Spindle’s River Reverie…

It is yet another sunny day, and again I was suffering with unwanted perspiration, drooping ears and whizzy insects. After much persuasion by Nelson, we were now relaxing, dangling our hot paws into the icy clear stream of a river. We picnicked on gherkin and egg sandwiches, lazily watching the day go by. He was attempting to cheer me up as I was feeling a little dejected. I know I sometimes over-ponder my poetic distractions, but this was different. I, Spindlehound, am feeling a little lonely. 

Although I have had one or two special dalliances in my time, I am at the moment, cycling solo in the romance department. Nelson, now himself an apparent relationship expert managed to cobble together this advice.

 “Once you have the object of your unfettered desire in your sights, take note of anything that might help you in your ensnarement of them. Sticks, magnets, fishing nets etc etc. The aim is to develop a mutual affection and respect, and lure them in before revealing your true self, by which time it is too late for them to relent. You must take note that begging lessens the dignity of a romantic assertion. Never be afraid to resort to Barry White”. 

Wise words I think you will agree.

I sighed and continued to gaze into the distance, and as I did so, a sad, salty tear tracked its way down my pointy nose. Obviously alarmed by this open display of distress, Nelson decided to change the subject. Nelson has gently probed me in the past, about my life before I met him, but being a proper gentle-hound he had not pressed his questioning too much. Rather than having to face my terrifying feminine feelings, he now chose this moment to interrogate me. 

Oh dear reader, I have had some fun times! I always had a touch of the wanderer about me you see, and I knew my paws would never stay still for long. So one day I bid farewell to the family seat that had nurtured me and I sallied forth, with nothing but a change of bloomers, ten pennies and a custard cream in my rucksack. I must admit it was a bit of a culture shock, to make so bold a move, but in my heart I knew that I was destined to meet new, interesting people and cast aside my natural shyness for more of a dare devil outlook in life.

My travels were far and wide and included a short period of time spent in Russia. I will reassure you and say that I was never involved in anything seriously perilous or vexing whilst there. I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met Blue. Now Blue was really THE most wonderfully exotic looking hound that I had ever seen. She was an Afghan hound and had a glossy, sweeping coat that I could only marvel at. Oh how it swished as she sashayed. I myself am not a swisher, I have more of a ‘goose stepping trot’ about me…which never brings the boys to the yard. I learned an awful lot from her. Anyway, my time there was varied, exciting and heartbreaking. I was forced to skedaddle after a sudden and unexplained outbreak of giant marching fleas in the Bolshoi…which most definitely did not originate from me, although I must admit that I did have an insistent itch on my hindquarters. In my haste to depart amidst the frantic spraying and fury from the orchestral section, I bid a tearful farewell to my friend Blue, and left a note for my darling Rudolph (the cause of the heartbreak, and still too painful to recollect in detail).

I wended my sorrowful way, to eventually arrive at a travelling show in Berlin. Here, I perked right up and ended up specialising as a fire breathing stilt walker, performing as my alter ego Long Shanks, the Flaming Hound. My time here was short but wonderful, and so I decided to go to try my luck in Paris, which I was assured was the capital of romance.

I am rather proud to say that there is still a special plaque at the Moulin Rouge, where I latterly became infamous for my burlesque unicycle act. May I just ask you to consider for one moment the logistics of a hound mounting a unicycle, let alone the onerous task of arranging one’s limbs for balance (and maintaining one’s decency with a strategically placed bicycle horn).  This was a real crowd pleaser until the fateful day, whilst I was careering around the stage that my tassels got caught in a spoke, and I was cannoned out into the crowd. A happy accident as it turned out as this is how I met my dear, dear friend Andre, as I plopped (not literally) into his lap. His frogs legs went for a burton, and as he gently dabbed his handkerchief at the garlic butter that was dripping from his monocle, I could tell we were going to be special friends, and indeed we were for a very happy time. Paris is indeed romantic.

Now I am happily settled in downtown Winchester, and I know that I am a lucky hound. I have everything I need. A spirited, if somewhat haphazard family, and my splendid pal, Nelson. He has been with me through many an act of derring do and at times, downright foolishness. My heart gladdens that he has his Lady Hester, I just wish I could find a love to doff a jaunty cap at me and maybe read me poetry under an old oak tree. Perhaps he might wear tight breeches… 

We sat and contemplated all we had spoken about. I let out a deep and heart rending sigh, still considering the breeches, and pulled out a large tub of ice cream. 

Nelson then sat up suddenly, all a quiver with excitement. “I know!” he said, “speed dating!”

Until next time…


My summer bonnet and I, wandering whilst looking for love….

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