Last night I collected Master Cedric Nock, a sexy little beast of a black Pug and our guest for the next couple of days. And he is in the kitchen at the moment charging about, snorting and slobbering and cocking his leg all over everything and generally acting like a dirty little pig.
I have known Cedric Nock for many years and used to really love him with his sturdy little body, heavily hung undercarriage and absurd rolling eyeballs, but age, I am afraid, hasn't mellowed him. Cedric has turned into that most tiresome of males, the ageing roue. He has spent most of the day strutting around the kitchen like a sex demon looking for action and propositioning my own dog, a dear little King Charles spaniel called Miriam.
Last night I had to take her upstairs and barricade us both into my bedroom. She was starting to look a little scared. Even I was looking a little scared. He could have had either one of us pinned up against a wall. And his penis is on red alert. Literally. It pokes out like a salami and is just as stinky.
When I was driving us home last night I went round a bend a bit sharply and Cedric went flying into the dashboard and hit his head and then collapsed on the floor under the glove compartment and got all entangled in my handbag and cardigan. I carried on driving, a little concerned, but if I'm honest, not enough to pull over. I don't actually like him that much. I did lean over and pat his head and say 'there there' and eventually he hauled his over-weight form and stumpy little legs back onto the passenger seat. He then leaned back and slumped, like a giant toad, with his red penis pointing out hopefully and his eyes rolling and his stubby little nose snorting away at me, accusingly.
And he looks most affronted each time I go to the fridge and there isn't anything for him. He trots into the room eyes rolling and nose snorting and with such a demanding expression that he reminds me of a grumpy colonel wondering what time supper is. And, sadly for him, he's nearly always already had it.