Chaos in Gorey? Here’s what really happened

She asked for a chance to put paw to paper and clear up the confusion and resultant media coverage – which she said has made her life hell for the last few days:

My name is Rosie, and this is my story.

You may have read a lot about me in the JEP this week (most of it lies) after I apparently caused ‘chaos’ in Gorey.

Yes, I am the ‘fugitive sausage dog’, as the JEP chose to label me. You should have seen the stick I got from the guys in the park the next day. They were all wearing balaclavas and pretending to talk into walkie-talkies as I approached, whispering ‘Subject is in sight. Proceed with caution’ and then rolling round on the floor laughing.

And I was referred to in print as a ‘sausage’ dog, rather than my pedigree title of ‘dachshund’. The writer of the story may not be aware but the term ‘sausage dog’ is actually borderline racist and very offensive to us dachshunds. For years we have had to put up with being called ‘sausages’, just because of our appearance, and we have had enough of it. You don’t refer to German shepherds as ‘Hitler dogs’ or poodles as ‘chest wigs’ – there’s no reason to be so rude about us just because we are a bit barrel-chested and have stumpy legs.

And a ‘small’ dog? Small? I may not be a Great Dane or a Newfoundland but I’m perfectly in proportion for my breed, thank you very much. In fact, I may even be carrying a bit of summer weight (I just can’t get enough of those delicious Jersey Royals – they go straight to my four hips) and I’m overdue a trim at the barbers, so, if anything, I would say I should have been referred to as a ‘larger-than-normal dachshund’.

However, while I understand that the press have a duty to tell the news, even if I fail to see why I should have made the front page – especially when the picture used wasn’t even me (I would never have worn that gaudy red collar – I’m much classier than that, thank you very much) – I must take issue with the way my tale was reported.

The story stated that ‘Passengers were forced off a bus after it was boarded by a fugitive sausage dog causing mayhem in the village. Rosie … bolted from her home along the coast road and … led her pursuers on a merry chase around the village for three hours.’

Here’s what really happened. I was just enjoying the sunshine at home, half-dozing on the floor, when I saw my nemesis – the scruffy ginger tomcat from next door. Well, naturally I jumped up and chased after him, barking at the top of my voice to make sure that everyone knew the outrageous liberties that filthy moggy was taking, yet again. Truth be told, I got a bit caught up in it all (I do love to run and bark at the top of my voice) and after a few hundred metres I realised that the cat had, um, disappeared. Well, I wasn’t going to let her get away that easily.

After a good scratch and a short rest to get my breath back – have you seen the length of my legs? – I began tearing through some nearby gardens, searching for my most-hated enemy.

The humans that I encountered were most unhelpful, I can tell you. Almost rude, in fact. Though I tried to warn them of the potential presence of this evil feline on their land, they seemed to think that it was me who was the intruder and they ‘shooed’ me from their properties – one person even took a swipe at me with a broom.

Well, after all of this I was quite discombobulated and a little bit lost. My stomach was rumbling, so I knew it was dinnertime and all I’d had to eat in the last two hours were two spiders, a cigarette butt and a dried lump of something that I hoped was chicken. With that in mind, I turned for home.

In the published article, one Gorey resident described my following actions thus: ‘People were trying to catch it but it was barking and snapping at them.’

Ignoring the fact that it’s rude to call a lady ‘it’, I would politely dispute the assertion that I was ‘snapping’ at them. I was merely playing a favourite game of mine: namely, ‘put your fingers near my mouth and you might lose them’. No one ever really wins, to be honest, but by this time I was very hungry and a bit irritable – the thought of that ginger tom reclining in my garden while I was being chased through Gorey did not help my mood.

So then I thought I’d get a lift home. I wasn’t, as the JEP claimed, ‘making an ill-fated bid to escape to town on the No 1 bus’ – I just got on the wrong bus. An easy mistake, considering the whole system changed recently. But no one told me this.

So, when they tried to remove me from the bus I mistakenly thought they were asking to see my ticket and was patiently explaining that dogs travel for free. I must admit I freaked out a bit when the chappie from the JSPCA turned up (the last time I saw him he jabbed a needle in my backside and pretended it was for my own good) so I must apologise for being a bit, well, snappy, I suppose, towards him.

My final quibble is that the newspaper seems to be cashing in on my infamy.

I have a mole at the JEP (a slow-witted labrador who belongs to someone in the advertising department. He’s very dull company but he does keep me informed on all the juicy gossip before it hits the news-stand) and he told me that my tale of bravado was their most-read online story by a country mile.

This means that they have profited from my troubled day and, according to my lawyer, (well, a collie who I once met at the back of the Dolphin Inn) I have a strong case against the writer, Richard Heath. I will be contacting this young man to inform him that I will be suing for doggie libel. If he wishes this to remain out of court, however, I would be willing to settle for 47 dog biscuits, a good scratch behind the ears and a top-of-the-range flea collar.

lFollowing the interview and the allegations made by Rosie, the JEP issued this statement: ‘We refute the claims of Rosie, the ”fugitive sausage dog”, and contend that our reporting of her escapade was both factual and accurate. However, as a gesture of goodwill, the reporter in question, Richard Heath, has agreed to meet Rosie and take her for a really, really long walk.