Bunty Takes Sanctuary at the Manor

TRIUMPH AND DISASTER AT THE DOG SHOW

Brexit has been a very naughty dog indeed. 

I feel quite ashamed of him and can hardly bear to record his latest misdemeanour.

Our morning walk started as it always does with Granny T’s spaniels dogs working the hedges and Trenton shuffling along beside me, while Brexit hauled on his extendable lead. We had just turned the corner at the holly tree on the edge of the copse when one of the spans put up a rabbit. Of course, The Sausage was off like a shot, reaching the extent of his elastic in a nanosecond…the familiar jolt nearly tore my arm out of its socket and then… it fell slack. The little devil had slipped his collar. 

Well that was that. He was through the fence and heading like a train for Brig Parker’s place. I’ve never been one to shirk my responsibilities, but apart from calling and whistling, there was little I could do. Brexit may be able to wriggle through a stock fence, but I cannot. 

By the time I’d walked the long way round to Lucknow Cottage, I could tell things were bad.  The brigadier’s wife keeps fancy bantams. At least she used to…

Brexit had a miniature cochin hanging from his mouth and the rest of the flock had scattered to the four winds. If any of them return it will be months before they start laying again. Dolores Parker stood wailing and wringing her hands. In retrospect, my suggestion that she kept her birds better fenced was probably the wrong thing to say. 

I finally managed to catch Brexit, the little blighter, and hauled him back home in disgrace. While I phoned Interflora to send a conciliatory bunch of roses, The Sausage finished off his morning by letting himself out of the kitchen and going up stairs to our room, where he regurgitated the remains of the bantam onto my antique tapestry bedspread.  

To say I am vexed would not be doing justice to the depth of my feelings.

He has let us ALL down, not least himself.

It was tipping down on Monday morning and I was worried that after all my hard work on training The Sausage, would be wasted and he would not get a chance to redeem himself if the dog show was cancelled because of the weather, but by eleven o’clock the sun was out, and a stiff breeze was drying the grass down at the village hall. 

The first class was at 2.30 so we got there in plenty of time to register.

Sally was in front of me in the queue with Nigel, her Dalmatian. He’s completely brainless but beautiful. They say dogs are very like their owners.

‘Four classes at £2.50 will be ten pounds please, Mrs Penny-press,’ says Patricia who is acting as secretary.

‘It’s pronounced Pen-wipers…like the town in Belgium,’ sighed Sally, rolling her eyes and handing over a tenner.

‘Oh, I see…like the town in Belgium…I’ll make a note of it,’ said Pat giving Sally a sticky label with her name on it. ‘You’re in classes one, four and seven.

 Sally must explain her name many times a week, but I still find it funny. 

‘…and you can stop laughing’ she said, ‘I’d never have married Inky if I’d known how it would turn out. Oh, to be just plain Miss Forthe again.’ 

I really think she means it. She dragged Nigel away to look at the Vet-bed stand.

Brexit tugged at his lead while I entered him for the ‘Best small dog’, ‘Best hound’, and ‘Best fancy dress,’ classes, and Trenton, who sat stoically by my side, the ‘Veteran’ class. 

The ring was full by now and I could see Sally and Nigel politely walking round behind a fat man with a great Dane. Brexit pulled me ever closer to the cake stall and got his feet up on the table. Norma didn’t look best pleased, so I tugged him down and gave him a little tap on the nose…he’d have had a proper wallop at home but there were too many people with cameras to risk it. Meanwhile I noted Trenton licking his lips…he had snaffled a cheese scone while nobody was looking. I’m sure those two are in it together. 

Crichton having deigned to honour us with his presence, had set up camp under a tree with Inky, to watch the fun. I left Trenton with his master and entered the ring with Brexit on a very short lead. He was the only Dachshund in the small dog class, among three poodles, two corgis, a Westie and a Jack Russell, and we began our circuit in fine style. One of the poodles was disqualified with a runny eye and the Jack Russel strained at the end of its leash, trying to get nearer to Brexit. Unbelievably, The Sausage stayed calm. It was almost a miracle. When we were called to the centre for the judge to inspect him, he sat nicely and gave her hand an encouraging lick. It must have worked. We won the class! 

Brexit was awarded a red rosette and stood proudly for a moment before squatting to produce a mighty turd, then slipped his collar and dashed out of the ring to launch himself at the cake stall. 

While I struggled to find a bag to clean up, he was off and heading for the car park with half a lemon drizzle in his jaws. He took a great deal of catching and we missed the next class. 

Crichton and Trenton took a second in the Veterans. I still don’t believe that cocker spaniel was over ten years old, but I wasn’t really in a position to complain. Undaunted I prepared Brexit for his fancy dress. I’d decided to go for an easy option and dressed him as a pirate. I know it’s been done before, but he really did look sweet in a stripy T-shirt, tricorn hat and a patch over one eye. I felt sure of another triumph.

Not a bit of it. Spotty Nigel marched on in a larger version of the self-same outfit, as did the horrid Jack Russell. We’d obviously all been on Amazon.

‘And the winner is…Mrs Sally P’neepruz with her dog, Belgium.’ 

The crowd roared with laughter and Sally scowled. 

It took the sting out of being runner up.

Crichton Comments

Received a phone call from a furious Brig Parker during our board meeting. 

The Sausage had been in his poultry. He said he would shoot the little beggar if he ever did it again, so I told him that was fine by me and put the phone down. 

I shan’t answer if he rings me at work again and I won’t have him upsetting Cynthia. Bloody cheek!

Terrific sport at the dog show. Rosettes all round and a cake for Trenton. Good Boy!