Fiona Harrison - A Puppy Called Hugo

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.’

Pleased to have solved that little problem, I looked around. There was no denying it, the place looked as chaotic as Gail and Simon’s when we left it.

There were boxes everywhere, all piled on top of one another in various states of disarray. Some were half open, some had contents like duvets, pillowcases, lampshades and even cutlery spilling out and some had been emptied, flung to a corner of the room, to be dealt with some other time.

I looked across at Peg and saw her glance at the upended cardboard. She was rather partial to curling up in a box for a nap, just like me. For a moment I imagined the two of us snoozing the afternoon away nestled in the warmth of each other. But no, there was work to do. Shaking my head to free myself from such thoughts, I glanced up at Gail, who rewarded me with a beaming smile, just as Doreen came through from the kitchen. She was clutching a tray piled high with tea and cakes and I saw with delight Eric appear just behind her, carrying goodies for all us pugs.

‘Water and a bone for you all,’ he said, setting the treats on the floor.

‘Thanks, Eric,’ I woofed along with Peg.

We turned to Hugo to remind him of his manners. Only to find he had started on the chewy treats already.

I opened my mouth, about to tell him off, when Peg beat me to it.