Alfie and the Alarm Clock

This morning I was rudely awakened by a single expletive.

It got me moving a great deal faster than the impotent bleating of the alarm clock.

hitting-the-fanIt was delivered with such vehemence that I knew on some primal level that the poo had hit the fan with the impetus of a meteorite caught in the earth’s gravity.

I took a deep breath and ventured downstairs to see what has disturbed my peaceful slumber.

One word.


Alfie is a small white Maltese type dog.

Not my favourites. I am dog-ist. Sue me.

Alfie likes my beloved Charlie (a Bloodhound Beagle cross) and Billy Bob (a Staffie).

Alfie likes to escape his home further up the road and come over for an unscheduled playdate.

Alfie has no sense of timing.

The first time I met Alfie was when he popped up on my bed a few months ago and licked my nose.

It was marginally less heart stopping than this morning’s wake up call.


Alfie spent the day happily playing with my boys and then fell asleep on the couch.

Eventually, much later, his person appeared hysterical and flung herself into the Husband’s arms in thanks.

This rendered The Husband mute as he patted her perplexedly on the shoulder while staring at me in silent supplication expecting some form of rescue from the weeping teenager.

A few weeks later I was informed that Alfie was pining for the scintillating company of my dogs.

Scintillating is not a word I would use in reference to the two most stupid if lovable canines in all existence.

Anyhow, today Alfie was back.

All three dogs were in rapture and both cats were in high dudgeon.

The Husband was Not Impressed.

I gaily waltzed in to give him a kiss goodbye (he is going somewhere in Africa with a C) and told him to call Alfie’s people and arrange a pick up.

TH “Humph! Why must I do it?”

Me: “Because I have to go to work and all you have to do is pack.”

TH: “Grunt.”

(c) Text from Dog

(c) Text from Dog

I called the number handily printed on Alfie’s little nametag and left a chirpy message.

“Hi there. Alfie’s invited himself over for a play date at 15a. Come over anytime.”

Alfie’s person was like The Husband, Not Impressed.

Neither was Alfie to see his people at the gate.

Watching a pin striped senior executive chase a small white dog round and round the Mulberry bush is terribly amusing.

Even the cats deigned to come and watch.

They have a very noir sense of humour.


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