See also: About Us About Lurgashall
Just before last Christmas, the Boss (you know, she who sits all day in front of the computer drawing all those e-cards) and Malcolm were behaving very strangely - muttered conversations, much poring over brochures and timetables, and incessant telephone calls. But they didn't fool me 'n Mol. Something was definitely up, with a capital U. The highly sophisticated sleuth that is yours truly eventually reached a conclusion: They are GOING AWAY. I'm sure I heard them mention a place called Dow Nunder but Molly said the Boss asked Malcolm the best way to get to Oz. Get to Oz, for heaven's sake! ALONG THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD - even a poodle would know that.
The important thing to know was: if they were going away without us, who was going to have the great privilege of looking after me 'n Mol? Well, looking after me anyway... Two days after Christmas the question was answered. Just as the pile of suitcases by the front door had grown into a small mountain, their friend O'Toole turned up. He had looked after us before - quite a nice fellow - a prolonged bout of tailwagging and slobbering at meal times can usually persuade him to dish up seconds, even thirds... but we were a little worried how O'Toole was going to cope with the dirty dishes when Malcolm picked up the Boss's biggest suit case and asked her: 'Are you sure you remembered to pack the kitchen sink?'
However, we do have one thing in common with O'Toole - he loves to go for long walks, although we have to keep him on a lead in case he disappears into the nearest pub. And he does not seem to relish the more subtle scents of the countryside, nor the delight which Molly experiences from a gentle roll in (how may I say this without offending my human readers?) the trail the fox left behind the previous night..One really warm day, he took us on a very long walk indeed. I think he must have got lost, because we suddenly arrived at a very remote pub. O'Toole was about to enter when he spotted a notice on the door: NO DOGS (Guide Dogs Only).
He muttered a few very rude words to himself, which have no place on a decent dog's website. Suddenly he had a brainwave, adjusted his sunglasses, put me and Mol on our leads, and groped his way into the bar. "Hey", shouted the barman. "No dogs!" "Surely you permit guide dogs?" O'Toole retorted, to which the Barman replied "I thought they only allocated one dog per person". Quick as a flash, O'Toole comes back with "How many have they given me, then?"
O'Toole's lady friend (I was going to say his 'bitch' but I don't think human males address their females by this term, except on very long distance phone calls) joined us one day. The two of them took us out for a stroll across the Village Green, where we were accosted by a couple sitting outside the pub. "Is that Chudleigh?" they cried. "We've driven 25 miles on the chance of seeing him! May we take a photo?" You should have seen our humans preening - lip pouting, hair slicking and so on. And you should have seen their faces when the woman announced: "Not you, just the dogs!"
When the Boss and Malcolm finally returned home, it turned out that they didn't go to Dow Nunder after all. They went to a place called Australia, which can't be very far away because they said it only took them 24 hours to get back, which is about the same time it took O'Toole to get us to that remote pub and back.