My wish for some company for Granddaughter Emma, bored with no-one her age except Thistle the cat at our home, was fulfilled.
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Her cousins, Finn and Erin burst down the hall, beaming from ear to ear.
In their wake came a strange noise; a cross between a yodeller and a set of bagpipes being blown very badly.
Oh no. Our daughter had brought the family dog, Radar.
He was greeting the Man of the house in the garden. The Moth has an effect on dogs large and small – they all adore him.
This is not always reciprocated by the Moth, particularly in the case of small dogs.
Radar is not small, and shaggy with it. But the Moth, like me, has a soft spot for Radar.
He exudes friendliness and anxiety in the same ratio, and is always overjoyed to see us.
Perhaps this stems from the time he spent three weeks with us as a young dog while his mistress was in New Zealand.
He hasn’t stayed with us since, and he is now ten, but in his faithful old mind there is a memory of happiness when we fed, housed and walked him, and tried not to give him a hard time over his extreme dogginess.
He never had a drink of water – he stuck his head deep in the ice cream container, shook it and inhaled.
The result was a dog that had managed to have a bath in a drinking bowl and a floor splashed to an astonishing radius.
Towels and mops are required after Radar has had a drink.
After he had washed the floors, slavered all over me in a welcome that was as vocal as the one he gave the Moth, he went outside to check the garden.
Zylka, lonely since the death of Coosh, had not greeted the new company with the enthusiasm of Emma.
The look of horror on her face as he romped in was palpable.
She sat up straight on her settee, ears almost on end (a difficult feat for a Dalmatian) and looked, with an expression of extreme worry, at him as he explored.
While Coosh was alive she became ingenious at hiding her bones from her mother.
Even in extremis, Coosh could sniff them out wherever Zylka buried or concealed them.
Although Coosh has gone, Zylka still hides her bones rather than eat them. She will come in with a very dirty nose, and may have to go out once or twice during the evening to rebury them.
Radar romped back inside, a bone of some antiquity shedding dirt and wildlife in a trail behind him clamped between his jaws.
“Outside with that!” screamed his mistress.
Zylka leapt from the settee, and chased his waving brush of a tail out the door, trying to connect her teeth with his rump.
Radar reappeared boneless, and continued his circuit of the room.
Any pats on the head or other kindnesses were met with an attempt to climb into our laps; when that was repelled, he barked, loudly. Zylka snarled every time he moved.
Only when rebuffed by all did he settle down with a sigh in the centre of a new floral rug I had bought.
Radar as a centrepiece for my décor was not what I had imagined.
Nor had I imagined I would be asked to dog-sit, but I was happy to oblige.
Mini golf has never held any attractions for me, but the children love it.
Part of our adjoining fence was being replaced, and there was a large gap in it.
The dogs would have to be confined, or taken for a walk.
Still, Radar appeared to have settled down. I found some sewing I could get on with while the house was quiet, feeling that if I exuded calmness, it would rub off on Radar.
At first, he merely paced the house, moaning.
Then he began scratching at the doors.
Then he tried hurling himself at them, leaving large, dog-shaped smears on the glass.
I realised that the latches probably would not hold, and locked them, speaking soothingly to Radar, who groaned and slobbered at me.
He appeared to surrender once the house was securely locked, and I managed a few seams.
Then a low noise, like a police siren, began from one of the bedrooms.
It grew, raising the hair on the back of my neck and making Zylka look up in alarm, until it was a positive scream.
Abandoned by his family, Radar was howling.
I gave up, got his lead, and took both dogs for a long walk.
I could enumerate the trippings up, rolling in the mud and dead animals, romping in deep water holes that left us all drenched; but we survived.
It is all just Radar revisited, really.