probably shy.’
There was a silence while the dog digested this. And then a slow leer spread over his face and he said, ‘You mean, Maurice, that the cairn was SHIT-SCARED !’ The tail, which until then had been hanging loosely, began to wag rhythmically.
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ I began, ‘but—’
He emitted a low chortle. ‘But that’s what you mean I bet.’ The wagging accelerated.
Picking my words carefully I replied, ‘What I mean is that Duster may not possess your confidence and robust temperament. He may not share your – how shall I put it? – your élan de guerre .’
The dog frowned, evidently puzzled. And then after giving his bowl a few thoughtful shoves, looked up and said, ‘What you are saying is that I am tough and he is weedy.’
‘A slight simplification. Do not mistake silence and short legs for weediness. You may well find that he has remarkable qualities.’ I was slightly doubtful of this but it doesn’t do to encourage the dog’s prejudice. ‘Remember,’ I continued, ‘we are still new to the neighbourhood and it is rash to pre-judge or annoy the natives. Take my advice: cultivate the cairn. Ask him what he finds so fascinating about the hedge; enquire what type of bones he prefers. You may be pleasantly surprised by his response.’ I added one or two otherhelpful tips, and smiled encouragingly, rather pleased with my little homily.
The dog scratched and then yawned. ‘Well I’m for a good kip. See you in the morning, Maurice.’ And seizing a couple of his hairy toys he settled into his basket and went to sleep … As a coda to my words of wisdom, this struck me as rather limp. I gave an indifferent shrug and prepared for my nightly prowl.
In fact it turned out to be a most productive prowl – longer than anticipated but very absorbing. I was just gliding quietly along the lane in the direction of Podmore Place when who should I meet coming from the opposite direction but the Persian, Eleanor. Since last cavorting with her amid the chimney stacks of the town brewery, I had been practising my steps for the Kit-Kat Trot – a caper much in vogue among the more fashionable of the Sussex catarati . And thus I was just about to enquire whether she might like to accompany me to the next rooftop gathering, when she said she had something rather intriguing to show me and would I like to follow her back to the Big House. ‘We shall be just in time,’ she said.
‘By all means,’ I replied, ‘but in time for what exactly?’
She gave a discreet miaow and said she couldn’t be sure exactly but there was definitely something afoot and that doubtless my probing mind would solve the mystery.
Modesty prevented me from agreeing about that, but I eagerly followed her to Podmore Place where she led me round to the old stables at the rear. ‘ He lives over there,’ she said, gesturing with her paw to a far wing, ‘but he can’t see anything from that angle.’ She obviously meant the owner, the tall man whose cairn terrier had so exercised Bouncer.
Judging from their dilapidated state, these stables had obviously not been used for years. Nevertheless my sensitive nostrils quickly picked up the whiff of ancient horse. I have an aversion to these ungainly beasts, as I have to many things, and thus was not especially drawn to loitering within their habitat, however long deserted. But Eleanor seemed very keen that we should; and so despite my distaste I settled down beside her in the lee of a rotting wheelbarrow.
I was just about to ask her what on earth we were supposed to be doing when she gave a soft mew and lightly touched my tail with her claw.
I looked up. And in the far distance, coming down the disused drive, I saw the faintest glimmer of a light getting gradually nearer. It was a very wavering light and at times seemed to disappear altogether. I peered intently into the darkness, trying to discern its source.
‘Look away,’ Eleanor
There was a silence while the dog digested this. And then a slow leer spread over his face and he said, ‘You mean, Maurice, that the cairn was SHIT-SCARED !’ The tail, which until then had been hanging loosely, began to wag rhythmically.
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ I began, ‘but—’
He emitted a low chortle. ‘But that’s what you mean I bet.’ The wagging accelerated.
Picking my words carefully I replied, ‘What I mean is that Duster may not possess your confidence and robust temperament. He may not share your – how shall I put it? – your élan de guerre .’
The dog frowned, evidently puzzled. And then after giving his bowl a few thoughtful shoves, looked up and said, ‘What you are saying is that I am tough and he is weedy.’
‘A slight simplification. Do not mistake silence and short legs for weediness. You may well find that he has remarkable qualities.’ I was slightly doubtful of this but it doesn’t do to encourage the dog’s prejudice. ‘Remember,’ I continued, ‘we are still new to the neighbourhood and it is rash to pre-judge or annoy the natives. Take my advice: cultivate the cairn. Ask him what he finds so fascinating about the hedge; enquire what type of bones he prefers. You may be pleasantly surprised by his response.’ I added one or two otherhelpful tips, and smiled encouragingly, rather pleased with my little homily.
The dog scratched and then yawned. ‘Well I’m for a good kip. See you in the morning, Maurice.’ And seizing a couple of his hairy toys he settled into his basket and went to sleep … As a coda to my words of wisdom, this struck me as rather limp. I gave an indifferent shrug and prepared for my nightly prowl.
In fact it turned out to be a most productive prowl – longer than anticipated but very absorbing. I was just gliding quietly along the lane in the direction of Podmore Place when who should I meet coming from the opposite direction but the Persian, Eleanor. Since last cavorting with her amid the chimney stacks of the town brewery, I had been practising my steps for the Kit-Kat Trot – a caper much in vogue among the more fashionable of the Sussex catarati . And thus I was just about to enquire whether she might like to accompany me to the next rooftop gathering, when she said she had something rather intriguing to show me and would I like to follow her back to the Big House. ‘We shall be just in time,’ she said.
‘By all means,’ I replied, ‘but in time for what exactly?’
She gave a discreet miaow and said she couldn’t be sure exactly but there was definitely something afoot and that doubtless my probing mind would solve the mystery.
Modesty prevented me from agreeing about that, but I eagerly followed her to Podmore Place where she led me round to the old stables at the rear. ‘ He lives over there,’ she said, gesturing with her paw to a far wing, ‘but he can’t see anything from that angle.’ She obviously meant the owner, the tall man whose cairn terrier had so exercised Bouncer.
Judging from their dilapidated state, these stables had obviously not been used for years. Nevertheless my sensitive nostrils quickly picked up the whiff of ancient horse. I have an aversion to these ungainly beasts, as I have to many things, and thus was not especially drawn to loitering within their habitat, however long deserted. But Eleanor seemed very keen that we should; and so despite my distaste I settled down beside her in the lee of a rotting wheelbarrow.
I was just about to ask her what on earth we were supposed to be doing when she gave a soft mew and lightly touched my tail with her claw.
I looked up. And in the far distance, coming down the disused drive, I saw the faintest glimmer of a light getting gradually nearer. It was a very wavering light and at times seemed to disappear altogether. I peered intently into the darkness, trying to discern its source.
‘Look away,’ Eleanor
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