Taking Stock - May 11, 2015

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We Brits do, as a general rule, love our dogs. Forgive my sweeping generalisation, when it comes to pets I tend to go slightly soft in the head.

And I’ve always had my feet firmly planted in the dog camp.

I suspect I may incur the wrath of a great many readers, not to mention a good friend who is often telling tales of his feline friend, but I just don’t trust cats.

I’ve always suspected that the loving relationship is very much based on a steady supply of food, and that when you’re out at work, they’re mooching about the neighbourhood looking for a better offer.

I know where my daft dog is when I’m at work –- the Spaniel shaped impression in my bed when I get home is a big clue.

But I don’t mind, I’ m a big softy when it comes to such matters – even if it means relinquishing the sofa at the back end of most evenings and spending countless hours whacking a tennis ball across the local playing fields with an old cricket bat.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares such affection for our four-legged friends, as I found out on a recent trip out.

I’ve always been a responsible dog owner and I pick up any mess,

I also make sure I know the bylaws for the fantastic green spaces we have here on the Fylde coast.

So imagine my surprise when a council worker approached me last week, demanding to know why my dog wasn’t on a lead.

He insisted there were signs on the bins – I marched him across the field to prove otherwise, carrying on to the gates where the sign clearly indicated the only rule was to keep her off the sports pitches.

Tut the ill-informed jobsworth-like attitude was most unwelcome.

As far as I’m concerned, for a nation of dog lovers we have far too many parks and green spaces where, thanks to local authorities desiring an easy life, exercising your mutt is off the agenda. Let’s not make the ones we have left an unwelcome place to play.