surfingdemon
Senior Member
Given just over a year ago as an ill-thought out Christmas present, the dog had long ago exhausted her novelty value. When she’d first arrived as an eight week old West Highland Terrier puppy; she had been a tiny cute ball of white fluff, tottering under an oversized tartan taffeta bow that had been tied around her neck.
Her former snowy glory having been neglected was now a dirty tangled and matted mess. As her owner worked full time the little Westie was left alone, locked in the kitchen from 6am to 4pm six days a week. The tedious routine continued with her confinement to the small garden at the rear of the house for the remainder of each day. Despite the endless opportunity for excavating she had been lonely, bored and in trouble for as long as she could remember. The little terrier had once desperately wanted to please but had eventually resigned herself to failure and no longer made the effort, for lack of encouragement and opportunity.
Accidental puddles and a gnawed wooden chair leg had been her two earlier misdeeds of the day. She had committed her latest crime having escaped the kitchen whilst her owner had wailed over the destroyed chair leg. Discovering the TV remote control abandoned on the lounge floor, she believed that she had found a most interesting bone; her owner, after a long and unpleasant day at work, believed that she had found the most inconvenient, destructive, good for nothing dog and had immediately broken the usual late afternoon routine by snatching up the dog and placing her roughly in the car outside. The dog having enjoyed her previously infrequent journeys in the car settled down to sleep, lulled by the warm air and the engines hum.
Awakened by a damp winter breeze blowing through the now open window, the dog was momentarily surprised to find herself on her cushion, in the front seat of the car. The dog’s owner, a human female with a narrow pinched expression and thin mousy brown hair, hunched foreword in the driving seat. The woman’s fingers which were long and bony clutched the steering wheel tightly as she peered ahead through the windshield, muttering darkly. The dog jumped up from her seat, hanging her head out the rolled down window as her hair streamed back in the wind, her front paws resting on the lower edge of the window frame. Unexpectedly she felt her rump being lifted through the air by an unseen hand. Her feet scrabbling, she was flying, flying through the blurry, cold air. Landing with a hard bump on her side, she rolled over and over then, finally onto her feet she darted toward the pavement.
A bus shelter stood on the pavement and several people sheltered from the now smattering rain as they waited for their buses. Some of the people called and whistled to the dog, which in her anxiety had begun edging back into the traffic, causing a car to swerve as it narrowly missed running her over. Round white faces peered anxiously out of the back window as the car receded into the stream of traffic. A girl came forward from the group and very gently called to the dog, holding out a tantalizing treat that had been hurriedly found in her coat pocket. A fuzzy coated caramel that lured the frightened little dog closer and closer trembling and cowed, until she was suddenly scooped through the air and held firmly, warm and safe.
A bus pulled up five minutes later and the young girl and her mother separated themselves from the group of chattering people and boarded. The girl took a seat while the woman paid the fare. The doors swooshed shut and the bus once again continued on its way, its wheels swishing on the rain soaked road. At first the dog hid inside the girl’s warm fleecy jacket. Then gradually first her nose, then her black button eyes and finally her dirty fuzzy ears emerged. Resting her head on the girls shoulder, she gazed sadly out of the steamy, rain splashed window.
The woman and her daughter alighted at their stop and after a ten minute walk turned up a garden pathway and finally in through a door, stepping into a warm and bright room. A man, wearing faded jeans and a long stripy dressing gown, was pretending to be a rock star. With a final flourish of his hands across the strings, the electric guitar twanged into silence. The girl gently placed the dog on the laminate floor. The man seated himself on the large orange squishy sofa, directly in front of her. Leaning foreword and peering down at the shivering animal he inquired,
“And who might you be then?”
The woman and their daughter explained how they had met the little dog. The man listened shaking his head slowly in sad disbelief. Finally, the deplorable tale told, the man bent down once more and whispered in the animals’ ear. Looking up at his wife and daughter he declared,
“She say’s her name is Daisy. Miss Daisy Petalworth ll QC.”
“What’s QC?” asked his daughter, clapping her hands with delight.
“Why, Quaint Canine, of course!” said her Dad with a smile.
“I heard barking when I came up the path and I thought it must be coming from next door… only they don’t have a dog… but, it could have been visiting them I suppose...”
The young mans commentary trailed off as he shut the front door behind him.
“I thought so, I didn’t want to believe it but it’s true, there is a dog. It’s not come to stay here has it?”
The barking dog danced around his feet, rising up to walk on her two back legs as she greeted him.
“J-o-s-e-p-h!” His sister Madeleine laughed.
Laid on her stomach and stretched full length on the sofa, Madeleine waved her legs behind her. Madeleine was twelve and had a freckled smiling face. There was a bobble hat on her mid brown hair which was cut in a short plain bob for tidiness. Only Madeleine’s hair was never tidy, not even when it was short. She preferred wearing one of her several hats to brushing her hair.
“Move up Wormish” Said Joe.
“She’s called Daisy, and someone chucked her out of a car window, isn’t that mean? How can someone do that to such a helpless cute dog? She hasn’t been looked after properly, her hair is in a terrible state and Mum and Dad said we can keep her.”
Daisy sniffled round the interesting smells emanating from the soles of Joe’s size 13 shoes. Then, taking a running leap, she landed in his lap. Hmm! He had a tickly red beard and friendly green twinkly eyes which were very similar to his sister’s.
“She’s a bit mucky and smelly isn’t she?” At eighteen years of age Joe was himself as scruffy and as unconventional as possible in his Mosh attire. Chinking chains were draped from his trouser waistband and fastened to his low side pockets where they swayed on his trouser legs. Daisy nibbled his eyebrow piercing experimentally.
“Ow! Don’t do that!” he laughed.
“Yewww! Doggie germs, don’t lick me!” He continued, gently moving her out of face range.
“Mum’s arranged for a dog groomer to collect her tomorrow. She’s called Mrs Berry. She said she’ll try her best but Daisy will probably have to be shaved if her fur is too matted, so that she can grow through a new coat. She’ll probably be nearly bald after so we will have to get her a dog coat, Mum says a tartan one would suit her but Dad thinks she’ll look daft”
“It’s probably for the best, phew what a pong!”
Joe gently shuffled Daisy aside and retrieving his college bag from the floor at the side of the sofa disappeared into the kitchen to rummage in the fridge for a snack.
Madeleine bent foreword towards the little dog and whispered,
“He likes you really; he just needs to get to know you.” She kissed Daisy on the side of her nose.
Daisy sighed and harrumphed, turned around three times and collapsed with a flump and sigh into the warm space recently vacated. Curled with her nose tucked under her tail, her eyes grew heavier and heavier until at last she began to doze.
Her former snowy glory having been neglected was now a dirty tangled and matted mess. As her owner worked full time the little Westie was left alone, locked in the kitchen from 6am to 4pm six days a week. The tedious routine continued with her confinement to the small garden at the rear of the house for the remainder of each day. Despite the endless opportunity for excavating she had been lonely, bored and in trouble for as long as she could remember. The little terrier had once desperately wanted to please but had eventually resigned herself to failure and no longer made the effort, for lack of encouragement and opportunity.
Accidental puddles and a gnawed wooden chair leg had been her two earlier misdeeds of the day. She had committed her latest crime having escaped the kitchen whilst her owner had wailed over the destroyed chair leg. Discovering the TV remote control abandoned on the lounge floor, she believed that she had found a most interesting bone; her owner, after a long and unpleasant day at work, believed that she had found the most inconvenient, destructive, good for nothing dog and had immediately broken the usual late afternoon routine by snatching up the dog and placing her roughly in the car outside. The dog having enjoyed her previously infrequent journeys in the car settled down to sleep, lulled by the warm air and the engines hum.
Awakened by a damp winter breeze blowing through the now open window, the dog was momentarily surprised to find herself on her cushion, in the front seat of the car. The dog’s owner, a human female with a narrow pinched expression and thin mousy brown hair, hunched foreword in the driving seat. The woman’s fingers which were long and bony clutched the steering wheel tightly as she peered ahead through the windshield, muttering darkly. The dog jumped up from her seat, hanging her head out the rolled down window as her hair streamed back in the wind, her front paws resting on the lower edge of the window frame. Unexpectedly she felt her rump being lifted through the air by an unseen hand. Her feet scrabbling, she was flying, flying through the blurry, cold air. Landing with a hard bump on her side, she rolled over and over then, finally onto her feet she darted toward the pavement.
A bus shelter stood on the pavement and several people sheltered from the now smattering rain as they waited for their buses. Some of the people called and whistled to the dog, which in her anxiety had begun edging back into the traffic, causing a car to swerve as it narrowly missed running her over. Round white faces peered anxiously out of the back window as the car receded into the stream of traffic. A girl came forward from the group and very gently called to the dog, holding out a tantalizing treat that had been hurriedly found in her coat pocket. A fuzzy coated caramel that lured the frightened little dog closer and closer trembling and cowed, until she was suddenly scooped through the air and held firmly, warm and safe.
A bus pulled up five minutes later and the young girl and her mother separated themselves from the group of chattering people and boarded. The girl took a seat while the woman paid the fare. The doors swooshed shut and the bus once again continued on its way, its wheels swishing on the rain soaked road. At first the dog hid inside the girl’s warm fleecy jacket. Then gradually first her nose, then her black button eyes and finally her dirty fuzzy ears emerged. Resting her head on the girls shoulder, she gazed sadly out of the steamy, rain splashed window.
The woman and her daughter alighted at their stop and after a ten minute walk turned up a garden pathway and finally in through a door, stepping into a warm and bright room. A man, wearing faded jeans and a long stripy dressing gown, was pretending to be a rock star. With a final flourish of his hands across the strings, the electric guitar twanged into silence. The girl gently placed the dog on the laminate floor. The man seated himself on the large orange squishy sofa, directly in front of her. Leaning foreword and peering down at the shivering animal he inquired,
“And who might you be then?”
The woman and their daughter explained how they had met the little dog. The man listened shaking his head slowly in sad disbelief. Finally, the deplorable tale told, the man bent down once more and whispered in the animals’ ear. Looking up at his wife and daughter he declared,
“She say’s her name is Daisy. Miss Daisy Petalworth ll QC.”
“What’s QC?” asked his daughter, clapping her hands with delight.
“Why, Quaint Canine, of course!” said her Dad with a smile.
“I heard barking when I came up the path and I thought it must be coming from next door… only they don’t have a dog… but, it could have been visiting them I suppose...”
The young mans commentary trailed off as he shut the front door behind him.
“I thought so, I didn’t want to believe it but it’s true, there is a dog. It’s not come to stay here has it?”
The barking dog danced around his feet, rising up to walk on her two back legs as she greeted him.
“J-o-s-e-p-h!” His sister Madeleine laughed.
Laid on her stomach and stretched full length on the sofa, Madeleine waved her legs behind her. Madeleine was twelve and had a freckled smiling face. There was a bobble hat on her mid brown hair which was cut in a short plain bob for tidiness. Only Madeleine’s hair was never tidy, not even when it was short. She preferred wearing one of her several hats to brushing her hair.
“Move up Wormish” Said Joe.
“She’s called Daisy, and someone chucked her out of a car window, isn’t that mean? How can someone do that to such a helpless cute dog? She hasn’t been looked after properly, her hair is in a terrible state and Mum and Dad said we can keep her.”
Daisy sniffled round the interesting smells emanating from the soles of Joe’s size 13 shoes. Then, taking a running leap, she landed in his lap. Hmm! He had a tickly red beard and friendly green twinkly eyes which were very similar to his sister’s.
“She’s a bit mucky and smelly isn’t she?” At eighteen years of age Joe was himself as scruffy and as unconventional as possible in his Mosh attire. Chinking chains were draped from his trouser waistband and fastened to his low side pockets where they swayed on his trouser legs. Daisy nibbled his eyebrow piercing experimentally.
“Ow! Don’t do that!” he laughed.
“Yewww! Doggie germs, don’t lick me!” He continued, gently moving her out of face range.
“Mum’s arranged for a dog groomer to collect her tomorrow. She’s called Mrs Berry. She said she’ll try her best but Daisy will probably have to be shaved if her fur is too matted, so that she can grow through a new coat. She’ll probably be nearly bald after so we will have to get her a dog coat, Mum says a tartan one would suit her but Dad thinks she’ll look daft”
“It’s probably for the best, phew what a pong!”
Joe gently shuffled Daisy aside and retrieving his college bag from the floor at the side of the sofa disappeared into the kitchen to rummage in the fridge for a snack.
Madeleine bent foreword towards the little dog and whispered,
“He likes you really; he just needs to get to know you.” She kissed Daisy on the side of her nose.
Daisy sighed and harrumphed, turned around three times and collapsed with a flump and sigh into the warm space recently vacated. Curled with her nose tucked under her tail, her eyes grew heavier and heavier until at last she began to doze.
