ROVER COMES HOME

When I was eleven I got my first dog.

I’m sure there are many parents who have been ‘persuaded’ to get a dog by at least one of their children and for a year or so I persisted in the not so subtle art of persuading my parents to let me have a dog.

So we got a dog.

The fateful day came, and dad took me with a couple of my sisters in tow to a house where there were some pups. The likelihood was that they would all be put to sleep and it was my chance to save a life. Dad found the house and knocked at the door, there was a lot of barking, then silence and the door opened.

“We’ve come to look at the pups,” said dad, and the weary looking lady of the house invited us to trundle into the front room of her two up, two down terraced house. She didn’t actually tell us to trundle in, but that’s what we did, dad first, followed by me and then my two sisters.

As soon as the front door closed there was a scuffling noise from under the inappropriately large Victorian sideboard. Out came a black nose, followed by a small ginger dog that came out wagging her tail, evidently pleased to have visitors. Then there was a commotion from beneath the furniture and more noses appeared, then a tiny brown mouse like creature ran across the floor straight to where I was standing, I scooped him up, dad checked that he actually was a ‘him’ and I had myself a dog he was brown with a dark stripe of coarse hair that ran all the way from the back of his neck to the tip of his tail and all mine.

That was it, dad gave the lady ten shillings for her troubles, which seemed much more than ten bob’s worth, and we went on our way.

“Make sure you keep him warm,” dad said, as, at great speed, I made my way into the street, “it’s not too warm out there.” So I put my prized possession in the inside pocket of my jacket and we started off home.

We were about half way home when I started to get worried about the squeaking noise that was coming from my pocket. Dad looked at the face protruding from my pocket, listened to the noise and said, “Put him on that grass over there.” So I gingerly placed the squeaking ball of fur on the ground and he peed all over the grass.

Seeing this, my sister Sandra piped up with, “Shall I put mine on the grass as well?”

Dad looked at her with a quizzical, not to say shocked look on his face.

“What?”

“Does mine want to go on the grass as well?”

“What?”

“Mine’s squeaking as well, and it’s wriggling about.”

“WHAT!”

At this point Sandra produced a mottled black and tan pup from under her coat and I’m sure that dad nearly fainted. He was, probably for the first time ever, speechless.

We had to make the trek back to the house where we had got the pups from and dad returned the escapee.

It transpired that Sandra had also picked up a pup and following my example she put it under her coat.

All we heard on the way home was a constant, “Why can’t I have a puppy as well.”

Dad made a vain effort to explain that we could all share the same dog, but Sandra didn’t believe him, and what’s more neither did I.