Condiments and hairy children

My small dog's name is Mayo. She's a 10 week old irish terrier and has been the source of much joy and many tetanus scares in our house over the past few weeks. Her latest playful ankle biting saw me dousing my bloodied foot in Savlon, slathering on the Betadine and acquainting myself with the morbid details of tetanus on Wikipedia. A phone call to Donne the Doctor and an in depth wound description and I think I might be in the clear. I may still go for a preventative booster. The shots last for four years in case you’re starting to feel slight muscle twitchings.

The small dog at the centre of this neurosis is named after County Mayo in Ireland, but also, conveniently, after one of my favourite condiments, Mayonnaise. Oddly, Mayonaise is a big salmonella culprit, but that’s a worry for another day.

From an early age, my Swiss father inspired in me a love of rich homemade mayonnaise. This side of Switzerland, where the definitive Thomy mayonnaise can be found in every Migro and corner store, I have found that the French style mayo from Woolworths is pretty good. In fact, I have to hide it at the back of the fridge with the Lurpack spreadable in an attempt to pull back from the obesity event horizon.

Back to the hairy Mayo. She’s deceptively cute and I think she’d love French style mayonnaise if she could get at it. Her diet seems awfully spartan, consisting sole of Hills Science Diet, Puppy Plan. Dogs get a raw deal when it comes to food. Patrick, has taken to applying this zero tolerance for non-mandated dog food with a uncanny fervour. Sometimes I think it appeals to his utilitarian view of food as a fuel – his namesake Patrick Holford would be proud. To Pat, eating can be pleasurable, but having to feed himself has always been too much like hard work. I hope he doesn’t dip into the Puppy Plan when he has to make lunch and I’m not around.