In the sitting room, we have a temperamental floor-standing fan. In order to start it going, we have to press the button, which is quite normal. What is less normal is that we also have to crank up the rotating part by hand. I have vague memories of my Father having to crank the car with a handle to get it started, and this is a similar sort of process. It’s a nuisance, and is all the more irritating if you have to dismantle the cage around the rotating blades every time.  We have no small children around the place, and are only averagely accident-prone, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to remove the cage.

Enter Poppy. Regular readers will know that Poppy, the Dog of Destiny, is beautiful, sweet natured, and has magnificent ears. They may also have worked out that she is not quite the brightest of the bright. The other day, after several weeks of taking no notice of the exposed fan blades, she decided to investigate.

Nose whiffling in the rush of air, she edged forward and stuck her snout in the fan. The sound of the blades smacking her in the chops was quite clear: contact was definitely made. She backed off, slightly bemused. A second or two later, she edged forward and had her nose buffeted again. We were amused, and commented that we hadn’t realised she was daft enough to go for it a second time.

We chuckled in disbelief as she went back for a third time. We hooted with derision at the fourth. How daft can this dog be? We asked each other, in awed tones. Bearing in mind we have watched her panting without opening her mouth, crying as she chews her own leg and getting her tongue stuck to the floor in hot weather, we should not have been as surprised as we were.

Eventually, we decided that enough was enough and called her away from the fan.

You will, no doubt, be familiar with the idea that dogs get to be like their owners. This morning, as I cranked the fan to start it, it suddenly occurred to me that I am guilty of metaphorically sticking my nose is a fan on a regular basis. There are behaviours, situations and relationships that smack me on the figurative muzzle so often that I really should have worked it out by now. Instead, I continue to edge forward, ignoring the warning wafts that tell me I Have Passed This Way Before.

As the Dog of Destiny adds Pooch of Parable and Animal of Allegory to her titles, I shall attempt to learn from her foolish wisdom. I shall stop getting myself into painful situations, I shall refuse to let destructive relationships sour me, and just maybe I shall resist making resolutions that I shall be unable to keep!