I’m going barking mad

I’m a baby boomer. The youngsters of the era were supposed to perish beneath an onslaught of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. (I wasn't really into rock and roll - can I substitute with Prog Rock?)

We were unconventional; we pressed society’s rules to the limit. What previous generations had done behind closed doors and net curtains, we did anywhere.

If my grandmother was to be believed, the girls should have perished because of the cold. ‘She’s not wearing any clothes,’ she exclaimed when she saw a young woman. The younger me would check. A blouse, mini-skirt, and fashionable shoes. Personally, and especially at an adolescent age and in that era, I couldn’t see what point she was trying to make.

The boys, observed by grandma, were long-haired layabouts who didn't want to work. I never knew if she included me in that work-shy generation of music loving youngsters, and I never asked.

Despite all our shortcomings, we survived. We faced nuclear attack fears, three-day weeks, epidemics, and black-and-white TV.

We had our share of wars, protests, riots, disasters, crashes, famine, inflation, and poor politicians.

And what happened to the Baby Boomers? Well, I can hardly believe it. They became bloody dog owners, a craze that even affected the young during the pandemic lockdown.

Baby Boomers can now own two or three dogs and bring them to holidays, stores, attractions, pubs, and eateries. Worst of all, they expect me to - unconditionally; it seems - like their dogs disturbing my days out and getting under my feet.

The law in the UK treats dogs as though they are inanimate objects - as we would any chattel that we own, such as a car. Domesticated, they may be, but their human companions treat them with affection by kissing, carrying, and pampering them. They even get transported in wheeled conveyances resembling shopping trolleys. They’re spoken to as though they are babies or small children, and the smallest ones (oh, horrors of horrors) yap incessantly.

Why do people get so upset when they’re refused entry to private premises such as shops, pubs or cafes that decide not to let dogs inside? It beggars’ belief.

I am not a dog lover. There, I said it; I admit it. Before everyone gangs up on me, let me say that I’m happy that people enjoy their millions of pets at home. I’m glad they enjoy taking them to outdoor areas where they can have a run and enjoy themselves. But why do their dogs have to go everywhere I want to go?

Is it really a privilege for me to share my space with something that’s just licked its own bum and then encouraged to lick its owner?