‘Let’s compare symptoms, old chum.’ The Pooch opened one suspicious eye by way of response to his master’s proposal and then promptly re-closed it.
Oh, come on! Are we not men who have soldiered long and hard together? Comrades, that’s what we are. Can we not share a few thoughts on life and love and the prospects that lie ahead?’ The question was met with a twitch of an ear but otherwise no visible reaction.
‘I may be doting but I believe I still remember when you were a little puppy and a real live wire, a lovable rogue with energy to burn. No slipper went un-chewed, no face un-licked, no ball un-fetched. Now look at you.’ Still no stir.
‘And the girls! You had them eating out of your hand – or should that be the other way around? Anyway, we could not go down the street without the young wans all oohing and aahing and telling me how cute you were. If they said it once, they must have said it a thousand times: ‘he’s so cute!’. They all wanted to take you home. I practically had to fight them off.’ A yawn. Not a full-hearted yawn but definitely a yawn.
‘They don’t call you cute now, do they? They’ve transferred their affections to that ball of fur from down the road. What is he – a beeshon freeze or some such dandified breed? In my day a dog with that much hair was called a poodle. But times change, old chum. Times certainly change.’ The Pooch rolled over lazily, moving himself closer to the hearth with its pleasant fire, the flames reflected on his flank.
‘In my day! Hark at me. Did I really use that phrase? I used to giggle whenever my grandfather said ‘in my day’. In his day they had ice-cream once a year if they were lucky, went to church twice on Sundays for want of any other entertainment, and they never put sugar on their porridge.’ The dog sneezed but did not look up.
‘I suppose my day - our day, even - is done.’ His master bent down and gave the semi-comatose mutt a scratch behind the ear, eliciting an involuntary low groan of pleasure and a twitch of a hind paw.
‘I noticed you were a bit slow out of the scratcher this morning, me oul segotia. I find it hard to spring from the bed myself. I am never sure whether that’s arthritis or rheumatism. The distinction is lost on me but I’m that stiff I would be hard pushed to break thirty seconds for the hundred metres. It has come to that … and I’d say you have as much chance of catching that beeshon freeze in a sprint are as you have of making the derby final at Shelbourne Park.’ As a jack russell, the dog saw no reason to respond to this attack on his dignity.
‘Come on up here and let me have a good look at you.’ The Pooch found himself unceremoniously hauled up by the collar on to his master’s lap.
‘You have gone very grey around the jowls, I notice. Grey around the jowls, that’s you and me both. Ha! At least you still have plenty of cover on top which is more than I can say for myself. I’ll soon need sunscreen for my scalp.’
The dog snuggled down on the lap and allowed his master pat him on the head absent-mindedly.
‘No doubt you know that Gus christened you Piddling Pete years ago after bringing you for a walk and you stopped at every lamp-post along the way. Well let me tell you that I’m every bit as bad as you now. I woke up three times last night to go to the loo. The perils of old age, my boy.’ The dog snuggled down yet more snugly and let his tormentor prattle on.
‘We both have dubious breath, both have loosening teeth and both have dodgy bowels.’ The dog turned over and invited Medders to tickle his tummy.
‘We both suffer from sore feet. We both don’t see as well as we used to either. But at least we both still enjoy having our stomachs rubbed.’ The Pooch let out a happy sigh.
‘The difference is that I am looked after for nothing by the HSE while you cost me a pure fortune at the vet.’ The sigh was followed by similar noise, though from a different orifice.
‘And we could both fart for Ireland, if selected.’
