Sleeping dogs and a lifelong bond
I READ Martin Freeman's eulogy in memory of his 'friend', which the dictionary calls a dog, out loud to my wife over breakfast. As I reached the closing line you might have thought I was choking on my cereals and toast – but I know different!
Martin, a master of his craft, usually takes a bit of a sideways look at life, but not this time. The inevitable he meets head on, and many readers will say "I've been there!". We may now see some doggie stories on this page, something to unite us for a change? Here's mine.
Once, I took my 'intended' home, home being a house in the Derbyshire countryside, for approval of those who mattered and of course confident that it would be readily forthcoming, which it was.
The first night we had all gone up to bed, Jean to her bed and me to mine, which I shared with a large dalmatian, or more correctly he graciously shared with me. Suddenly the stillness was shattered by a loud shriek from Jean's room, "Something licked my toes," was her horrified cry. You've guessed it, a small but friendly pooch, christened Pippy, in his usual sleeping quarters, fathoms down the bed, and we had all forgotten to warn Jean.
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We had three dogs at that time, each with its favourite master, if master is the right word, but from that moment Jean was preferred and the everlasting bond secured.
If space permits, I cannot resist the inclusion of that evocative, well-known, little dog's prayer, 'A master who is firm and kind, and understands a doggie mind, a "walkie" and a meal each day, that's all I ask for when I pray'.