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February 2012
A few weeks ago, one
Sunday morning (wet, as usual, so we were all hanging around the house,
bored) I heard the garden gate open.
We all charged out to
see who was calling – and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was only
Sandy and her new dad! Well, at first I thought I was dreaming, but
then I realised I couldn’t be, as everything was too real. It was
fifteen months since I met her at Sutton-on-Sea Carnival, and thinking
about her since (which I do a lot), I wondered if I would recognize her,
but I knew her immediately from the photo in my bedroom, and she was
just as lovely as I remembered.
Daff made coffee for
the groan-ups and found a bag of Christmas treats for us four-leggeds
(or, in Faune’s case, three-legged), and we dogs were allowed into the
sitting room, something that usually only happens on an evening. Well,
there was only one thing for me to do, and that was grab the settee (my
settee, actually) before anyone else got it – groan-ups or dogs – so I
could invite Sandy to come and sit with me.
AND SHE DID! We
sat, side by side, eating meaty strips and gravy bones, and I thought I
would die with happiness. She seemed a bit distracted after a while,
however, which turned out to be because she wanted to do a wee and
apparently didn’t like to ask, which led to her having an accident on
the dining room floor. I felt very embarrassed for her, but it didn’t
seem to bother her at all, and Daff mopped it up without saying
anything, I suppose because her dad was there.
That was when things
started to go wrong. Having left the sofa, she didn’t particularly
want to return, even though I was waiting there for her. Then that
brainless oik, Tom Barnaby, muscled in and suggested she might like to
see the garden. She seemed very taken with that Barnaby bloke, and
they trouped off together, even though it was still raining. I felt it
was my duty to go as well in case he led her astray, and, of course, all
the other dogs decided to go too, so I got no chance to get her on her
own again, and after a few minutes with PC Plod, she had no more time
for me. Well, I wasn’t going to be snubbed by anyone, so I left them
all to it and came back to my settee and the fire. Apparently she’d
impressed Tom mightily by doling a large poo on top of a solar lamp,
which he said was no mean feat for a girl, even though she is quite a
big girl.
Shortly afterwards
Auntie Sandra arrived (the auntie I used to call mummy until she rehomed
me to John and Daff). I was pleased to see her, as she usually sits
with me and gives me tummy rubs, and this was no exception, there being
an empty place beside me that I had specially saved for Sandy. I think
she had come to see how the love of my life and I were getting on after
meeting again after all this time; I knew she was very sad to see how PC
Plod had taken over and spoiled everything, so she tried to make it up
to me with lots of tickles and cuddles.
After more boring old
coffees, as it had stopped raining, Daff decided we should all go down
to the Patch for a run. I thought that with more space, there would be
a better chance of my getting Sandy on her own as Tom tends to go very
giddy when faced with a large area to chase round in. It’s always good
fun at the Patch, this time we decided to have a go at Faune, because
she gets all the attention at the moment and it really p’s us off, and
anyway a lurcher with three legs is fair game for tormenting.
Unfortunately, we got told off very smartly and threatened with being
put back in the cars again, so I turned my attention back to Sandy, and
things were just starting to improve for me when Auntie Cath and Uncle
Daz and Rheanna and their three greyhounds arrived for a run.
It was then I realised
that Sandy could be a bit of a hussy - unless, of course, she’s just
very polite to all-comers (I really hope that’s all it is). Once the
Morgan boys, Vic and Jim-Bob (who hasn’t lived with Auntie Cath and
Uncle Daz very long and you will probably recognize better as Jimmy who
lived at Fen Bank for quite a while) had introduced themselves, she had
no time for anyone else, although PC Plod made quite sure he was still
in the frame by tagging along with them. I asked Flo what she felt
about her boys making such an exhibition of themselves, but she just
said she was thankful they’d found someone else to hang around with for
a while.
Things went downhill
rapidly after that. Vic banged into something (or someone banged into
him), and he started to yell (he’s always doing something stupid like
that and developing lumps and bumps), then Mr Paddidog had a collision,
fell over, burst into floods of tears and (as we found out later) did
his back in and cost Daff and John a considerable amount of money at the
vet’s. Down the bottom end of the field, Tom and various others were
threatening to make mincemeat out of Faune (I’ve got to give her credit,
she can give as good as she gets, though, even though she’s smaller than
Discit and short of a front leg), so there was nothing for it but lots
of drinks and meaty strips and back into our respective cars.
It wasn’t at all as I
had imagined any reunion I might have with Sandy and I really don’t know
what I feel now. Her dad has promised to bring her to see us again;
next time I shall be on my guard against distractions by other boys and
she might be more used to our set-up so might show me the attention I
deserve, but it made me think. Maybe the girls I know – Smelly Sally,
who isn’t smelly now as she has syrup to stop her wetting herself, and
is too old and doddery to give me any trouble; Discit, who can still be
quite nasty if I go near her bed - but, then I suppose I can be a bit
the same myself where beds are concerned; and young Faune, who loves
everybody and everything and never says a cross word to anyone (unless
they intend to give her a hard time) – are better than those you think
might be nice and then let you down. We will have to see.
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