It’s not the first time I’ve been to the house—
Some time ago, before there was one in the village, its back room housed a little shop where I could stock up on essentials —-
Today’s mission, though was in quite a different form—
“Does anyone know someone who would dog-sit one day a week?” read the advert—
“Maybe I could help—” I replied.
I was invited to visit the Jack Russells’ owner and his pets at 2pm this afternoon.
“Come and meet Belle,” he said, leading the way to the conservatory. Tails wagging, the two dogs greeted me exuberantly. As I took a seat, Belle immediately jumped onto my lap and made herself comfortable. Her master told me the story of how he and his wife had rehomed her from a dog-rescue centre.
Belle jumped down as her companion came over, vying for attention—
“After she’d been with us for a while, we wondered if she felt lonely when we were at work,” he went on to explain, “so decided to go to the RSPCA centre with her and let her help us to choose another dog of the same breed—”
He went on to tell me that the one they selected had a sad start to life. He had been rescued from a yard where he was kept with seventy other dogs— Two years on, though, he is healthy and well-adjusted and it was evident the pair of them got on well together—
“What’s his name—?” I asked—
“Ticker—” came the reply—
Although the symbolism of all this will only be apparent to those who know me, sometimes, it’s the little happenings in life which completely bowl me over — xx