Wednesday 4 August 2010


Suddenly, Larry came out onto the front porch and began to sway dangerously from one thin leg to another. A lone paintbrush shot from his pocket and into the Euphorbia.

“Who’s this tall bastard, then?” he shouted. “Are we being invaded by the Secret Police?!”

Mistress put a restraining hand on Larry’s arm.

“Shhhh,” she murmured. “Everything’s alright. Go inside and I’ll join you in a moment.”

I sidled round to Larry’s left trouser leg. Being born with such an acute sense of smell was not always an advantage. Some time during last night, Larry’s trouser leg had been in direct contact with a chamber pot. But I had to show whose side I was on. I gave several loud barks and performed my pirouette routine to create a light hearted interval.

“Get that damn dog away from me!” cried Larry. He’s a dreadful example of a canine and ugly to boot.”

Well I nipped the artist under his trouser leg then. There’s no call for rudeness and I happen to know how valuable I really am. Unlike Larry, my mama made me learn Respect and a whole list of manners.

Larry fell forward, clutching at his ankle. “Ouch!” he screamed.

Then he lost his footing and went headlong into the flower bed.

I looked at Mistress and she looked back at me. She was smiling.

Larry lifted his head.

“Who are you?” he asked Mr Greig, who stood just downwind of him.
“Give me a hand up, will you?”

Larry put out his frail arms. “And get me a bloody drink, you poor sod. You look like you need one, too. After all, it’s not every day you meet a real painter. Take off that revolting coat and come and join me!”

No comments:

Post a Comment