A shaggy dog story

A certain gentleman is in disgrace today.

There was first the interesting whodunnit: The Mystery of the Disappearing Rye Bread. (Clue: I live with a lurcher.) Then there was the snaffling of the joint of pork. Then there was the destroying of the third fabulously expensive retractable lead. There was also, don’t ask me how, the breaking of the sherry glasses. I adore a good fino and have special glasses for it. Or did.

There were the muddy pawprints all the way up the stairs. There was the escaping from the car, and the setting off of the alarm at inappropriate moments.

There was, bafflingly, the appropriation and chewing of a lovely Lulu Guinness purse I had bought someone for Christmas. Luckily, it was in a box. Now I have a quandary. Do I give the thing unboxed, which looks a bit peremptory and less than festive? Or do I give it boxed, and explain the interesting teeth marks in one corner?

There was the opening of and departing through EVERY SINGLE DOOR IN THE HOUSE. Actually, that is not quite true. There is one door he cannot open, because it has a round handle. But I occasionally catch him, up on his back legs, face intent, with each paw either side of the thing, trying to turn it. He does not care that he has no opposable thumbs. One day, he shall succeed.

There was the freaking out of the small visiting dog who arrived yesterday with the family. The freaking out took the form of – we are going to play my favourite game, Visiting Dog, which consists of me running round and round in circles at greyhound speed and jumping over you when you least expect it. Visiting Dog let out shrieks of such a high pitch that only bats could hear them.

There was the frightening of an entirely innocent and unsuspecting jogger, at the end of the lime avenue. I think the lycra was just too bright, and disapproval came in loud, furious barks. ‘Pay no attention, he’s very friendly,’ I yelled, helplessly, tearing to the rescue.

But disgrace never lasts, because every morning he goes and puts his head on my old mum’s knee and gazes at her with his eyes and makes her laugh and laugh. And then he looks at me, like this:

How can you not love a face like that?