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January 2011
Mr Paddidog said to me
the other day, “Hasn’t Daff got a lot of metal in her ears?”
I must admit I hadn’t
noticed till then, but yes, she does have a lot of ironwork, or perhaps
it’s gold-work (if there is such a word).
He thought about it
for a while, then asked, “Do you think earrings would suit me?”
“I don’t think dogs
wear earrings,” I told him, “at least, not real dogs, maybe
fluffy little things carried round in handbags, perhaps, but not
genuine ones like us. And certainly not boys.”
“Daff’s friend Geoff
wears an earring,” he said thoughtfully.
“Geoff’s a grown up,”
I said, “and he’s her editor at the moment, so he’s entitled to.”
“Where would I get an
earring?” he asked me then. I told him I hadn’t got the foggiest idea.
“Would I get one in
Spalding, d’you think?”
“How on earth would
you get to Spalding?” I demanded.
“Walk,” he said.
“You can’t do that,
you’d be in terrible trouble if you ran off!” I gasped.
He went quiet for a
while, then said, “I suppose you wouldn’t do it for me, would you?”
So that’s why I ended
up having to bite his ear. It was not, as I have been accused,
because he stood on my bed when I was in it.
Anyway, my piercing
didn’t work at all well, cos he pulled away when my teeth made contact
with his flap, leaving him with a big tear that wouldn’t ever have been
suitable for an earring.
The good thing was, it
encouraged Daff to spring clean the dining room – walls, floor, ceiling,
furniture, curtains, the lot. It looks so much better now, though I
wouldn’t say it to Daff’s face cos she thinks it’s always clean in
there.
The bad thing was, it
wouldn’t stop bleeding and I must confess it did look a bit ragged, but
nothing that an afternoon at the vet’s and a bill for £190 wouldn’t put
right.
He arrived home with a
big, blue bandage all round his head. It made him snore constantly for
two days and put him off his food. How we dogs laughed!
He’s OK now. He’s
nearly got what he wanted, admittedly not an earring but a nice edging
of blanket stitch which will last for several months – long enough for
him to give up any more ideas of cosmetic surgery.
I think it’s very mean
that this bill has been added to the one I ran up for giving him a
little nip last summer, which means it’s unlikely I will ever get gravy
bones again. It’s so unfair, when all I was doing was what he wanted.
(And if you believe this story, you’ll believe anything! – Ed.)
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