I’m made to watch a bloke on TV sort out the problems of other dogs – naturally I don’t have any, but I watch anyhow and look interested, but I have to be careful not to nod off and snore.
This time it was a poor little Jack Russell who wouldn't go outside because he'd lost his friend. Then it was a bossy little cross breed that attacked people who came in his house – even if the owners did say the person could come in.
Got me thinking about Mistress’s books.
She wrote one about WW1 and never mentioned a single dog! Now she’s doing a WW2 one and going on about all the brave dogs that carried messages and First Aid at the front and attacked the enemy, so I said, “What about the dogs who were pets and didn’t go with the soldiers? What about all these bombs that landed on their houses and kennels? What did these dogs do then? Who looked after them? I bet there’s a few tales of brave dogs from the Home Front!”
She looked puzzled, then rushed off to research and came back ( I stayed in bed) looking as though a light bulb had gone off in her head and told me, “That’s my next story. I’m scrapping the one I started – thanks to you. The new one’s going to be about a dog that lived in Manchester when it was bombed and there was a ring of fire round the city.”
So I sat myself on her feet, to keep ‘em warm, and she started typing.