I felt Archie tremble. We got up. We waited, looking back at the intruder.

“It’s that damn fox,” hissed Lesley, from the depths of her lounger. She put a hand to her mouth.

Nathan’s panama hat slid to the ground and stayed there.

“We have vermin in the garden, Nathan. Do something!”

But before Nathan could pick up his hat, the fox had leapt out of the pool and was bounding straight towards the party. With a snap, two chocolate biscuits disappeared from Nathan’s plate. We caught a glimpse of a bushy tail. Then the fox took off again over the water feature, showering us dogs, and disappeared into thickets of ivy.

“Well I’ll be damned,” said Archie.

Only a faint flutter through the undergrowth bore witness to the fox’s exit.

“We have a predator in our midst, son,” Archie went on.

He gave a low growl. We were both shaken.

Lesley brought her red legs over the edge of her lounger. “What are you going to do about this, Nathan?” she bellowed. “We have a resident fox in the bushes tame enough to steal your biscuits. He’ll be in the house next!”

“Give us a break, Lesley,” Nathan said, his voice muffled. He covered his face again with his hat. “Urban foxes need a bite to eat.”

Lesley thumped her lounger.
“URBAN FOXES NEED A BITE TO EAT!” she shouted. “I’m sick of it, Julia … I really am ..!”

Archie came closer to me. His teeth were big in the sun as he spoke.

“No good relying on this pantomime couple,” he said to me. It’s war from now on between this piece of wild life and myself” he said.

I lay weakly on my side. I was still recovering.

“Count me in,” I panted.

“I already have,” replied Archie.

SURPRISE VISITOR

“Don’t you splutter all over me, son,” Archie said to me the next afternoon. “That cough sounds as if your death is imminent. And you’re spreading it round the entire Fuller household.”

“Sorry, Archie,” I replied.

The two of us pugs lay flat out a few feet apart on the Fuller’s new patio. Although the stones were warm under my fur, I had begun to shiver.

Mistress knelt down beside me. Her hair tickled my back.

“Tommy is not well,” she announced and at that point, I found it hard to breathe.

The sun was high. Nathan and Lesley lay side by side in loungers. Nathan wore his old khaki shorts and had put a panama hat over his face. A plate of chocolate biscuits melted on a wicker table beside him. Lesley glistened in a silver bikini. A sickly smell came off the couple like over-ripe cucumbers.

“I hope you’ve remembered your sun block, Nathan,” remarked Lesley, with her eyes closed.

Nathan didn’t answer. He was beginning to snore through his hat.

“Listen to him, Julia,” Lesley said to Mistress. “Nathan sleeps all day if he has the chance. He’s a complete nightmare in retirement. You’d think he’d give me a hand in the house when I’ve got so much to do.”

Archie clamped a front paw on top of one of mine.

“It’s Woman’s Hour,” he said, “and I can’t take it. Start coughing, son.”

Well I did start coughing and then I couldn’t stop. Shudders went through me for several minutes until I saw stars in the universe. What I needed was a booster. One of Marek’s bacon sandwiches would do the trick, I was sure, and he was out for the day.

I lapped some water from Archie’s bowl instead.

“Body heat, that’s what you need,” Archie growled. “You’d better lie close to me and we’ll hope that I don’t get infected.”

We lay together in the sun and started to doze. Suddenly, Mistress sat bolt upright on her lounger. She gave one of her sighs that indicated the daily confession.

“I’ve got problems, Lesley,” she said over to her. I’ve put the portrait of one of my ancestors, Waldo Sibthorpe, up for sale. I have to pay the bills. I owe £1,200 to the vet. And that’s apart from everything else.”

Lesley scratched her sunburnt nose.

“Wish I could help, Julia,” she replied, “but we’ve just spent a lot of money on the garden.”

Archie nudged me in the ribs. Lesley was right. The paving stones we lay on were made in Italy, wherever that was. There were lilies waving above us grown from a rare and expensive seed. The new water feature had cost half of Nathan’s redundancy and spouted water from a three pronged silver fork into what Archie called the paddling pool.

“Anyway, Julia, your small picture shows never make any money,” Lesley went on. “You’ve always said that.”

There was silence, apart from Nathan’s snores and my heavy breathing. Then I happened to look up. Archie’s head was up too. The stench had come at us both. A mixture of woodland, the odd mammal and the innards of green bins.

It was the fox! There he was standing in the middle of the pool as if he owned the water rights.

And he was staring directly at Archie and me.

Rachel sat unmoved in front of her computer. My eyesight was never good, but the vet’s Receptionist had nails like talons. She tapped them over the desk in a series of scales as she thought this offer over.

“Only if they use ‘Crème de la Mer’ for our massage,” she said.

“They do!” replied Mistress. “And that’s a promise.”

As we left the surgery, my tail dropped between my legs. I knew the picture Mistress was referring to. Waldo Sibthorpe had been an important man and a politician. He went all the way back to Queen Victoria. The painting of him in the sitting room was a family heirloom. Selling it was bad news.

As we walked down the path, a familiar sight came through the gate to meet us. It was the bitch from hell: the terrior who fell somewhere between a dachsy and a poodle.

Although the owner pulled her back, she threw herself at me in lunatic fashion.

“Get off!” I snarled. “Your claws need a good clipping.”

“And your tail got knotted when you were born, monkey face!” the terrior
whispered.

Mistress could see that I was not in the mood to go quietly. She lifted me without warning and from the safety of her arms, I gave my second giant sneeze of the day, aiming it at the bitch beneath.

“He sounds rather unwell,” said her owner.

“Nothing serious,” Mistress replied.

The terrior slunk away from us. She bared her teeth. I gave one of my devil may care grins. I would eat my whiskers if she didn’t have a good dose of Kennel cough by the next morning.

KENNEL COUGH BLUES

I woke up yesterday morning with a hacking cough.

Mistress took me straight to the vet. I don’t mind him. He’s friendly and always gives me a snack after diagnosis.

“Kennel cough, I’m afraid,” the vet said, holding me on his slippery high table. “Keep Tommy away from other dogs during his course of anti-biotics because he’ll be infectious.”

“That might be difficult,” Mistress replied.

I yawned. Mistress would have to come to terms with me being a sick dog. Not that I felt too bad. When we went out into Reception, there was a cat far worse off than me. She sat shivering inside her cage and her orange eyes settled on me like a pair of moons.

I gave a spluttery sneeze which covered the far wall and a big Dalmation print.

“That will be eighty-five pounds, Miss Taylor,” said the Receptionist.

Mistress dropped her head until all you could see was her long mane of hair.

“Haven’t got it this week, Rachel,” she whispered. “But I do have a 19th century painting of one of my ancestors going to auction any day. “The commission will buy us both a day at the Health Club. How about it? I can settle up after that.”

Mistress’s debts were mounting fast. I was going to have to talk to Archie about this. She had entered the world of bribery and corruption.

What the hell was Mistress going to say next? My ears were pricking.

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!”