Modern Tate stuff: Coco’s action sculpture

It’s a bit like having kids again, this puppy lark. The above shot shows the transformation wreaked by our new terrier Coco in the seven minutes after being  let loose (post the going outside to do weezanpooz experience) in the morning.  If you let your eyes wander top right from this perfect composition – well, that’s where all these bits were seven minutes earlier.

This is what happens when you add paper to the mix….

Late this afternoon, Coco crept off to the downstairs cloakroom, snaffled the loo paper, and ran off with it. Norfolk terriers do not follow the squeaky-clean Andrex puppy approach to perfectly art-directed slow-motion flowing trails of endless bum-wipes. Their take on this is more chase it, worry it, catch it, jump on it, bark at it, chew it, chuck it about all over the place, and then sit down quietly to eat the inner cardboard.

After a short sleep, Coco inspected the opened wood-burner set ready for a fire. Within seconds the sport pages of The Independent had fallen victim to yet another merciless attack. Pausing briefly to read a short piece about the Mancunian rivalry between United and City, she left it half-dead in the middle of the carpet, before wandering off to pee on the stairs carpet. (Note that, in the shot above, the pink crocs have been cruelly abandoned in favour of a sheepskin slipper).

Another kip was followed by further investigation of curtains. Together, Coco and middle-dog Tiggy do a nightly Morecambe & Wise routine behind the curtains at the French windows. But the main point of being there is so that they can watch and trace the progress of everything from wind-blown leaves to little bits of moss shifting about between the cobbles.

The key difference between this and the original Eric & Ernie act is that, every time something in the garden moves, the two of them shoot straight through the gap and over to the back door, where they try to shatter the glass with the ferocity of their barking. I really don’t remember Britain’s best-loved comic duo ever doing that, although my memory isn’t what it was.

The middle to late evening is spent foraging behind and under every bit of cupboard, dresser, chair leg, and work surface in the kitchen, before eventually acceding to Mum’s request to sit on the chair and bloody behave.

There is then a degree of tablecloth chewing, cushion biting, chair-back sniffing and napkin pulling. When Mum gets engrossed in an especially involving website, front paws will venture onto the table and – before being shooed off – Coco will attempt to behead the pepper pot, make friends with a used dessert bowl, and steal Mum’s reading glasses.

This is, of course, all felt to be charming – the subject of much laughter, would-you-believe-its, telephone calls to doggie friends, and anecdotes at future supper tables.

But the one thing it is almost impossible to do is get a still shot of the little buggers doing all this stuff. It is almost as if puppies are born with the same sort of ability to evade any visual record of their misdeeds…just like all those Newscorpers and bankers we love to bash.

Sometimes, I sit and watch all three of our pack sitting, tails wagging furiously, saying nothing – but nevertheless obviously engaged in a form of communication. Imagine if you will what they might be on about.

“I see Slumdog & Paws have downgraded Pedigree Chum,” observes wise old Foxie.

“Pedigree?” asks Tiggy, incredulous, “My God, whatever next?”

“That’s nothing,” quips Coco, “The Black Lab next door tells me they’ve dumbed down most of the dog-owners in Britain”.

The other two nod sadly. Nothing surprises them any more.