Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
H'm, perhaps not sure that the pros of a good hunt outweigh the cons of having the little rat
back and poaching all the food.
Fortunately, the pack instinct prevailed and Sam trotted off, nose to the ground, in
search of his mate. Focused on our task, we trudged after him, armed with just a pencil
torch and looking for a dog the size of a hamster and the colour of hay.
We spent the next half hour peering into hedgerows and thickets hissing, “Biff,
Biff
come on
Biffy
lad.”
From time to time the odd shrub sprang out and wrapped itself around a wellie, which
resulted in the occasional tumble, but we soldiered on. We finally found Biff very close
to the pub. He was perfectly content playing in the stream, searching for stones (another
foible), seeming not to have noticed that he had been abandoned. Only then did I consider
forgiving my non-dog-owning sister.
The next day, feeling slightly flimsy, we loaded up the cars and prepared to depart. I
left Di, who was completely blue with bruising down one side, to creak around the house
and close up.
My first stop was to visit Ma. I took Biff in with me so she could give him a squeeze
and he could do his pat-dog thing. I left them both cosied up on the bed and popped out to
check on some paperwork with the home's administrator. Moments, just
moments
later, I
heard a scream and wailing sounds coming from her room.
A nurse had walked into Ma's room and Biff had attacked her. It was an impressive
effort, too. He had ripped a sizable chunk out of her black trousers and partially grazed her
shin. No amount of apologising would comfort the poor woman; she was determined to
continue her histrionics.
I couldn't help thinking that she probably wasn't ideally suited to nursing work if the
sight of a slight scrape caused this level of panic, but she remained inconsolable. I ended
up paying for a new pair of trousers and promising to keep the vicious hamster, sorry
dog
,
on a lead.
I set out for the Midlands with a disgraced dog in the footwell of the car. As we joined
the usual 60-mile tailback on the M6 he began to behave strangely. Di, who had previously
taken him shopping whilst at Ma's, had mentioned this and described it as 'fizzing'. This
was quite an apt description because he was panting slightly and foam frothed out of his
mouth every now and then. It wasn't hot and he didn't seem in much discomfort other than
the odd bubble popping out, so I carried on, assuming it was his version of car sickness.
The journey ended uneventfully.
At home, Biff settled in very well, but we couldn't ignore the fact that he was hugely
overweight, completely without manners and utterly spoilt. He wouldn't 'come', 'sit', 'lie
down' or 'stay' unless there was a treat involved and apparently didn't have a clue what
walking to heel entailed. However, one thing that did, fortuitously, attract his attention was