A Puppy Called Hugo

‘Come on,’ she barked eventually. ‘The least we can do for Gail is to clear this lot up. And, Hugo, you’re helping.’

‘OK, Mummy,’ he said, bounding into action.

Together we worked, quickly pushing the potpourri into a big pile in the corner, and picking up the larger portions of the cushions into the box.

Suddenly, Hugo stood stock-still in front of me fixing me with a wide-eyed gaze.

‘What is it?’ I barked in frustration.

‘I don’t feel well, Daddy,’ Hugo grumbled.

I exchanged knowing looks with Peg. Was this yet another drama created by my son to get out of cleaning up after himself.

Peg dropped the bit of cushion she was holding and glared at Hugo. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Very, very, very sick,’ Hugo replied, his little voice lacking the vim and vigour of earlier.

I looked at Hugo again. I had to admit my boy looked green and, judging by all the candle wax and potpourri he had devoured, it was hardly surprising. I shook my head, waves of despair crashing over me as I realised that not only had my son cost my owner some gorgeous house-warming gifts but she would also need to pay for a weekend visit to the vet.

Chapter Two (#ulink_4066e677-fba2-50d5-8e24-30b60948f019)

It was several hours later by the time we finished at the vet’s and arrived at Doreen and Eric’s new home. To Gail’s credit she took the entire incident much better than I expected. Instead of having a breakdown when she realised Hugo needed an emergency visit to the practice, she burst out laughing, her eyes crinkling with mirth and wouldn’t stop no matter how much I barked.

At the vet’s, Gail, Simon and Jenny all had great fun explaining what had happened to Hugo. As Gemma, our vet, had a good look down my boy’s throat, I shuffled anxiously from paw to paw waiting for the diagnosis, the clinical smell of bleach making me feel even more agitated.

‘Is it serious?’ Gail asked anxiously, biting her nails as she waited for the verdict.

The vet said nothing for a moment as she tried to hold the wriggling pup still while taking his temperature.

‘Yes, does he need medication? Or even surgery?’ I barked desperately.

Gemma grinned at me as she removed the thermometer and patted Hugo gently on the head. As she turned to tap something on her computer keyboard, I pushed my anger to one side as I offered him a sympathetic howl. Even though it was clearly Hugo’s fault, he now looked so poorly lying there on the long black consulting table that my heart went out to him. Usually Hugo made a monkey of everyone when we brought him in for a check-up. He would jump in the sink, run across the computer, climb the furniture, and once he even got his head stuck in the window. But today it was as though as he was a different dog, he was so quiet and sad.

‘Well?’ I barked in frustration.

Gemma turned around and smiled reassuringly at us all. ‘The good news is, it’s not serious, Hugo doesn’t need any medication or surgery and this will all pass naturally.’

I let out a bark of relief. ‘Did you hear that, you’re going to be fine.’

Hugo cast me a baleful look. ‘I don’t feel fine, Daddy.’

Simon sighed as he looked from me to Hugo and then back to Gemma. ‘When you say pass naturally, you mean Hugo is going to be going to the toilet a lot is that right?’

‘Not necessarily a lot, but perhaps a bit more than usual,’ Gemma explained. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, although Hugo might be a bit uncomfortable. All he’ll probably feel like doing is sleeping.’

Jenny pushed her brown hair behind her ears and smiled. ‘He does that a lot anyway,’

‘Like father like son.’ Gail chuckled, ruffling my ears affectionately. ‘Do we need to do anything else?’

‘No, just keep an eye on him.’ Gemma grinned, writing something on her pad. ‘Bring Hugo back in a couple of days for me to check he’s on the mend. He shouldn’t take a turn for the worse but if he does we’ll have a poke about.’

‘I don’t want to be poked about, Daddy,’ Hugo woofed with worry, as Simon scooped him up from the table and thanked Gemma for her time.

‘Well, let this be a lesson to you,’ I barked. ‘Now, one of us will have to look after you instead of helping Doreen and Eric. Honestly, Hugo, it’s vital we dogs put humans first rather than ourselves.’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ he yapped as we walked outside into the sunshine. ‘It won’t happen again.’

I barked nothing as I breathed in great lungfuls of fresh air, enjoying the scent of something other than bleach. Whatever Hugo yapped in his defence, I had a feeling that this, or something very like it, would happen again.

*

An hour later, all of us, together with a sleepy-looking Hugo, were inside Doreen and Eric’s lovely new bungalow. Instead of the candles, cushions and potpourri Gail had planned to give her parents, she had resorted to a huge bouquet of gerberas and chrysanthemums from the flower shop on the High Street. After presenting them to her mum, Doreen professed to adore them and immediately put them in pride of place in the front windowsill.

Doreen and Eric’s new house was only a ten minute walk from Gail and Simon’s and was what I heard lots of people describe as a new-build. I had never been inside a bungalow before and wasn’t sure what it was. Yet my quick scamper around with Doreen as she gave us all a guided tour told me that the only difference between a house and a bungalow was that there were no stairs. It was, it appeared to me, like Sal and Peg’s flat, just a bit bigger and with a huge garden they didn’t have to share with other people.

Watching my owner’s lovely mum and dad proudly take us from sunny room to sunny room, I glanced at each of them, noticing the happiness they basked in. Doreen was petite with hair in a neat bob and a warm, open face. As for Eric, well he was the double of Gail, with his chestnut hair that was now almost grey all over, and friendly, welcoming face that always made me feel at home.

As well as the huge garden there were three bedrooms, a bathroom, glass like in a greenhouse that Doreen reliably informed us was a conservatory, whatever that was, along with a huge kitchen and a funny-looking worktop that stood in the centre of the room.

‘That’s my island,’ Doreen told us proudly, as she brought the tour to a close.

‘It’s beautiful, Mum.’ Gail smiled.

‘So pretty,’ breathed Jenny.

‘Very nice,’ put in Sal, her blue eyes filled with admiration as she stroked the dark surface. ‘It’s lovely how it matches the slate tiles.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?’ chirruped Doreen, her silver hair gleaming in the sunshine-filled room.

‘You wouldn’t, dear,’ Eric grumbled good-naturedly at his wife. ‘Shall I make tea?’

Doreen nodded her assent. ‘Good idea. Let’s all go through to the living room before we get stuck into some unpacking.’

As we turned to follow Doreen out of the room, I couldn’t help wonder if I was missing something. I turned to Peg who was standing in the doorway with Hugo beside her.

‘I thought islands were things surrounded by water,’ I yapped in curiosity.

Peg nodded sagely, her blonde fur jiggling almost as much as her lovely jowls. ‘They are. That’s why you never want to get stuck on one. Unless it’s England of course, that’s quite big.’

I turned back to the island and looked at the floor and tiles suspiciously.

‘I’ve got it!’ I barked in excitement. ‘Doreen’s going to put the water around the island separately.’

‘That’s why it’s important the tiles match,’ Peg put in wisely. ‘It all makes sense now.’

‘Does that mean we’ll go on boat trips then, Daddy?’ Hugo asked, his pace matching mine as we joined the others in the lounge. ‘Will I need to learn to swim?’

I nodded. ‘I think there’s every chance you’ll need to do that, Hugo. But don’t worry, us pugs are natural swimmers, you’ll be doggy-paddling around Doreen’s island like there’s no tomorrow.’