Archive for August, 2009

The Vet invited a couple to a meal last night – an unusual occurrence as he keeps entertaining down to a complete minimum and restricts it to a favoured few of his best clients.

 

This pair had been with him for years and must have spent a small fortune on treatments for their dog Eccles, a cocker spaniel, who I have refused to have in the gang, despite a number of attempts by other members to recruit him.

 

I have always found his superior attitude annoying and feared that, once in the gang, he would try his hardest to take over my role as leader. I managed to veto his membership on a number of occasions using various excuses. The most recent one was on the grounds that should he succeed me, he would have the boys doing physical exercises day after day and probably use his position to exert pressure on them to donate food for his personal use.

 

I am not sure which of the two the boys feared most, probably the running and jumping until they were tired out – and then being forced to sit in a circle while he expounded his theories on the relationship between owners and pets for at least a couple of hours.

 

Most of the lads are, like me, getting on a bit and really worry about heart attacks and respiratory problems if chased around too much. A gentle walk twice a day is more in their line with the odd trot through the woods when they, and I,are feeling in the mood.

 

Back to the Vet’s dinner party. He has waived almost all his rules about entertaining on the cheap for this couple and I heard him telling our housekeeper, Mrs Kennedy, to dig around in the cellar for a good bottle of wine, one possibly laid down by his father many years ago. She was also requested to obtain the best cut of beef from the butcher and not to stint on the vegetables and pudding.

 

I was aware, however, that the lady in question quite disliked me and did her best to keep me in another room when in our house. She complained that I brought on sneezing fits, which is an outright lie.

 

However the Vet, very aware of the amount of money they added to his coffers year after year, usually obliged by telling Mrs Kennedy to keep me locked in the kitchen while the guests dined. But he did not say a thing about where I was to go after the meal.

 

So, at the appropriate time as they were sipping a glass or two of his best brandy, I bolted out the dog flap and round to the front of the house where the visitors had parked their car.

 

I knew from experience that they never locked it up when visiting us – the village was still relatively free of vandals and drunken louts – and with a bit of effort of mouth and muzzle managed to open the back door and creep inside, lying flat behind the passenger seat.

 

Eventually the pair said their farewells and settled into the car without noticing me. After about ten minutes I revealed myself by jumping on the back seat and howling into the lady’s ear.

 

I must say that when I try I can deliver a tremendous racket and she shot up from her seat, hit the roof and fell back with an almighty crash. He just managed to control the car and brought it to a halt.

 

He opened his door to go round to his wife and I escaped like a flash. I doubt they even saw me and certainly would not recognise who I was in the dark.

I think she suffered from slight concussion, but certainly not  a sneezing fit .

Birthdays are a bit of a problem for dogs. We have no accurate dates to celebrate and most owners choose a year, guess a day and that’s your birthday. Accurate to a month or two I guess, but not good enough for me.

 

I have been anxious to find out my real birthday for some time and brought the subject up at the last gang meeting. It turned out that all the boys had the same problem, except one – Aaron, the Airedale Terrier.

 

I have always regarded him as something of a spoilt pup, but he has his uses for the gang. He is always prepared to volunteer for the harder tasks and if I call for someone to bring food for one of our communal feasts, Aaron is the one who turns up with the tastiest bones and biscuits.

 

What I did not know until that day was he is aware of his real birthday and his owner, Mrs Gilbert, always makes him a cake and invites the neighbours round for a bit of a party - I said he was spoilt. But, how did he know the date was accurate, I asked, and not something Mrs Gilbert made up, like most owners.

 

His reply was quick and emphatic. Mrs Gilbert was the most meticulous person in the neighbourhood and noted everything in a large diary. The day Aaron was brought home was written down, alongside the date he was born, information provided by the breeder. And you can’t be more accurate than that, he said somewhat too smugly for my liking.

 

Well, I had to accept that Aaron was way ahead of the rest of us, but that did not solve my problem. I asked for ideas but, as usual, nothing worthy was forthcoming as they sat there with blank looks on their faces.

 

Gus, the Alsatian, and my number two, could usually be relied on to come up with an inspirational comment, but he was not at that meeting because he was suffering from something which sounded like the Swine Flu, all the people were worried about. I had told the gang not to fret, as dogs could not catch it from humans and Gus probably had just a bad cold.

 

I was left to solve the birthday problem myself and told the gang to go home while I sat in the barn and contemplated. I thought one or two would have stayed with me for company, but they all rushed off eager to get home as it was a Tuesday and our local butcher put out bones once a week for those clever enough to remember what day it was.

 

First come, first served was the butcher’s motto, hence the rush to leave the barn.

 

I sat for a while before the thought came to me: if I worked backwards to the day I arrived at the Vet’s house, something might jog my memory.

 

Yes there it was. That day there was a large carnival in the village, held only once every five years, with a second one being organised for next week. So, I am ten years old.

 

I know I was taken from my mother exactly two months from the day I was born – and the carnival is always held on the 20th of the month.

 

That was the date, found it at last. All I had to do now was look forward - next week would be my birthday and I will arrange a small celebration with the gang. I will inform them tomorrow, so that they start planning what presents to bring.