MY MOTHER BIDS ME by Rosy Cole

Adopted daughter traces her amazing roots. A Novel of Jane Austen's England on the Eve of Waterloo.

$17.80

Paperback

El Springador chews on the theme of chance, not without a whiff of scentiment.

Say 'Lucky' to me and I think of that woolly pooch who used to star in the More Than Insurance adverts. He had a nose for hot water, a regular rappaw with disaster, but always ended up saving his bacon by the skin of his canines.

Take the time they left him in a parked car. This Bichon went strutting by on the sidewalk, all done up like a dog's dinner with her Bruno Magli doggy bag. He went mental, nearly died of clawstrophobia. Imagine it! 6.38 mm of auto glass between him and the Groves of Hymen. Before he could get his brain in gear, the brakes were off and the vehicle was coasting down the hill at a great rate of knots, slipping through gaps in the traffic and miraculously arriving at the front door of its own kennel. Now I don't call that lucky in the cherche la femme stakes, but the tail does bear the serendipitous ending Lucky was famed for. If only his owners had realised, they needn't have paid all those premiums! More Than made gravy out of him and no misteak.

Lucky was given to biting off more than he could chew. That's something I don't do. Won't have any truck with leaving good food in the dish, or anywhere it happens to be making slow progress between the fridge and someone's plate. Don't like to see it hanging around all neglected. It's just not meant. Herself never needs to coax me to finish my food, they'd be glad of that at the RSPCA. It goes to a better home, believe me. If anything's going to the dogs, it's not my supper. Or hers.

Of course, when you're as handsome as I am, you get lucky quite a lot. The big blonde girls are a pushover. Well, no, not exactly, they roll over all by themselves. Whatever they're into Retrieving, take it from me, it's not their dognity.

But there was one occasion when Cupid's bow struck. We were walking along this grassy path between a wood and a field of wheat when I spotted in the distance a young chocolate Lab. Within moments, she spotted me and we abbreviated the distance between us at lightning speed. (Not for nothing am I nicknamed Thunderpaws!)

Usually, I'm a cool sort of guy, but she had such melting eyes, I was nearly as smitten as she was. I sniffed the ground underpaw. Couldn't tell whether her perfume was Ted Lapitup, Dogsession, or Havitoff Cologne, but it went straight to my head. Good thing the wheat was high and ripe. With one accord, we galumphed into the golden tide at the deep end, so to speak, and eventually came up for air, all smiles. There was no 'shunning the Maker's cordial visage like an adversity', I can tell you. Emily Dogginson wuz wrong.

Sadly, the two of us got called away, but we kept glancing over our shoulder. She was about three hundred yards away, when, next thing I knew, she took to her heels and came sprinting towards me. It was straight out of Gone With The Wind. I just had to say goodbye, she said. A dog is for life, not just for Christmas.You were tops. I wuz It!

Well, I had to explain, the fates were against us. I could hear the bass rumble of suppertime and had to head home. Never say I don't put duty before pleasure. It turned out to be salmon fishcakes for seconds that day.

Now that's what I really call a Lucky Dog!

RIP Benson, aka Lucky.

http://www.pilgrimrose.com