Agony at Easter

Chocolate smells fill the house. Since my last trip (see post: I take a trip) all chocolate has been kept way out of my reach and under strict supervision. Ginny spent Saturday afternoon at Touchwood in Solihull and bought half-price Duchy Original chocolate Easter eggs in John Lewis. They smell divine. They come with a box of chocolate orange thins. Ginny says they're far too good to give to the children. She's off chocolate due to an ongoing weight problem but I can see her resolve is wavering.

The boys were a bit dubious on Easter Sunday when they found their posh eggs on the kitchen table. 'These are a bit different from Cadbury's,' was Nick's only comment.

'Aren't we having chocolate button eggs this year,' was Ben's plaintive remark.

'Oh I love orange chocolate!' at least Jake was happy.

Ginny hadn't forgotten Clive. He had a GIANT Cadbury's Dairy Milk Easter egg. It cost TEN POUNDS. It contained a large egg and one bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk and . . . err that's it.

Nick calculated that to buy the equivalent amount of CDM in bars would cost about £2.50 top whack. Ginny has spent about £7.50 on packaging.

'Thank you for pointing that out Nick,' Ginny sounded a bit sniffy.

I notice that no-one has bought Ginny an egg. She's noticed too. But is not saying anything about it, well not saying very much apart from: 'Are you all enjoying your Easter eggs? I thought I might sit down with a cup of tea and some Easter egg . . . Oh I don't seem to have one.'

The boys and Clive cast anxious glances at each other.

Jake offered her a Chocolate Orange Thin. 'Thank you darling that's very sweet of you as I don't seem to have an Easter egg I'd be delighted.'

It was gone in a trice.

The boy shuffled uncomfortably in their seat. 'We thought you were on a diet, Mum,' volunteered Nick.

'Why did you think that Nick?'

'Well you're always saying you are so we didn't think you'd want an egg.'

'Well I wouldn't have eaten an egg of course but it would have been nice if just one of you had thought that I might possibly want one.'

I watched as chocolate turned to sawdust on the tongues of one man and three boys.

Chocolate sure carries a lot of guilt. I'd just eat and enjoy - if only I had the chance!

I take a trip

Spring has sprung! England was at its best over the weekend, at least the little bit I can see from the garden of The Green House at Aston Peverell. Clive emerged at about mid-day on Saturday. He baulked at the plate of fried eggs Ginny placed before him: 'Best thing for a hangover you know Clive.' He spent the rest of the day slumped in front of the telly catching up on the racing! As if he hadn't seen enough last week.

Ginny, meanwhile, was like a whirlwind in the garden. She's digging out a new border. All winter she'd had pots of shrubs and trees waiting to be planted. She meant to get them in the ground before Christmas but life has just passed her by. She's filled the wheelbarrow with pony manure from her horsy friend, Skinny Della. She's digging it into the soil. It's really good fun. As she digs all these wriggly worms emerge. I sniff them and they wrinkle up. I had a taste and they're really not bad.

The garden was filled with flowers. I tried, and liked, the crocuses. They're a pale purple colour and quite sweet. Then I moved onto primroses. They're delicately scented and taste a bit like the drawer liners Ginny uses to line her pants drawer with. (I know that because I was helping her sort out her underwear drawer in the bedroom the other day. She's given up on me staying downstairs I make too much fuss when I'm left on my own - BATTLE WON! ) She took the drawer liners out to vacuum the drawer and when she turned around she found me sitting in the middle of a pile of shredded paper. 'Oh Arrow! For goodness sake can't you leave anything alone!'

Well no, I can't actually. I'd never seen a drawer liner before and it smelt really interesting. And if something smells interesting it's worth tasting, although in this case it wasn't. But it was fun to rip into tiny little pieces.

The thing I soon found with primroses was that after a while the taste begins to pall but, like the drawer liners, it's still fun to rip them off their stalks. The petals are very pretty when they flutter to the ground. After I'd finished with the primroses I moved onto the daffodils. NOT NICE AT ALL. Sort of bitter with a horrible aftertaste. Yuck I had to spit. But they do make a satisfying crunch when you pull them off the stalk. I crunched quite a few before I got bored.

Ginny was still busy with her digging so I thought I'd give her a bit of help. I found a nice quiet corner of the garden and the digging commenced. It was hard work but great fun. The worms were really pleased to see me they kept waving at me out of their holes before disappearing. After a good solid half hour I had a huge hole. It was warm so I lay down for a rest, the sun was hot on my face and I dozed off.

'ARROW!!'

I jumped up. Ginny was in the middle of the lawn surrounded by flower petals. Did I really do all that? She looked a bit upset. Clive looked out of the window: 'What's up Ginny, love?'

'That B****Y dog has shredded the garden! There isn't a single flower left in it! Arrrgh! Look at that hole. He's dug up my Japanese Maple.'

So that's what it was. It tasted nice after those daffodils.

'Jake,' Ginny shouted. 'Come and take this puppy inside, it's going to take me ages to sort out this mess.'

****

Jake was only to happy to look after me. Within minutes I was ensconced in the Liverpool FC bedroom. Jake showed me his Liverpool FC Top Trumps set and then his Play Mobil dustcart set. Then Jake told me his secret. Jake keeps a packet of Smarties in his room: 'For emergencies,' he whispered in my ear. 'Like if I get hungry in the night.'

We spent a happy few minutes sharing Jake's Smarties. Well when I say share. It was one for Jake and four for me, one for Jake and four for me. We'd soon polished off the lot and were settling down to a game of puppy Twister when I began to feel very strange indeed. The red bedroom was swirling around. Suddenly I felt as if I was hovering near the ceiling looking down on a little boy playing with a little puppy. 'That's me,' I thought.

I heard Jake's voice coming from a long, long way away. 'Arrow, you look a bit odd.'

'I feel a bit odd.' I was flying around the room. Sparks of light were flashing in my eyes. I tried to sit down but I couldn't. My head felt enormous - as big as the room.

'Your eyes are really big.' Jake was peering into my face. 'I think I'd better get Nick.'

Nick slouched into the room with Jake hanging on his arm. 'I only gave him a few Smarties and he's gone strange,' explained Jake.

'You've given him Smarties!' Nick looked shocked. 'You know Mum won't allow Smarties in the house.'

'But they're really nice and I like them,' Jake looked worried.

'She's going to kill you,' Nick looked strangely happy at this prospect.

Jake didn't. 'You're not going to tell her are you?'

'Oh no Jake, I'm not going to tell her . . . you are. You've poisoned the puppy. We've only had him for two weeks and he could die because of you.'

Jake started crying. Clive arrived to see what the fuss was about. Meanwhile I was back on the ceiling staring down at a little boy sobbing, a big boy looking smug and a middle-aged man looking very worried.

Ginny went APE. 'Do you know how much it costs to see a vet on a Saturday afternoon!' she shouted at her family when we returned home. Her family didn't look as if they knew, so she told them. 'ONE HUNDRED POUNDS!'

Luckily, as I'd only just eaten the Smarties the vet didn't think there'd be too much harm done. He gave me a purgative - and it worked. I threw up everywhere. It made me feel a lot better. He advised Ginny to keep me quiet and on no account to ever give me any form of chocolate again. 'I assure you Mr Jarvis, all chocolate will be kept under strict control from now on,' she sniffed.

At home Ginny raided the boys bedrooms with the ruthless efficiency of an SAS patrol. No mattress was left unturned, no toy unexamined. The haul: half a packet of custard creams, three half-eaten packets of cheese and onion crisps, a tube of Pringles and 18 Fruit Salad chews. Not bad in a household where food is banned from the bedrooms.

It was an exciting day but not a trip I'd like to take again!

Clive is a winner

'Was Dad drunk last night?'

It's Saturday morning. The boys are eating their breakfast. Ginny is flicking through The Daily Telegraph nursing a large cup of strong Yorkshire Tea in one hand. She gazed at Ben: 'What gave you that idea?'

'He was singing in the driveway and he kept dropping his keys on the garden path. It woke me up,' said Ben.

'And me,' said Jake.

'Yeah, I wish you parents could control yourselves when you go out,' grunted Nick.

It's true Clive was a bit noisy when he was poured out of the taxi onto the pavement outside The Green House.

Clive had a small wager on Kicking King. He bet just one pound on Betfair at odds of 1000 to 1. Kicking King romped home in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. Clive had won ONE THOUSAND POUNDS! Hurray! General rejoicing. Clive phoned Ginny from the course to tell her the glad tidings.

'About time you had a winner,' was her muted response.

'We're going into Cheltenham with some of the lads, don't keep any dinner for me, Bye.'

I think Clive had had a liquid dinner. Ginny heard him fumbling at the door with his keys and let him in. He stood swaying ever so slightly. 'Hello Ginny,' he looked rather sheepish. Then he dashed for the downstairs loo. The sound of seven pints of Guinness hitting the pan not something I'd like to hear every day. Ginny, very silently and ominously, marched Clive into the children's playroom where she had already made up the sofa bed (I think she's done this before) and lay him down to sleep it off.

Today is going to be a very quiet day in The Philpott household.

My trip to the vet

Cooshtie Dave went home with his wallet full . . . of money. Clive is still a loser. He has had to admit, under severe questioning from Ginny, that none of his antepost bets has come anywhere near the finish line. Clive has spent the week explaining betting tactics to the boys. It goes something like this . . .

Back in the mid-winter you hand your money over to a grateful bookie to back a horse for Cheltenham at long odds, this is an antepost bet. Then as other punters get wind of the horse's potential you watch as the odds come down, rubbing your hands in glee at your foresight in beating everyone to it. Your 70 to 1 bet looks like a sure thing now that your horse is 4 to 1. Then the smile is wiped off your face as your horse, for some unforeseen reason, is withdrawn from the race, or drops dead on the gallops or catches a cold. Four of Clive's antepost bets have been withdrawn.

Last week Clive spent a whole evening in the company of racing enthusiasts at the Paddy Power and Racing Post Cheltenham Festival Preview. He phoned Ginny during the interval, sounding breathless and excited. 'There's some really good people here - Nicky Henderson, Paddy Power . . '

'Is that a real person?' Ginny interrupted.

'Cornelius Lysaght, Colm Murray . .

'Clive, I neither know nor care who these people are. Why are you calling?' Oooh she can be harsh sometimes.

'Errr, just thought I'd see how you are.'

'Clive, you're in a room surrounded by 400 saddo racing geeks. Surely in that crowd there must be someone as sad as you to talk to.' And she put the phone down.

Today is the last day of The Festival. Ginny won't be sorry. I'm on tenterhooks to see if Clive can come home a winner today. Ginny is too. She's actually had the telly on tuned to the racing!

The signs are good. Kicking King has won the Gold Cup. Ginny thinks Clive mentioned that horse (but then he mentioned so many it's hard to be sure). But it's cheered her up a bit . . . for now.

After The Gold Cup I went into the garden to do my business. My tummy's been feeling decidedly odd today. Ginny came out to clear up my mess. 'Arrrgh! Arrow what on earth have you been eating?'

My turds are as black as Marmite. Ginny is seriously concerned. That woman can move fast when she's worried. Before I knew it I was in the back of her little Peugeot 206 and we were bowling along the country lanes heading for the vet.

Now I try to block out thoughts of the vet. I have been once: last week when it was time for my first vaccination. On that occasion Nick held me on his lap in the car. He was exceedingly nice to me stroking and petting me all the way. At the vets I could smell dogs and I could hear them but I couldn't see them. DOGS! I hadn't been near a dog for over a week, not since I was wrenched from my birthplace and taken to live with The Philpotts. The vet was nice to start with. He petted me and prodded me and parted my legs to check that I was all present and correct. Then he asked Ginny to hold me while he stabbed me in the shoulder. That's not nice.

Now less than a week later here I am again and Ginny is telling the vet about my black turds - she's even brought one in a little plastic bag. After examining me and inspecting the gooey mass, the vet prescribes a probiotic. He reckons something has upset the balance of 'friendly' bacteria in my gut. I bet Cooshtie Dave wasn't thinking about my 'friendly' bacteria when he was slipping me his black pudding under the table yesterday.

Ginny nochalently writes out a cheque for £49 (including VAT) pretending that £49 is neither here nor there.

Clive really needs a winner at Cheltenham today.

Clive is a loser

Cooshtie Dave arrived yesterday evening. He's what Ginny calls: 'a south London wide boy.'

Dave is Clive's mate from Croydon. He sells second-hand cars - or motors in Sarf London parlance. As soon as he arrived Clive's voice changed. He started dropping his 'aitches' and 'torkin a bit sarf London mate.' This is how human males bond. That, and going down the pub.

Ginny locked me in the back porch when Dave arrived. For some reason she thinks I get too excited when people come to the house. Just because I got carried away when the milkman came for his money and I widdled on his foot. The milkman was very nice about it, considering. But Ginny was overcome with embarrassment. She insisted on taking his shoes and sponging them down. I think she regretted it. They ponged to high heaven. I saw her wrinkling her nose in disgust at the kitchen sink. Get that man some Trainer Tamers.

Anyway, after the milkman incident I have not been allowed to greet visitors. So when Cooshtie Dave arrived all I could was sit with my ear against the door of the back porch.

'Wotcha mate!'

'Arright boys?'

'How's it going gorgeous?' I think he was talking to Ginny then.

Eventually I was allowed out. Cooshtie Dave fussed over me. 'What you get a poncy dog like this for mate? You want a Staff or a Bull, something with a bit of class.'

'It's Ginny's,' Clive whispered.

'Oh, nuff said.'

The boys like Cooshtie Dave. He's a demon on the yo-yo. Jake had the yo-yos ready and wouldn't let Cooshtie Dave go without a demonstration. Cooshtie Dave also teaches the boys the latest sarf London slang. This year everything is 'triple tidy.' I think that means good.

****

I'm not sure Cooshtie Dave's heart is entirely on the racing. He doesn't seem to find the racing programmes on Channel 4 essential viewing. Unlike Clive. Although, even Clive is beginning to flag. I notice he missed the early morning racing programmes today. He got up just in time for the start of the Morning Line at 8.30am. It's tough schedule he's been keeping especially as he and Cooshtie Dave hit the pub last night and carried on talking and boozing until the small hours. I heard the sound of bottles and glasses clanking as Ginny cleared up the living room this morning.

Ginny got the boys off to school then she cooked a massive fry-up. Fried eggs, sausages, bacon, black pudding, baked beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread. My mouth has never watered so much in my life. I sat by Cooshtie Dave's chair. I find that if you sit next to someone and gaze, dewy eyed, into their face you might be rewarded with a tasty tit-bit.

'Arrow, you can't sit there! On your bed,' ordered Ginny. I ignored her. Well I'm not technically trained yet and a bit of disobedience will keep her on her toes.

'Oh he's orlright, Gin, luv. I don't mind.' Ginny sat down. Ha ha I've won that one!

It seems Dave had an ulterior motive. He doesn't like black pudding. Every time Ginny turned to put the kettle on or some dishes in the dishwasher, Dave slipped me a nibble of the ultimate delicacy. How can I describe black pudding? It's like nectar, beautifully meaty, yet soft and easy to chew and with an undercurrent of savoury richness. Unbeatable. I scoffed the lot.

Soon after breakfast Cooshtie Dave and Clive left for the third day of THE FESTIVAL -the biggest week in racing's calendar. I hope Clive has some luck today. He came home very depressed after yesterday's racing. Let's see, so far there have been 12 races. Clive has placed at least one bet on each race (and sometimes several). So far he has won ZILCH. 'I've shouted a few home though Ginny,' he said yesterday. It's true his voice is sounding very gravelly. Let's hope he has a good reason to shout today. Ginny wants some wedge - as Cooshtie Dave calls it.

Today could be the day Clive's luck will change. Are the bookies quaking in their boots? I don't think so!

It's The Festival

The drone of the helicopters started at around the same time as The Morning Line on Channel 4 - 8.30am. Yesterday was the first day of The Festival - Cheltenham, that is. All morning helicopters choppered over Aston Peverell carrying monied owners, jockeys and trainers to THE BIGGEST EVENT IN THE RACING CALENDAR. I predict the same for today. Much excitement in the Philpott establishment - well Clive is excited. This year for the first time The Festival is to run for four days. Clive has taken the whole week off to attend. 'That's more than you took when the boys were born,' Ginny points out.

Clive is glued to the telly. He has been glued since around 6am when coverage of the Cheltenham Festival started with 'Turf Accounts'. That was followed by Cheltenham Festival Highlights. Not totally necessary viewing given that Clive videoed the whole of yesterday afternoon's coverage to watch in the evening. He played the Champion Hurdle over and over again, all the while muttering about the horse being held back, Steward's Enquiry, waste of a bet . . .

Clive was not happy when he came home yesterday. Actually, he was gutted. He started the day full of hope and excitement. He ended the day full of loathing for the hapless jockey riding Harchibald. In a tense climax to the Champion Hurdle, Harchibald's jockey, who could have won the race sat back and enjoyed the view or, in the words of The Daily Telegraph sports reporter 'downed tools faster than a Parisien striker.' Clive read this snippet out over the breakfast table. He hasn't told Ginny the whole truth about how much he lost. He admits to 20 pounds. Privately I think it's nearer 50.

Ginny hates Cheltenham week. The Festival turns her life upside down. 'I didn't sign up for running a B & B when I walked down the aisle you know!' Ginny spent a frenzied day sorting out clean sheets, stocking up on bacon, eggs, sausages and black pudding, and spraying Toilet Duck around every loo in the house. For, tonight we have the first of Clive's Cheltenham visitors. Someone new to play with!

After watching the morning pundits, Clive ventured out to buy The Racing Post. He perused the form for what has to be the thousandth time (and that's just since I've been living here), then filled his Thermos with coffee, made himself a cheese and pickle (branston of course) sandwich and was off. I pray he has a winner. I didn't like Ginny's barbed comments at Clive's failure to pick even one winner yesterday. If he won she might cheer up a bit. We'll see.

Oh my head

Monday 7th March

For some reason I overslept this morning. I awoke to the sound of Ginny shouting at the boys. 'Your school uniform is on your beds. Who wants Ready Brek?' There were a few grunts and then Ginny burst through the kitchen door and whirled around filling the kettle, laying the table, getting a loaf of bread out of the freezer. Then she stopped and opened the door to the back porch where I was still curled up in my bed. 'Arrow! I'd forgotten about you.' She picked me up. 'You clever, clever boy. You've slept right through the night.' She put me on the floor. I felt decidedly wobbly. I wasn't going to make it to the back door to be let out for a wee. So I didn't bother.

Once she'd cleaned the floor Ginny knelt down to have a look at me. 'What's up little man? You don't look yourself this morning.'

I don't feel myself. My head feels magnetically attracted to the floor and I just want to lie down. A clammy fur seems to have grown over my tongue overnight and it feels twice its normal size. I want to drink lots of water but when I do it makes me feel queasy. I'm going back to bed.

I lay in bed and snoozed while Nick, Ben and Jake had their breakfast. Afterwards, and in between their mad searches for rugby kit, swimming trunks and a quick polish of their school shoes, they each in turn came to talk to me. Jake whispered in my ear: 'Get better Arrow.' Ben tickled my tummy which usually makes me giggle and wriggle. Today I just lay back. I had no energy for anything. Nick stroked me: 'See you later Arrow I've got to go to school now.' The boys in my family are quite nice really.

Nick and Ben left to catch the bus and Clive emerged from his noisy ablutions in the bathroom. While the boys had been having their breakfast we'd heard him singing. He has this knack of choosing one of the worst songs you could possibly think of, sings it, then departs the room leaving the song on your brain for hours. Ginny hates it. I heard her moaning at him: 'If you're going to sing corny songs at least choose something I like!' Today he's singing a song about a convoy travelling through the night, every so often he roars: 'CONVOY!' at the top of his voice. Today, Clive, I am not in the mood.

Ginny left to take Jake to school. While she was gone Clive made himself some toast. Then he came and had a look at me. His face was scrunched up with worry. 'You alright Arrow?' I gazed up at him balefully. 'What does he care?' I thought.

'I hope I haven't overdone things,' Clive mumbled.

'What is he talking about?' I thought.

Clive was riffling through the pages of the Dog Care Handbook and mumbling. 'Ah here we are.' He read for a while. Then looked at me. He came over and inspected me, pulling my eyelids down, prodding my tummy. Usually I would have given him a nibble but today it was all too much effort.

'You'll be alright Arrow,' he said rather more confidently than I think he felt. And with that he gathered up his briefcase and went out of the door. I nodded off.

The next thing I knew Ginny was back. The washing machine was whirling, the dishwasher was humming, the vacuum cleaner was roaring, my head was thumping. I stayed in bed. In the kitchen Ginny was sorting out empty bottles for the recycling box - two wine bottles, a few tonic water cans, a couple of empty cans of Stella Artois and a miniature bottle of Baileys liqueur. Ginny picked up the latter and looked at it thoughtfully. 'Where did that come from?'

She picked up the phone: 'Clive I think Nick's been drinking. I found that Baileys miniature in the bottle bin. What do you think we should do?' She paused as Clive answered.

'But you hate Baileys.' She paused again.

'Well I'll get you a bottle in if you're going to take up having a nightcap.' Another pause.

'Oh well if you're sure.' And she put the phone down thoughtfully. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. Ginny can look quite frightening at times. She loomed over my bed, picked me up and sniffed my breathe. Her eyes narrowed again and she replaced me gently in my bed. 'I think I know what will make you feel better.'

Ginny cooked me a couple of scrambled eggs for breakfast. I thought I wasn't going to be able to manage them but it turned out that I was quite hungry and I polished off the lot - and when I say polished, that's what the bowl looked like when I'd finished. Then Ginny took me into the garden. I felt a bit better with some fresh air. Then I went back to bed and I slept and I slept and I slept.

When I woke again the boys were home from school and eating their tea. Ginny was pacing up and down the kitchen. A large bottle of Bailey's Cream Liqueur stood in the middle of the table. I felt quite lively. My head was no longer sagging earthwards and my tongue felt clean again. All was right with the world.

The sound of Clive's key in the front door soon changed that. 'Hello everyone.'

There was a deathly silence. The boys sat eating their tea. Their heads down, looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else in the world. Clive walked into the kitchen and started to smile at Ginny. Then he noticed her expression. Then he noticed the bottle of Bailey's. His face froze halfway between a smile and a look that said: 'I really wish I was somewhere else.'

'Ooh err, hello,' Clive said rather pathetically.

'Don't ever, ever give my puppy alcohol ever again,' Ginny's voice was low and menacing.

'I thought it would help him sleep,' Clive replied lamely.

Ginny picked up the Bailey's bottle and for a split second I thought she was going to bring it crashing down on Clive's head. I was so worried I messed on the floor.

Attention diverted, crisis avoided. I survived my first (and hopefully my last) hangover. So did Clive. Just.

I meet the cat

Sunday 6th March

I knew there was a cat around this house and today I had the displeasure of meeting him.
But first things first. Last night was quite good fun. As before Ginny put me to bed in the utility room. As before I woke up feeling lost and lonely. As before I howled the house down. This time though Ginny bedded down on the kitchen floor and every time I started whimpering she called out to me to 'be quiet'. It was quite a game to see how many times I could get to howling volume before she shouted at me. Now when I say shouting I mean a sort of shout that's under the breathe but with menace. She didn't want to wake the boys but she wanted to show me who was boss . . . We'll see.

What they don't seem to understand is that if they let me sleep snuggled up with someone I would sleep soundly all night long, like I used to at home.

I got up at my usual hour of 5am. So did Ginny. She looked a little ragged around the edges this morning. I notice that her and Clive shared a bottle of Rioja last night over their steak dinner - perhaps something has disagreed with her.

I played quite happily for an hour or so while Ginny sipped cup after cup of strong Yorkshire Tea. The peace was shattered by a scratching at the nailed-up cat-flap.

'Festus,' Ginny jumped up from her chair. 'You've come home!' She threw the back door open and gathered up a large and impressively feisty-looking tom cat. He lay in Ginny's arms, his nose wrinkling and twitching, as she fussed him.

'What big girl's blouse,' I thought.

Ginny put Festus on the floor. It was then that he noticed me. Now cats are not a new thing for me. At the farm there were loads of them and when we puppies were outside they'd sit on the wall watching us, sometimes passing a sarky comment but generally leaving us alone. 'The situation with cats,' my Mum told us. 'Is that we dogs chase them as often as possible. But under no circumstances should you actually catch them or you'll be given a seeing to that you will never forget.'

Huh! Who's she trying to kid? Cats are made for chasing, teasing and generally having fun with, aren't they?

I looked at Festus who stood, stock-still in the middle of the kitchen floor. He seemed to have doubled in size. He was glaring at me. For some reason this cat was not happy. I decided to make his acquaintance and approached. Before I even had a chance to introduce myself he had leapt two foot in the air. The kitchen was filled with a banshee-like wail and the wimp fled. There was a tense moment as he hurled himself against the nailed-up cat-flap in a desperate bid for freedom. Ginny opened the back door for him and he shot off across the garden, over the stone wall and into the orchard next door.

'Oh dear,' said Ginny. 'Clive's not going to be happy.'

****

Clive is not happy.

'I knew bringing a b****y dog into the house would upset Festus,' was Clive's comment when Ginny told him about the incident in the kitchen.

'They'll get used to each other.'

It turns out that Festus is Clive's cat. Clive rescued him from the side of the road when he was a kitten. Although the animal is almost feral he appears to worship Clive. If there's a choice of a knee to sit on, or a jumper to curl up on it will be Clive's that Festus chooses.

I know all this because Jake, the little boy in the house told me. That was when he'd sneaked me upstairs to have a look at his bedroom. It was exciting. I'd never been upstairs before. As we mounted the stairs - me tucked under Jake's arm - I saw a red glow shining from what I now know is Jake's bedroom. He opened the door and I blinked several times before my eyes got used to the glare.

Jake is a true Liverpool Football Club fan. His room is wallpapered with Liverpool FC wallpaper. He has a Liverpool FC duvet cover and pillow. He has a Liverpool FC calendar on his wall. He has a Liverpool FC shirt - which, come to think of it, he has worn constantly all weekend. The predominance of red tends to give the room a warm unnatural glow - like looking into the glowing embers of a fire. Jake showed me around his room. I climbed onto his bed and snuggled up to him while he told me all about his favourite Liverpool player - Number 19 Morientes - who has come from Real Madrid and is the best.

Then his showed me his sticky putty. It was magic. When he rolled it into a ball it bounced. Then he put it on his hand and it spread out slowly over his palm. Then he rolled it into a ball and bounced it again. Unfortunately it bounced behind the radiator. he spent some time with a ruler trying to fish it out but he couldn't get it.

Then he showed me his alien in an egg. It looks like a day-old starling that's fallen out of its nest. I saw one the other day. It was sprawled on the garden path looking red and raw and dead. It tasted as bad as it looked.

Jake loves his Liverpool bedroom. Clive doesn't. Clive is a true blue Chelsea fan, so are Nick and Ben. Clive cannot understand what went wrong with Jake. Clive is not happy.

Clive was certainly not happy when I peed on Jake's floor. He was caught sneaking a bucket of soapy water and a cloth upstairs. Meanwhile I had been caught short again under Jake's bed. All hell broke loose. I was banished to the back porch. All I could hear for the next 20 minutes were muffled shouts as Clive shouted at Jake, Ginny shouted at Clive and Jake shouted at both of them: 'It wasn't my fault. Arrow wanted to see my Liverpool kit.'

I liked it upstairs. I'm going to try and get up there again soon.

I think I have upset my new family

Saturday, 5th March 2003

I think I have upset my new family.

I got very lonely in the night. I had a dream that I was snuggling up in my bed with my brothers and sisters. Then I woke up because I needed the loo (for you Americans out there loo is the English word for toilet or john) and I forgot where I was. It was all dark and I couldn’t see or hear anything. I’m sorry to say I panicked, and when puppies panic everyone knows about it! I howled and I howled. After a while I heard someone come into the room. Ginny turned the light on, picked me up and gave me a cuddle and popped me back into my bed. ‘Get some sleep little man, you’ll wake up the whole house.’

The she went out, turned the light off and left me on my own again. I didn't like being left on my own. It's quite chilly when you haven't got anyone to snuggle up to, so I howled again. After a while Ginny came back. She didn't seem as friendly as before. 'Quiet! You'll wake the children.' She put me back in my bed, turned the light off and left me again. I started howling again. This time as soon as I started howling I heard Ginny on the other side of the door: 'Quiet.' I was. Then I started again. 'Quiet.' I stopped. I started again. 'Quiet.' I stopped for a few minutes this time. I could hear Ginny on the other side of the door, it sounded like she was tiptoeing away. I howled. Her footsteps came closer. 'Quiet.'

Now this had all the makings of a good game. I howled. Ginny yelled. I stopped. I howled louder. Ginny yelled louder. I stopped. I gave it everything I could. 'Shut Up!' I think I'd got her rattled. Then I heard the door of the kitchen open and Clive's voice: 'What the hell is going on down here?! It's three in the morning and we're all trying to get some sleep.'

'I can't get the puppy to settle,' whispered Ginny. I don't know why she bothered whispering, she'd only just been shouting at me!

'Put him in his bed and leave him,' said Clive.

'But he'll wake up the boys,' said Ginny.

'It's Saturday tomorrow they haven't got to go to school. Anyway dogs have to get used to sleeping on their own. Let him howl and he'll soon learn he's got to stay where he is,' said Clive.
Ginny put me in my bed again and whispered in my ear: 'Be a good boy. We all need some sleep now. Night night.'

She shut the door and went back to bed. I did try to sleep. Honestly, I did. I trampled my new blanket to get comfortable. I counted sheep - even though I'd never seen a real sheep. I ran through the alphabet backwards from Z to A. I tried to clear my mind and think of nothing - that didn't work. I'd had the most distressing day of my life and I couldn't help thinking of Mum. And it was thinking of Mum that did it. I couldn't help it. It started with a little pricking feeling at the corner of my eyelids, and then a big lump filled my throat and blocked my nose and I burst into tears again. I didn't mean to howl. I kept thinking of what Mum had said about behaving myself but it was very hard when I was locked in a room with no-one to cuddle. . .

****

This morning Ginny didn't seem quite so friendly towards me. That might be down to my discovery of the cat flap. It was the work of a moment to squeeze through and I had great fun running around the garden chasing the birds. I saw Clive look out of the bedroom window. I must have woken him up. Ooops. Then I heard him shout at Ginny to 'get the b****y dog inside before it wakes the neighbours.' Ginny came out and started chasing the birds too. We were both out there for quite a while running around. Then for some reason she pounced on me, tucked me under her arm, marched indoors, and plonked me back in my bed. And you know what else she did? She got Clive's toolbox from under the sink and hammered a nail in the cat flap so it wouldn't open anymore. Spoilsport! But the presence of a cat flap indicates the presence of a cat. Now cats are FUN! I wonder why I haven't met the cat yet. Hhhhmmm.

When Ginny finally let me back into the kitchen at 5am the atmosphere was definitely frosty. I gather that this household rises late. Now I'm not used to rising late. I've come from a farm and on a farm everyone gets up early. What's the point of staying in bed when the sun is coming up and the birds are singing? There's a whole world out there!

Ginny had bedded down on the kitchen floor. She doesn't look her best at this time of day, although I'm not sure if she has a best. While Ginny made herself several cups of strong Yorkshire Tea I skittered about the floor playing with a little ball. It's one of those that when you push it makes a bell tinkle. Great fun!

When the rest of the family came downstairs they all looked a bit tired.

****

Saturday is a funny sort of day in the Philpott home. In the morning Ginny and the boys disappear. Nick and Ben go to the river to row and Jake plays football. Ginny drives. Clive has a kind of leisurely approach to Saturdays. After the rest of his family had gone out he made himself a cup of coffee and a bacon butty. Then he turned on the computer and logged onto The Racing Post website. He spent what seemed like hours aquainting himself with the latest racing news. I caught a glimpse of one of the pages. It was about a forthcoming event called The Festival. I think this is an important event in Clive's year because I notice that Cheltenham Festival is written in big red letters on the calendar for 15th to 18th March. That's quite soon.

Then Clive visited a site called Paddy Power and then a site called Betfair and then a site called William Hill and then a site called the Tote. At each site he tut tutted about odds and Yankees and each ways. He may as well have been speaking double Dutch! Then he heard the sound of a car in the drive. Before I knew it the computer was off and he was up to his elbows in sudsy water at the kitchen sink. He sure can move fast when he wants to!

Clive wasn't doing a lot of fast moving in the afternoon. Clive is uncommonly attached to his armchair - he spent all afternoon in it watching television. All of it was sport - horse racing, football, rugby. I know this because he allowed me to sit in the living room with him. Only problem was I was desperate for a pee and I didn't know where to go. Eventually I just went. Clive jumped out of his chair grabbed the scruff of my neck and dumped me out in the garden! Then I saw him running in and out with a cloth and a bucket and a worried look on his face.

When Ginny came home he looked even more worried. I saw them through the French windows pointing at me. They didn't look too happy. I made myself scarce.

****

Good move! On exploring the environs of the Philpott garden I found several escape routes to freedom and excitement. It was the work of a moment to pop through the front hedge and out onto the main road. I sat on the pavement. It was a bit daunting to be out on my own. Several cars passed by. Then a girl with long blonde hair cycled past. She stopped and picked me up. I liked her, she smelt of chocolate. She stroked my ears and then snuggled her face against me - I get a lot of that. Then she marched up the Philpott's garden path and knocked on the door.

'Your puppy was on the road Mrs Philpott.'

'Thank you Latoria, that's kind of you to bring him home.'

'He might of got run over.'

'Yes, he might have been run over, thank you,' Ginny said, a touch tartly.

'My Dad reckons you're mad having a springer spaniel. Says they want a firm hand. Reckons a lurcher is the only dog worth having. Our lurcher catches rabbits when we're out. Ever so quick he is.'

'Really.'

I detected that Ginny was ending the conversation. Latoria didn't.

'Does Ben want to come and play at the rec?'

'He's gone out for the afternoon,' Ginny lied.

'Okay, bye.'

'Good-bye, Latoria.'

The rest of the afternoon went quite well. I discovered at least six exits from the Philpott garden. After my third escape the Philpott boys were told to play in the garden to keep an eye on me. This did not prevent me escaping a further three times. After my sixth escape Clive was despatched to the DIY shop. He came home with rolls and rolls of chicken wire, fence posts and nails. He was occupied until well after dark - hammering and shouting. When he eventually came in for his dinner his only comment was: 'We've had that b*****y puppy for two days and he's already cost us 500 pounds!' And the rest, Clive. And the rest!

The worst day of my life

Friday 4th March 2005

Today was the worst day of my life.

I woke up, as usual, when Two Spot, that’s my sister, started wriggling. She’s always the first to wake up. Being the greediest she makes it her duty to lick any crumbs and scraps off the kitchen floor before the rest of us have even opened our eyes. Usually Mum would scold her and tell her she’d get tummy ache but today was different. Today Mum just said: ‘You won’t be doing that for much longer, Two Spot.’

We knew then. Today was the day that was going to change our lives forever. You see, today is the day that we – that’s me Arrow and my brothers and sisters – are eight weeks old. And eight weeks is an important time in a puppy’s life. That’s when everything changes – for the worse.

About a week ago Mum (or Mom for you Americans out there) made us sit still and listen to a long lecture. At first I was a bit bored. Dimple, my brother kept nibbling my tail so I bit him on the back of the neck – just to show him who was boss of course. Then he bit me back and we had our usual wrestling match. Mum nipped both of us then and told us to concentrate. We didn’t want another nip – Mum’s got really sharp teeth – so we sat still and listened. And what Mum had to say was pretty serious.

‘Puppies, next week you will be leaving me to go and live with your human families. Some of you will be working dogs, you will be trained with other dogs to go into the fields and to find birds that the humans have fattened up. You will be taught to make the birds fly up from the bushes and trees so that the humans can shoot them with guns. That will be your role in life and you must perform it well.

‘Some of you will be companions to the family that takes you in, and in many ways your role in life will be harder than those of you who have a job. Companion dogs have to be the constant friend of their owner. That is their job and if you become a companion I trust that you will do your best.’

I was beginning to feel a bit sleepy by now, I’d heard a lot from Mum before about doing my best, YAWN YAWN. I think I even dozed off. Then she started talking about my Dad, and my ears pricked up – well as far as floppy spaniel’s ears can prick up. I’ve never met my Dad, none of us have, and my Mum’s only met him once. But we have seen a picture of him. Our human family cut one out of the newspaper and stuck it to the door of the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a dog bone. Dad is standing on a box next to a big silver dog bowl. On his collar is a rosette that says ‘Champion’. My Mum says that Azbek Paignton Wonder to give him his full title is one of the most famous Welsh Springer Spaniels in the country.

‘You are pedigree Welsh Springer Spaniels. You come from a long line of noble dogs and I expect each and every one of you to uphold the high standard of behaviour for which our breed is known. Always be true to your breed,’ said Mum. We lay at her side in stunned silence. 'True to your breed.' Now that sounds like a big responsibility.

Then Mum spoke again: ‘Now it’s time for reading, who am I going to listen to first? How about you Poppy?’

‘Oh Mum,’ whined Poppy, my other sister. ‘Can’t I go and play?’

‘No, you can’t. We don’t have much time left together and I want you all to be able to read properly before you leave,’ said Mum.

Poppy sighed and bent over the newspaper on the floor and started to read: ‘Harry Potter costumes were much in evidence at Aston Peverell School’s annual fancy dress day.. . . Mum who’s Harry Pot . . . ‘

‘Keep reading.’

Most humans don’t know half of the things dogs can do. Reading for example. One of the first things a puppy sees – apart from his Mum and his brothers and sisters – is a newspaper. Humans spread them on the floor when puppies are around. Well I don’t blame them we do make a bit of a mess. Almost as soon as we’d opened our eyes Mum started teaching us the shapes of the letters, and by seven weeks most of us were reading quite well, although some words like lieutenant still stump me. Mind you Mum says most human puppies take seven years to learn to read so we don’t do too badly do we? Some of the stuff in the papers is pretty horrible – bombs, and murders, and wars, honestly the things people do to each other! I was always quite good at reading and much better than my brothers and sisters. I even used to read some of the interesting bits to Dimple, Two Spot, Poppy, Snowflake and Jack. It all seems such a long time ago now . . .

After breakfast – the usual scrambled eggs, Weetabix and milk – Mum seemed very anxious. She kept pacing up and down the kitchen and licking us each one in turn to make sure we were all clean. We went out to play in the garden but none of us could settle to our usual games. I chased Poppy’s tail and rolled over a few times with Jack but nothing seemed right. Then we heard the noise of a strange car coming to the gate. We couldn’t see who it was – our part of the garden is fenced off from the cars, to keep us safe. But we heard them. ‘Morning Rachael, lovely day isn’t it? How are the puppies?’ I now know that was the voice of my New Mum, Virginia Philpott, or Ginny for short.

‘Morning Ginny. They’re fine, eating me out of house and home, and piddling everywhere,’ said Rachael, the Mum in my human family.

They went into the house and we all ran in through the back door to the kitchen. ‘How is my little pup?’ said the strange voice. ‘He’s in great shape,’ said Rachael. They turned and the human with strange voice scooped me up and tickled my tummy. ‘Oh he’s absolutely adorable, I’m sure the children will love him. Shall we sort out the cash? I hope £20 notes are okay?’ She dumped me back on the floor. She's come to BUY me!

She took a small blue sack out her handbag and started counting and counting and counting. I was starting to doze off – I usually have a little sleep in the mornings - when the strange voice got louder. ‘Four hundred pounds. And you have the pedigree certificate don’t you?’

Four hundred pounds. Now I know that’s a lot of money. In the newspaper today there was an advert for a new sofa and that was £399 – I cost more than a sofa. But I’m not as much as a car – that’s thousands. But I’m more than a pack of chicken drumsticks, they’re only £3.99. I can’t believe I’ve been bought like I was a bag of spuds in the greengrocer’s. But that’s what’s happened, and that’s how I’ve come to be here at The Green House, The Green, Aston Peverell, Worcestershire, England, UK, Europe, The World, The Universe.

While Ginny was counting out her cash Mum whispered in my ear: ‘This may be the last time I see you Arrow. Be a good boy and remember always be true to your breed.’

‘But I will see you again won’t I Mum?’ I had this terrible feeling in my tummy as if a cold paw was squeezing me from the inside.

Mum licked me and then turned and went to sit in her basket. I ran after her crying: ‘Mum, Mum I want to stay with you, and Snowflake, and Dimple and everyone.’

Mum turned her head away from me but not before I noticed that she had tears in her eyes. Suddenly I was scooped up by Ginny. ‘Shall I let him say goodbye to his Mum?’ she said.

‘Yes, yes,’ I cried.

‘No, it just upsets them,’ said Rachael.

‘Too right it does,’ I screamed. ‘Mum why don’t you look at me?’

‘Ahhh, listen to him he knows something is up,’ said Ginny.

‘Too right it is,’ I shouted.

Before I knew it I was whisked outside and handed over to another human. ‘Here you are Liz, he’s a wriggly little thing, have you got the towel to put on your lap?,’ said Ginny.

We got into the car and I sat on Liz’s lap. Now normally I like cars. I’ve been for several journeys in the eight weeks since I was born. Once we were all taken in a big cardboard box to see Rachael’s Mum down at the farm. It was really exciting. We lay in the box and watched trees and houses whizzing past. Once a big lorry came right up behind us and we waved our paws at the man behind the big steering wheel. He was holding a little black box up to his ear and talking into it. Mum said it was a mobile phone.

Another time we went to the supermarket. We parked in the car park and Rachael left us in the car with her human puppies – Emma and Kate. They were supposed to keep an eye on us but they spent most of their time lying on the seats waving their feet out of the window. When Rachel came back she had loads of plastic bags oozing with tempting smells.

This journey was different, because I was on my own and I didn’t know where I was going and I was very, very afraid.

We weren’t in the car for long but I cried all the way. ‘He doesn’t sound very happy, does he?’ said Liz.

‘I’m not,’ I screamed. ‘How would you like it if you were taken away from your Mum by a couple of complete strangers and told you might never see her again.’

‘He’ll soon settle in,’ said Ginny.

My new house is very different to my old house. My old house smelt beautiful. It had all the smells of my Mum and my brothers and sisters. It smelt of puppy milk, and scrambled eggs, and gravy, and rubber boots. It smelt comfortable and warm. It smelt of home.

My new house smells strange. But there was one smell I have smelt before. Cigarettes and air freshener. The horrible kind thats smells sweet and makes your nose prickle. I've smelt this smell before. A few weeks ago the gamekeeper popped round with a couple of rabbits for Rachael. He smelt sort of smoky and musty – my Mum said it was the smell of cigarettes. When he left Rachael sprayed with room with air freshener and muttered something about ‘filthy habit’ under her breath. That’s what this house smells like – smoke and air freshener. There’s some other smells as well, and I think they’re animal, but I can’t get any scent of dog. NO DOG! How can a home be a home without a dog in it?

Ginny took me into her kitchen. The whole floor was covered in newspaper. ‘I thought I’d better be prepared,’ she said to Liz. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘What a cheek! How much mess do they expect me to make all on my own!’

Ginny picked me up. ‘Let’s have a good look at you little fellow. Oh you are so gorgeous.’ Then she did a most horrible thing. She kissed me on the top of my head.

‘Puhhlease. I hardly know you!’

I’m sorry to say I peed on her lap. Puppies do a lot of that. We can’t help it, it’s just that we forget to hold on.
‘Oh the little b*****’ Ginny jumped up and I fell on the floor.

‘You’ll have to get used to that,’ laughed Liz.

I wonder if that’s what Mum meant by being true to my breed?

****

I have my own bed, in my new house. It is a big cardboard box with a fluffy blue blanket in it, and it’s next to the boiler so it’s nice and warm. I have my own water bowl and my own food bowl. Lunch was quite nice. Ginny made me some scrambled eggs mixed with puppy milk. It was quite strange eating on my own. When Rachael gave us our food she put it in a huge bowl that we shared. It was quite a fight to get any food, let alone as much as you wanted. Here I had the whole lot to myself and I scoffed the lot – after all you never know when your next meal is coming do you? After lunch I went into the garden with Ginny. It was so quiet. I felt very lonely sitting in the middle of the lawn with no brothers and sisters to play with. I felt so lonely I started to cry.

‘Don’t whimper little one,’ said Ginny. She picked me up and gave me a cuddle. That made me cry even more because it made me think of my Mum, and I’d have given anything to be back at home with my real family, right then. We went back indoors and Ginny put me in my bed and stroked me until I went to sleep.

****

I was woken by the most tremendous noise of doors banging and footsteps and shouting.

‘Mum, is the puppy here?’

‘Can we see the new puppy, Mrs Philpott?’

‘Where is he?’

The door crashed open and through it poured more human puppies than I have ever seen in my whole life. They crowded round me and started poking me with their fingers and stroking my ears, and tickling my tummy. I got really excited. This was fun.

I spent the rest of the afternoon being passed from one human puppy to the next. After a while some of the puppies went home for their tea – I think they were friends of the puppies who live here. The big boy puppy introduced himself to me:

‘Hello Arrow, I’m Nick.’ He held me up to his face and gave me a nuzzle, just like my brother Jack used to.

‘This is Ben and this is Jake.’ He held me up for Ben and Jake to inspect. Then he plonked me on the floor and threw a ball across the room. I chased it of course – balls are fun. Then I gave it a good chew, and got told off by the little boy, Jake. ‘Nick you’ve made him chew my ball.’

Ooops, I didn’t know it was his. The boys then sat down for their tea, which smelt really nice. Spaghetti Bolognese. Ben made me laugh – he took a piece of spaghetti and slurped it up through his lips, spattering sauce all over the place. Nick thumped him because a piece of sauce flew into his eye. Then Ben hit him back. Then Nick hit him harder. Ben started crying and Ginny shouted at them all to be quiet. Just as everyone was shouting louder and louder and I thought that things were going to turn really nasty I heard another voice.

‘Good evening my most loving and welcoming family.’

‘Daddy,’ the boys shouted and they all left their food and ran out of the room. I was too scared to go with them. I don’t know my way around yet and I’ve never been anywhere but the kitchen.

‘Hello, darling’ said Ginny. ‘Our new addition has arrived.’

‘Well where is the little fellow?’

The Daddy man, whose name is Clive, came into the room and looked down at me. He is soooo tall. I can hardly see his face.

‘So this is what you get for three hundred quid is it?’

Ginny turned very quickly to the stove and started humming loudly.

****

Much later, after I’d had my tea, and the boys had played with me some more, and then gone to bed, and Ginny and Clive had sat at the kitchen table drinking a bottle of wine and chatting, and they had played with me some more, and Ginny had mopped up the floor after my little accidents, it was time for me to go to bed. Ginny put me in my new bed, in the utility room, turned the light off and closed the door and left me. I was all alone, for the very first time in my whole life. I was all alone, in the dark. No Mum. No Jack, no Two-Spot, no Dimple, no Snowflake, no Poppy. Just little me in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange house. I started to cry. I cried, and I cried and I cried. And that is how I ended the worst day of my life.