Greetings to my most devoted pals! Gather round me you beautiful creatures as I have a tale to tell! Refill your Cinzanos, plump up the scatter cushions and make yourselves comfortable! This tale is one of excitement, merriment and a jolly birthday scamper with some good pals of mine. For the purpose of maintaining anonymity and not overexciting the general public, I shall refer to them as The Ancient Mariner and Foxy Lady. 

It all began whilst I was flicking through my biscuit catalogue that I heard a soft thud on the hallway carpet, so I sprang up to investigate. I was fully expecting to see The Tiny Terror sprawled out in a gin infused heap again, however as I rotated my ears correctly I could hear her crashing about the kitchen causing flame based havoc with her flambé torch. (The very same torch that has been hidden on the top shelf by Hector for the past few years. She can’t reach it but she enticed me to get it down for her with the promise of a new fleece lined winter housecoat.) 

Instead, I found on the doormat a lovely postcard from Foxy Lady asking if I would like to go out for an adventure with them both the following day. A scamper romp beckoned! Well yes of course! She was rather fond of sending postcards so I popped it into my box of precious things.

Alas, due to current plague restrictions, we were not able to go to their favourite destination, Diddley Door, so instead we decided to go for a splendid hike around the jaunty Hampshire countryside by way of our own travelling trotters. Speaking of which, the one thing I must remember is that both of my dear pals have…how can I put this…little legs, so I have to adjust my spindlesome long strides or they have to trot behind me…which is apparently undignified I am told. 

It was at this moment that I had a brilliant idea! I rummaged around my sequinned reticule and found my pair of emergency Spanx. (For the uninitiated these are under cracker garments that very tightly grasp your mid section, for a smoother silhouette.)

It has been noted on previous raucous nights out with Nelson, that my steps…in fact any movement really, is severely inhibited when I wear these. Rather than my usual elegant gliding, I tend to be more…robotic and have to take tiny steps. To be honest it also takes quite a while to get into the blighters, but they seemed to be the perfect answer to the spindlesome stride problem today.

I had heard on the village chatter that it was in fact Foxy’s birthday the next day and that put a totally different focus on the occasion altogether! There must be vittles…there must be sumptuous delights which we could fall on like feral, starved castaways! 

I thusly propelled myself towards the fridge, to see what I could gather together for a picnic. I sighed and reflected that a limp iceberg was not going to thrill either of them that much. I strapped myself into my tweed shopping panniers, and set forth for the village shop, where I stuffed my pocketed person with scrumptious treats and nibbles. I got a little over excited and bought so much that I ended up popping the kendal mint cake up the sleeve of my pacamac. 

The meeting up time for our adventure the next day was 11am and was to be situated at the newly installed poo bin by the entrance of the village bridleway. After a quick flannel flick and a dainty squat and leg lift, I was ready, so I popped my backpack on and off I went to meet the devoted duo, who were waiting patiently for me. 

The Ancient Mariner and Foxy Lady are regular, semi professional roamers of the countryside, indeed I suspect they both might have a touch of the ‘woodland sprite’ about them. The Ancient Mariner appeared to be headless on first inspection, but it turned out he was inspecting a tree for any perilous signs of disease or damage…(he is also a tree whisperer).

We exchanged socially distanced greetings and I presented Foxy with the card I had made her. She accepted it graciously with an incline of her head. As well as being gracious, she was also polite enough not to mention the unidentifiable oily stain in the corner of the envelope. In my defence, I have now accepted that there are limits to my multitasking, and let’s leave it at that!

We set off with a purposeful stride, in no way knowing what was to befall our walk. In my defence, I had never worn my Spanx out when there was a risk of an unexpected squirrel before. Indeed this was a lesson I would take heed of! You may notice pals that unexpected squirrels seem to plague many of my jaunts out…it is a peril only a hound will understand.

It was going terribly well, we strode out and my fellow wanderers tootled behind me, hand in hand, which is their romantic way. We discussed many topics which we had a shared interest in. They are both very fond of reading, and so we had a spirited debate on the future of independent bookshops, marshalling our thoughts and responses in a calm and civil manner – mostly because we agreed I have to add. 

Foxy was in the middle of an impassioned diatribe – she was waving her arms around and everything – when I spotted the furry, bothersome brush tailed nemesis of my people…the squirrel. To make matters worse, it was Malcolm, and we had history. He still owed me money for the time he…well…never mind that. 

My ears assumed the position of battle and derring do and I sprang forth! Well…no I didn’t did I, because I was wearing these blooming Spanx. 

Momentum met the resistance of lycra and I executed a perfect head plant into the bush. 

There I was, held fast by creeping Ivy and bothersome twigs, my Spanxs upturned for all to see. My fellow frolickers were speechless. I suspect they were not expecting a Lurcher to be wearing Spanx. 

Moments passed by and then I heard a high pitched hyperventilating…which was of course them laughing at me. No, they did not come and rescue me. They simply sat on a nearby log, watching with interest and devouring the crumpled kendal mint cake that had shot out of my sleeve as I fell. 

It took some time for them to shake the kendal crumbs off and gather themselves, at which point they grabbed a back leg each and gently reversed engineered me out of my woodland prison. Not a word was uttered, all with the unspoken understanding that we would never speak of this again.

In all fairness we did have a rather fun day out, aside from them spotting Malcolm flicking the V at all us as we left the scene of the bush incident. 

After a really lovely time, we said our fond farewells…I am sure more adventure beckons some time soon. Until then my dear pals, stay safe….and…

Happy Birthday Foxy Lady!