old. I don’t know what happened at her previous home, but we inherited the most illogical, moody and disobedient muppet.

She loves my wife. Wherever my wife goes in the house, Mintie will follow like a shadow. If she is hanging the washing, Mintie is next to the laundry basket. If my wife is in the bathroom, the dog is at the door. If the bedroom door is closed while my wife has an afternoon nap, Mintie will sit with her nose almost touching the door, just staring, as if willing it to open and her beloved mother to emerge.

This is all very cute, until it gets ridiculous.

Mintie will sit in the pouring rain, watching the driveway for my wife to get home from work.

She goes through stages where she’ll dig under the fence and escape, only to go to the front doormat and wait.

I know this because I got an alert on my phone from the security cameras, showing the annoying hound loose in the front yard.

She has always been terribly anxious. We got a dog psychologist a few years ago, but after some expensive bills they found her unfixable and basically said “good luck”. She was on doggy Prozac for a while, but it didn’t help.

Mintie hates the car. She will usually vomit before we reach the end of the street so a trip to the coast involves giving her a Valium and a travel-sick tablet.

Max Futcher's much-loved dog Mintie.

But Mintie refuses to eat tablets, so the next step involves me wrestling the dog on the ground, pulling her jaws open so my wife can poke the tablets down her throat. It feels cruel, but it’s either that, or dog chunder from here to Noosa.

I often see other dogs in traffic, head out the window, tongue flapping, living their best dog life, while Mintie lies drooling on the back seat, stoned on Valium.

Mintie is getting older now. She can still get excited and leap about when my wife gets home, or when we say that magic word: WALK! But she’s getting noticeably stiff from arthritis. Even though most of her teeth have rotted and been removed, she’s as feisty as any dog I know.

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We can’t take her to dog parks, and even a simple walk involves a constant thousand-yard stare, looking out for other dogs. If Mintie sees another dog, she transforms into Cujo.

She is less than a foot tall, weighs about four kilos and has almost no teeth, but there is no dog she won’t fight. She will lunge at rottweilers, snap at bull terriers and bark hideously at german shepherds, limited only by the short lead.

She tolerates me. She is ambivalent towards our oldest daughter but is locked in a struggle with our youngest daughter to not be the runt of the litter. The problem is my youngest loves her the most.

Max Futcher's much-loved dog Mintie.

If she crouches low and baby talks to Mintie, the dog will growl, as if to say, “Don’t even think about patting me. You and I are the two smallest members of this family, and I’ll be damned if I’m last in the pecking order, so back off sister.”

Mintie sleeps on the couch and beds until I yell at her to get off. Mintie sometimes poos and micturates on the carpet for no reason. Mintie will get into an open dishwasher to lick the plates. Mintie is starting to smell in her old age, no matter how much we wash her.

Mintie also sleeps on her back in her little bed, legs akimbo, and talks in her sleep. She also snores a bit which is extremely funny and cute.

She absolutely adores us, and my kids are utterly in love with her.

I think my wife lets her sleep on my side of the bed when I’m away. She denies it, but I suspect it’s true.

When my family is away, and I’m home alone, Mintie curls up at my feet and watches me as I watch TV, and we both often fall asleep like that.

Mintie doesn’t play fetch. She would never even pick up a ball or a stick. She won’t shake
your hand, and if she doesn’t know you, I fear she might try to bite you (although again, there are no teeth).

She hasn’t been able to figure the world out, but one day soon, I know she’s going to leave us. We will be devastated, despite all her flaws. Until then, we’d better get busy spoiling her.

“Now, Mintie! Walk!?”

Originally published as This is the best and worst thing about owning a dog