by Paul Kelly
“Bertie is a field mouse and he’s ever so handsome... and he doesn’t have red eyes,” she said, fluttering her whispy eyelashes at me again.
“Your kiddin’” I said
“I’m not,” she answered resolutely.
“Field mice are dirty little things,” I said, “Nobody in their right minds would knit a scarf for one of them.”
She glared at me and her eyes went pink.
“Look who’s talkin’,” she screamed at me madly, “You’ve got a face like a... .like an orangutan’s rear, you have.”
Now this remark did really make me see red.
“Say it... Go on say it. Say what you really men. Come on, out with it lady Persia.” I screamed and stared right into her eyes...
She looked down her shapely little pink nose and her whiskers twitched.
“I’m far too much of a lady to say... that word,” she said, “Now hand me my handbag.”
I jumped at the opportunity to let her know that I had excellent manners.
“What’s the magic word, then?” I asked perkily and sniffed.
“Please...” she said, with great reluctance, so I drew in my breath to show her the expansion of my chest as I gave her the bag and she opened it, taking out a gold compact, with which she proceeded to powder her nose.
“What’s this?” I asked, as something fell onto the grass near my paws.
“That? Why that’s my lipstick, of course. What did you think it was?”
I grunted and I could feel my wrinkles going straight... which is a very bad sign in Boxers.
“Powder puffs... Lipsticks... Handkerchiefs...What next? I suppose you’ll be tellin’ me you carry a toilet roll in there too... ?”
She glared at me again and gave another little twitch to her delicate whiskers.
“No need for you to be rude, little man, but if you must know, YES, I do have a toilet roll in my handbag. I use it to wipe my lipstick off and to dab my mouth when I’ve had a saucerful of milk... And why not, Buster!”
I sat back in dismay, manoeuvring my tail so that it didn’t get creased.
“I guess I should get myself a tooth-pick and carry it in my hip pocket, for when I eat my... “
Just at that moment a voice called out from the house.
“Piddy... Piddy... Piddy Piddoo... Piddy darling, are you there? Mummy calling...”
I could hear Charlotte calling me and my face went all red as well as my eyes as Lady Persia giggled.
“Dinner time, Cherub,” Charlotte went on and I wished the ground could have opened up and swallowed me, so... lovely as she was, of course, I just had to leave my blonde friend and scud up the garden... to do my duty to Charlotte. I always do a zig-zag scud when I’m particularly happy and I did one then, scratching my claws across the kitchen floor and banging my tail against the ‘fridge by the door and it made a purring noise, as if I’d made it cry. Mind you, I have never really understood Charlotte and her husband, Charles. They are my proud parents, I know... but she calls him Chas... and he calls her... CHARLIE! !
I guess they’re just crazy mixed up kids, eh? But I love them both.
***
Uncle Percy and Auntie Ethel had come to visit us, so I knew that I would have to wait in the lounge until they had both patted me on the head and told me what a ‘Good Boy’ I was. They always did, no matter what I did and whether I was good or bad. I’m nearly three now and I think that means something like twenty one years of a human’s life, so would you pat a guy of twenty-one on the head and tell him he was a ‘Good Boy’? Well, I ask you?
However, I had other things on my mind and I wanted to get back again as quickly as possible to Madame Persia... The lady with the lovely warfume, so I waited under the table for the customary ‘pat’ and do you know... I think Uncle Percy is a contortionist because I heard Auntie Ethel tell him, when Charlotte wasn’t in the room, that every time he opened his mouth, he put his foot in it. Now, I’ve never actually seen this happen, so I’m still guessing, but next to seeing the beautiful Lady Persia again, I think I’d like to see Uncle Percy do his trick... wouldn’t you?
***
The visitors left at 5.0pm, after tea and I just scooped a few choc-drops and a couple of marrow bone bikkys with me to the bottom of the garden. It was easily four hours since I’d been down there last and I was hoping SHE might still be hanging around, but alas!... No... She was nowhere to be seen and you know... It’s very, very strange because I couldn’t find that hole in the fence either and I was confused. Charlotte didn’t help matters either. I heard her tell Uncle Percy that I snored a lot and that she’s heard me snoring all morning and most of the afternoon, under the rose bush, down at the bottom of the garden...
Now I know that wasn’t right and I can tell you why. Too right I can... .for when I got down to the place where that hole should have been and as I’ve always said, when your looking for something, you can never find it and when you don’t want it... it’s staring you right in the eye... I could smell a most beautiful warfume. The most beautiful I had ever smelt in my whole life...
***
Chapter Two
I didn’t sleep very well last night for worrying about Lady Persia and wondering if I would ever see her again. Everywhere I went I could smell her warfume and I only had to close my eyes and sniff... and all the magic of seeing her would come back to me. The lovely long graceful tail that sent me blushing when I thought of my own little stump and the tiny red lips with the white teeth protruding, just enough to make her mouth attractive, you know... and those eyes... all deep blue, the colour of the sea, large whirlpools of eyes, round with long sweeping eyelashes that flashed at me. What a torment... I suppose love does have that effect on a guy, doesn’t it? Oh! well, I’ll just have to have a little stroll down the garden again... in hopes. Just a casual little stroll, you understand, as I only scud about when I’m happy... although I still can’t understand why I couldn’t find that hole in the fence. I’ll walk slowly... I’m in no rush and I couldn’t scud today even if I wanted to... I’m weary for love, that’s what it is and there’s nobody who can help me. I thought of looking up Chas’s medical book for a cure, but when I did, after I found it on the very top shelf of his study... He would make things awkward, wouldn’t he... and I nearly fell off the stool trying to get it, I couldn’t find anything for a broken heart. There was something called heartburn and I thought... Yes, that’s me... My heart is burning, but the only cure was milk of magnesia and when I tried that I just wanted to spit it out. It was horrible... Even heart murmuring wasn’t my lot although I could swear my heart is murmuring all the time... ‘Lady, Lady Persia!’ it calls out, but she doesn’t answer. I suppose she’s powdering her sweet little nose somewhere and knitting that stupid scarf for her field mouse friend... and then I thought... Oh! No... No, it can’t be... She’s not knitting that scarf to entice him out into the open and then she’ll pounce on him... Is she? What an awful thought, but then when I saw again those large, wistful eyes, I had to put that wicked thought from my mind... Heartbreak... There should be a cure in Chas’s book for that? Shouldn’t there...
Maybe a few more marrowbone bikkys might help... but Charlie keeps the jar well out of my reach and even with the stool, I can’t reach them, and the choc-drops are in a drawer in the kitchen. I can open the ‘fridge door quite easily with my teeth, but I haven’t yet mastered the art of opening a jar... I’m still working on it. Charlie says that bikkys and things like that... tit-bits she calls them, make me fat, so both she and Chas. take me for long walks every day so that I can keep my nice lean figure and healthy coat, not to mention my sparkling bright eyes... when I’m not in a sad mood like I am today... and my poor eyes are all droopy...
“Hi there!”
I looked about me but I couldn’t see anyone. I looked a second time, but the same again..
. Nothing... and I began to think I was going nuts... after all guys do go that way when they have a woman on their minds, don’t they? Love can do the strangest things to a guy... I know because I’ve heard Chas. say that many times to Charlotte when he’s done something wrong and he thinks she might be annoyed with him.
“Hi there... “ the voice came again, “I’m talkin’ to you, man... You deaf or somethin’?”
I looked up and there above me sitting on the garden wall, just near the gazebo at the end of the garden, I could see this little creature glaring at me... Just a tiny little thing with dark beady eyes and white scruffy hair and pointed ears shooting out from a round, whiskered face. He was sitting with his legs crossed and wearing a kilt. Well I presumed it was a he... he had that sort of mean look about him that you don’t often see in a bitch... well not a doggy bitch, that is.
“Hello,” I answered rather weakly as I was so taken aback... Not by the silly little creature on the wall, but by the kilt. I couldn’t tell which tartan it was.
“Saw you the other day, moonin’ around down there, man “ he said, “You want to get out more... That’s why you’re lookin’ so pale and well... not very alert, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
Now that stupid remark made me see red, it did. I was a WHITE boxer that’s why I looked pale... and besides, he was white himself, so what was he talking about, man?”
I hated that expression... I wasn’t a man, I was a dog... a pedigree dog with royalty in my blood and I didn’t take too kindly to be addressed as mere man. “I’m not mooning around... I have a thought to think, a very important thunk, so there,” I said, hoping he would clear off... Well nobody who’s thinking such important things as I am wants this sort of interference, does he? Not with such a momentous thunk as mine. “And I’m not pale... That’s my colour... I’m... I’m BLONDE,” I added and looked the other way. He laughed and uncrossed his little legs before he crossed them again the other way and his kilt did a little jig.
“Yeah... I know all about that,” he giggled. . “My old grandfather was as gray as a badger, but he was blonde too... or so he told everybody. How old are you man?”
I squeezed my eyes tightly, really, really tightly and hunched my shoulders when he came out with that silly man expression again. “None of your business,” I barked and my tail shot out, just as he jumped down from the wall and parked himself beside me on the lawn.
“Like my kilt?” he asked, ignoring my rebuke and I gave him a half look with one eye on the ground and the other on the tartan.”
“Alright if you like that sort of thing,” I smirked hoping he would run off somewhere, but he didn’t.
“Alright if you’ve got the legs for this sort of thing, you mean... “ he added and stroked his knee with his paw.
I looked carefully at the legs when he said that. They were short and curly haired with white fur that looked as though it could do with a good brushing. Now MY hair is smooth and short and elegant and MY legs would have looked much better in that kilt than his did...
“Why are you wearing that thing anyway?” I asked him, glancing suspiciously at his kilt, “I don’t see many dogs wearing skirts down in this neck of the woods.”
“Kilt,” he screamed at me, to correct my ignorance... he thought... “I’m not wearin’ a skirt. Skirts are for girls,”
“Oh! Are they now?” I asked mischievously and rolled my lovely eyes as I cocked my beautifully arched eyebrows. “So why are you wearing one then?”
“Because I’m Scottish, that’s why stupid,” he answered sharply as if everyone should have known that... and then he threw out his little chest with pride. “I’m a West Highland Terrier... that’s what I am... and I have a hat to match in the same tartan. A Tam-o-Shanter it’s called. Want to see it?”
I hastened to assure him that I didn’t want that pleasure and that if he didn’t mind could he reserve it until a more suitable time and place... I didn’t want Lady Persia seeing that thing... well, that is if she came back again, which I hoped she would, didn’t I? and besides, she might have started to knit a tartan kilt... and that would have been a headache, wouldn’t it? Scarves for puny little mice and kilts for idiot midgets like the one sitting beside me now... well, I ask you?
“O.K. another time mate,” he said changing his man thing... when he could obviously see how it displeased me... “but tell me, what sort of a dog are you? You’ve got a real ugly face if you don’t mind my sayin’ so... all twisted up like you’ve been suckin’ a lemon or somethin’... You are a dog, aren’t you? Don’t you ever smile?”
Smile... I thought, Smile... I wanted to growl and show my fine teeth when he said that, but he just kept gawking at me with his head cocked to one side and I’m sure he had one of his front teeth missing when he opened his silly mouth. I was sure I wasn’t gonna like him... Not in any way... ‘Not no how’ as Lady Persia would have said and I was about to assure him that I was indeed a dog and a very rare breed as well with nobility running through my blood when he blinked as if he didn’t want to hear anything more I had to say. It was the dismissive look in his eye that upset me... so I turned my back on him and kicked the soil up into the air with my back legs... hoping some of it might just hit him in the eye...
“Wanna come for a run?” he asked, as he pulled a tartan handkerchief from his jacket pocket and proceeded to blow his nose, but my heart was too sore for such frivolities and besides if I had run with him, he would have been out of breath before he had gone very far.
“Your legs, mate... “ I said, hoping I might annoy him and pay him back for saying I had a face like a lemon... Cheeky little blighter... “Your legs are a bit small... and you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me... when you look at my fine, long, sturdy legs... don’t you think?... And besides, I think it might rain in a minute”
I cocked my nose in the air and held my front paw out in front as me as I spoke, with the apparent air of a well experienced weather-man, but I would have loved to have looked down to watch his reaction... I really would, but pride is pride, isn’t it? So what else was a fellow of my breeding gonna do?...
“I don’t have no trouble runnin’ mate,” he said cheekily, “I was in a Marathon once, you know...and the rain doesn’t give me any flack... well not really... but I will admit I do have a problem when it snows.”
I pricked up my noble ears when I heard this.
“Marathon?” I queried with one eyebrow thoroughly arched and quivering... .”What marathon was that then?”
“Well it wasn’t for running actually...”
“No? and what was it for then... knitting?” I remarked with just a modicum of scorn as I sucked my gums.
“Skipping actually...” he replied looking askance at me as if I was too ignorant to know what he was talking about... “I skipped more than fifty times a minute...”
“Well now you’re not as stiff as you appear,” I said being thoroughly unimpressed, “Tell me, this snow business... does it affect you much... the weather, I mean?”
“Only when it falls heavily,” he replied, “The snow, I mean... “
“Touch of arthritis, perhaps?” I suggested, pretending to be concerned.
“No... touch of rearitis,” he remarked... . and I coughed my way through that one as I wasn’t quite sure what to make of his remark until he patted his bottom with his front paw. “Not like you, with your long shanks, you see. Mine are only four inches from the ground... and it can be inconvenient sometimes.”
He shuddered as he spoke and closed his little eyes tightly, before he fumbled about at the front of his kilt and I thought... ‘Oh! here we go again... Hope he doesn’t have a handbag . .’ as I could see he had some sort of a purse fastened to his front.
“I hope you don’t keep your make-up in that thing?” I asked, looking decidedly butch and very frustrated, but he only raised his
eyebrows and grinned.
“Make-up?” he enquired, “Naw... Make-up is for females and I’m very much a male... Look at these muscles,” he snorted and bent his arm to show me a little ball of a thing on the upper part of his arm. I raised a cynical eyebrow and looked away as I tried not to laugh.
“Got a light?” he asked and produced a cigar from the mysterious pouch. “Sorry this is my last one, old chap... but you can share it with me if you want.”
Well, Old Chap was an improvement on man and mate, but I still felt it was demeaning and offensive to my dignity, however I had to accept it I suppose. “ No thank you ever so very much,” I said being extremely polite again as I always wanted to be when I was annoyed and to show others less intelligent than myself that I had a touch of class in my bearing. “I don’t smoke.”
He quickly shoved the cheroot back into his pouch and sighed.
“So you don’t fancy a walk then either?” he asked and I shook my head as I closed my eyes conclusively.
“What about a game of cards... or maybe you might like to hear me sing?” he asked and delved into his purse-like-thing again..
“I don’t think that would be a good idea... well not at the moment. Some other time perhaps,” I suggested with a distinct frown, showing hesitation on my handsome face in the hopes that he might be discouraged from any other activity he might want to offer next, but he simply grinned and scratched his right ear with his front paw... The right front paw I hasten to add as I think he would have had a great deal of difficulty trying to scratch his right ear with his left front paw... wouldn’t you? Anyway, I could clearly hear a disturbance going on in that purse he had strapped to his waist and naturally... being a Boxer dog... and a breed apart, I was immediately curious as to what it might be, but I tapped my chin and sniffed the air a little before I asked him my question. “What in heaven’s name is that contraption hanging down in front of you with all these things in it? It doesn’t look big enough to hold all that gear,” I snarled, as I was beginning to lose my patience, but he looked calmly at me and smiled.