Bag packed and provisions aplenty, we loaded up the car and myself and the tiny terror sallied forth. Our day out! We tootled over to Stockbridge Downs, for a sunny scamper, some much needed soul nurturing and then a tasty picnic – there was a rumour of a pickled egg. It really was quite lovely, the sun was warming on my whiskers and as we sauntered along, I feasted on the numerous natures’ Maltesers that were scattered about the grass. I met a few new furry pals, one of whom was a great big furry monster and slobbered gelatinous dog dribble all over my shambling mistresses arm…chortle. We settled down on a suitable spot and sat back for some serious relaxing and warmth absorption. Speaking of big furry monsters, in the distance I could see the familiar shape and heavy pawed lurch of Nelson. Nelson, my great pal, was seemingly suffering some considerable distress. I eyed his lumbersome bulk growing bigger by the minute as he galloped towards me. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, pure terror. “What Ho!”, I greeted him, obviously delighted to see him, but unsure of the cause of the excitement.

He cried..“Flap attack, flap attack! It’s an attack of the flaps. Hell hath no fury like an unfurled and angry flap. Attack of the five foot flap!” He launched his capacious self at me and clung on to my skirt folds like a quivering hamster – in a harness – and a peaked cap.  I was mildly astonished as this was very much out of character for Nelson, who is famed for his composed and nonchalant manner. He sat down next to me and panted, still clinging onto the folds of my floral crinoline. It took me twenty minutes to get him calm enough to explain to me the cause of this upset. It turns out that he had, for some time, been stalked by a particularly large and malevolent pigeon, bearing an evil cast in his beady gaze and who dragged his left foot behind him. It was attached to him, the foot, he was not carrying it like a relay baton, just to be clear. 

It was apparent to me that liquid refreshments were needed so I bade farewell to the Tiny Terror who was sprawled on the ground like a discarded chicken wing, basking in the sun and reenacting a scene from Withnail and I, on hand puppets. Actually she has forgotten to bring the puppets so really this was naked puppeteering, a new venture for her I feared. At least she was not naked *shudders at the gruesome thought. (As a side note, last time she attempted a salacious and seductive shimmy, Hector told her she looked like a shaved Capuchin monkey and resumed reading his newspaper). Anyway she was completely unaware of the unfolding pigeon related drama, thankfully as she might have tried to help. 

We made haste to the local tea rooms and bagged a table in the courtyard under the tree. Once we were piled up with cream teas, he began his sorry tale. It would seem that the roots of this originated several weeks previously when Nelson had taken delivery of his eagerly awaited drone. The purpose of him having a drone was unclear at this point but I had a deep sense of unease that it may be connected to his blossoming romance with Lady Hester, Aberdeen Angus’s mini wire haired Daschund. (Last seen attached to Nelsons side at the Rollerama).

They first met when Nelson popped in to pick up his daily sausage fix at the butchers. They got chatting and discovered a mutual love of Ealing Comedies and 90’s dance music. I suspect the attraction was also that bits of wayward flying meat scraps got tangled up in her fur, which Nelson, never one to miss an opportunity, nibbled on. Lady H, took this as a sign of gentile foreplay and decided that Nelson was possibly the most romantic hound ever. Snort. 

He divulged all of this to me several days earlier whilst he tapped out a transcendental tune with his paw and humming along to Faithless (Oh he is such a throw back to golden times) and I looked on aghast. I have never seen Nelson like this. Ever. Nelson vigorously insisted that the drone was in no way a stalking device, and was a typical manifestation of a gentlemans’/gentlehounds’ pursuit in the 21st Century.

It was whilst out on his first adventure with his new toy that he incurred the wrath of a passing pigeon who already looked as if it has not had the best of luck in life. Nelsons great big clumsy paws slipped on the controls and sent the little contraption spinning out of control. As it plummeted to the ground it gave a glancing blow to the hapless pigeon, that was minding his own business at the time and causing a foot related injury. The pigeon, very much caught by surprise, also plummeted out of the sky and landed in a heap next to the drone, wings outstretched, legs akimbo and beak firmly implanted into the ground. They say that elephants don’t forget, they have nothing on a thwarted pigeon, and their language is also appalling. Since this event, Nelson has been unable to show his furry face in public without the very real risk of an avian attack. Todays terror was caused by one such attack, but this time the wronged pigeon had enlisted the help of his considerably larger mate – a buzzard. 

 We sipped our tea as we pondered recent events and I couldn’t help asking him the logistics of dating a Daschund when he himself was built like hairy hovercraft, and she was dainty and short legged, he smirked and remained silent. I decided not to pursue the matter any further.