Defending my crown

I have been getting the impression lately that gang members are becoming somewhat impatient with my insistence on always being right. There could be a mini-revolt in the air.

I believe it is being driven by Percy the Chorkie – a mix of Yorkshire Terrier and Chihuahua. I have always been of the opinion that there was nothing to fear from these hybrids – I often refer to them in private as Half Brains. Half of this breed and a quarter of that with a final quarter of who knows what, does not bring out the best in canine character. Percy was invited into the gang because I believed he posed no threat to my rule.

Now I am beginning to have second thoughts. How else can his sudden change be explained? He came in as a most docile creature, happy to do as I ordered and seemingly not bothered about his position in the gang’s hierarchy which, let’s face it, was bottom of the pile.

He has now become argumentative. At the last meeting I suggested that gang members should meet at least twice a week in the same barn we have been using for years. A quiet spot well out of sight from prying human eyes, it is warm in the winter and cool when we get those isolated warm days in July. Plenty of draughts as the woodwork is far gone, but that does not matter when hair as thick as ours is the order of the day.

Percy’s view was that it failed to meet the minimum standards expected by the gang. We should find a new venue, he droned. Anyway, twice a week was too often. He wanted to gather once a fortnight as, he claimed, there was nothing new or interesting to discuss at more frequent meetings.

I took this as a bid to usurp my power and found some forceful arguments against his opinion on where and when we should meet.

The last thing I wanted was a long discussion and a vote when my authority was being challenged.

I have often heard the Vet advise his close friends, some of whom were on the parish council, that the way to destroy opposition was through telling a few porkies. Never mind the rights and wrongs of the argument, just lay into them with hints of  money misappropriations, planning application shenanigans or accepting bribes. Nothing too accurate, so there were no legal comebacks or court cases. Judicious phrasing would do the job, he claimed.

Works every time, said the Vet, who has never served in any public office and had no idea what he was talking about.

Of course his listeners completely ignored his advice and went behind his back telling everyone he was losing his grip. Always good for a laugh in the pub providing the Vet was not in earshot.

My problem was how to adapt his stupid advice to my situation.

I decided on ridicule.

Hybrids were not really dogs in our image, I told the assembled gang. They were not accepted by the Kennel Club or other high-class shows, they had no people prepared to speak up for them and their intelligence was suspect.

That should do it, I thought, and watched as the gang slowly nodded in agreement. Not one came to Chorkie’s defence and he left the barn with head bowed and tail in the drooping position.

Rational and (almost) truthful argument won the day again. I’m still in charge.