Meet the gang …
Dogs, eh?
Our dogs mean the world to us, I’m not going to lie. I don’t have children of my own, so these furry miscreants are my life. So much so, that losing one of them led me to write my most successful book, Losing My Best Friend.
When I’m working at home they’re my constant companions. When I’m in the shop, I think about them and miss them.
I’d made an assumption that the dogs would be happy to go wherever John and I went, but John was quick to point out that my old dog, Herbie, had hated camping with a passion. In fact, he’d LOATHED it.
But that was because Herbie liked his home comforts, I said. He loved his sofa. He hated lying on the floor, or the ground, or the grass. He had to have a blanket down. And … big AND, surely … that had been in a tent.
John and I used to camp quite a lot in our lovely Outwell tent, but as we began to get older—and after I’d had an accident in India and damaged my knee—sleeping on the ground and being cold and damp, started to lose its appeal somewhat.
But anyway, that was then, this was now. Herbie had sadly departed for Rainbow Bridge, as had our Staffy X, Satin. We now had Betsy, a Bedlington Terrier, and Finners, a lurcher x.
Betsy Foo is a precocious madam, can be stand offish, with eyes of coal and the sweetest face. But don’t be fooled, she’s a terrier through and through and will happily rip out your heart and shred it without so much as a by-your-leave.
She’s getting on now, and has water diabetes, but she’s still active and happy and our beautiful princess.
Finners? He’s a whole different ballgame. He’s a cross (a mongrel in old terms). Greyhound collie x Bedlington whippet, apparently. He’s super-intelligent, soft as muck, a total woos, and loves nothing more than snuggling. You can have a conversation with him (i.e.. he answers back, the cheeky little bogger). The thing is, he’s a big boy. Heavy. Strong. And headstrong. If he doesn’t like something, you soon know about it.
So John was right to be concerned.
Me? Hahaha! I knew better.
*snort*
