Monthly Archives: June 2022

Happy the Dog. 3 000 word version

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HAPPY THE DOG

Once upon a time there lived a little girl named Zaza. Zaza was a rambunctious six year old with blonde hair down to her shoulders and a gap toothed smile. She lived with her mom, dad and baby sister Cahalta. Zaza had a life of fun and friendship but the one thing she lacked was a pet. One day she pleaded, ”Please can we get a dog?”. She was a good child so mum and dad said, ”Yes!”

Zara’s favourite song was; ”How much is that doggy in the window?/ The one with the waggly tail./ How much is that doggy in the window? / I do hope that doggy’s for sale.”

Zaza would sing many lusty renditions of this and insist that her parents join in. They would sing so loud that the house shook.

Would you like to sing how much is that doggy in the window?

Many little girls like dogs that are pretty but pretty dogs tend to be haughty. Such dogs have fancy documents called pedigrees showing who their parents and grandparents are. This proves their ancestry all the way back to Queen Victoria. Some snooty little girls go for poodles that are crimped and shampooed till they smell like air stewardesses. These little girls are in a hurry to be stuck up grannies who lunch in restaurants daily and speak through their noses. Zaza was not like this. She was exploding with energy and adventure. She did not pretend to be a princess. She was the sort of girl who would go for day long rambles through the wild countryside with her boy cousins Birney and Denis – clambering over dry stone walls and squeezing past brambles and furze bushes to have a picnic in a cows’ field.

Not all dogs are lucky enough to have a loving home. In fact some are abandoned by their human families. Some live wild with their doggy parents but sadly some doggy dads and mums die while their puppies are yet young.

Most dogs are kind to humans. After all we all know a dog is man’s best friend. Just as there are a few nasty humans so too some dogs are mean. There can be vicious dogs who snarl and bite. That is why we do not let dogs roam around town. Dogs who are found wandering about town on their own are scooped up by the dog catcher. He will look for a collar. The collar will tell the dog catcher which family to return the pooch to. Those doggies with no home to go to are taken to the dogs’ home. The dogs are kept there for a week and fed. Adults have to pay money to the government called tax. Some of this tax money is used to pay for the dogs’ food in the dogs’ home. Grownups do not like paying tax so the government has to take as little of their grownups’ money as possible. This means that the dogs in the dogs’ home cannot be fed forever. After a week in the dogs’ home are sent to the great big dogs’ home in the sky.

Zaza’s parents thought that they should take a dog from the dogs’ home. These poor dogs have no human family and no doggy parents of their own.

Zaza and her parents arrived at the dogs’ home. They had left Zaza’s baby sister Cahalta with her grandparents. A slender cheery chap greeted them at the gate and ushered them in. The middle aged man’s name was Seamus and he had a head of dense black curls and a laugh that rolled like music. Seamus wore a blue uniform of a dog catcher. They could tell that Seamus really cared for the dogs and only took them off the streets to save them from being knocked down by cars.

Zaza’s dad told Seamus what they wanted. ”We would like nice dog with good character – one who will be good with my daughters.”

”Does the dog have to look like a model?”, asked Seamus chuckling amiably.

”Ah no,” breathed the dad pensively, ”the dog must just be well-behaved and playful.”

”Are you looking for a boy dog or a girl dog?”, inquired Seamus.

”We do not want a boy dog or a girl dog – just a nice one, either girl or boy.” said dad sincerely. ”It is just like having a baby.”

Seamus reacted with peals of laughter. ”Come with me”, he said, his eyes gleaming with hope. Zara held her mum’s hand. Zara was skipping with excitement as Seamus opened a door and led them down a corridor.

On either side of the corridor were several cages each holding a dozen or so dogs. They came in all shapes, sizes, colours and ages. The dogs behaved in all different ways. Some were sociable and some were loners. Some were angry and others were calm. A few scampered about and others lay down listlessly.

Zara ran up and down the corridor. She was overcome with exuberance. The dogs sensed her mood and they barked eagerly- their tails wagging frenetically.

Zara saw a small yappy yellow dog. ”I want that one, I want that one!”, she yelled avidly. Her parents were not so sure. Zara grabbed her dad’s hand and led him to look into the cage where this dog stood barking.

Dad looked at mum and mum looked at dad. They could read each others’ minds. They both shook their heads. This dog did not seem to have a good nature. It was barking aggressively but this dog was so small that the bark did not seem angry to Zaza who was too young to understand such a thing.

Seamus saw what the parents were thinking and counselled them, ”Um, maybe you should take a look at another dog.”

The parents nodded silently and exchanged a significant glance. Zaza began to lose interest in the yappy dog which was now growling. All three followed Seamus towards the far end of the corridor. They walked right to the end – there was a door with the words ”end of the line”. They could see Seamus’ beaming face fall when he set his eyes on ominous the words on the door. Then he looked to the left of the door. There was the last cage. In it was just one dog. This dog was a black and white border collie. The dog’s long coat shone with health and and he was bursting vitality. The dog barked a courteous and eager greeting to Zaza and her parents. 

”This is the nicest dog you will ever meet”, said Seamus. ”I would love to have him for my own children. I have been working with dogs for 20 years and so I would know a good dog from a bad one. I would bring this fellow home but I already have five dogs and five children. I cannot afford any more. They do not pay us much in this job, you know. I do it for the love of the dogs, not for the money.”

The mum and dad nodded wisely. ”Yes, we can tell this one is best”, said mum.

”Well we said we would give Zaza the choice and she wanted the other one”, said dad. He was plainly unsure what to do. Should he let Zaza have her way even if she was making a big mistake?

”The thing is,” said Seamus shifting uncomfortably, ”this is this dog’s last day. If he is here tomorrow morning he is going through that door and never coming back.” A pained expression came over his thin face.

Mum’s face turned pale. Zaza somehow suddenly realised the seriousness of the situation. ”I want this one”, said Zara definitely – she pointed straight at the black and white border collie and she danced merrily.

”That’s done then. We’ll take this one please!”, the dad was as pleased as punch.

The adults had to sign some papers and pay some money to help the dogs’ home care for the dogs. They promised to take the dog to the vet for his injections and buy all the things the dog needed. ”Do you promise to take good care of the dog now Zaza?” asked Seamus. ”I do – I do promise!” she said loudly and nodded her head sagely.

”Now what’ll we call him?”, inquired mum.

”We’ll call him Happy!” squeaked Zara triumphantly. The name stuck.

The mum and dad agreed. They would take the border collie.  Zaza had asked for the yappy little chihuahua but sometimes parents know best. They paid for the dog and took straight to the vet. 

”Ok it’ll be Happy”, said mum.

”There was no dog born with a better name for him,” laughed Seamus, visibly relieved as well as ecstatic. 

”By the way we have all been calling this dog ‘he’ – this is a boy isn’t it?” asked dad almost anxiously.

”Yes, he’s a boy all right”, answered Seamus chirpily. 

Happy was a little nervous getting into the car. He had never been in one before. But because of his easy nature he did not bark much. Before long they were at granny’s house and Happy was sniffing at the baby Cahalta inquisitively. He barked to tell them that her nappy needed changing. The humanoids seemed to comprehend and did the needful. Happy had a couple of accidents on the carpet before he was house trained. But the family were very forgiving. Happy took the family and soon they were all deeply fond of him. 

Happy had a bath every week. He did not like being soaked and shampooed overmuch but he submitted to it with good grace. 

The family lived in a three bedroom house in the countryside. They were surrounded by fields of pasture. Black and white Frisian cows browsed on the abundant lush verdure of the well watered meads there all day long. Happy was allowed to roam free among the drumlins, dells and woods. But he never bothered the cattle. Soon he was friendly terms with all the other canines around the place.

Happy was a sweet natured and energetic dog. He also knew when to be quiet. He was patient and forgiving to the children. They played with him. Zaza sometimes forgot he was a dog and tried to hug him like a human. Cahalta was beginning to walk. She sensed she need not be afraid of Happy. Cahalta would feel Happy’s face. Once she put her finger in his eye. He just growled a little to her let know it hurt. He did not scare the baby but she learnt not to hurt him again.

Happy became more confident around the family. He was taken for daily walks and was always good to his human family. Zaza was clumsy occasionly accidentally hurt Happy. Happy was understanding and never snapped at her. The family and Happy grew to love each other ever more.

Soon mum and dad had big news. Mum was having another baby. Dad explained to the girls, ”There is a house inside your mummy.” Mum grew bigger and bigger. Cahalta called her ‘hippo’ because mum was so big at the end. Mum did not like that name overmuch. 

After a few months a baby brother arrived name Liam. When Cahalta heard she had a baby brother she imagined him walking in fully grown and pushing her in on a swing. She was surprised when she went to the hospital to find mum there with a tiny baby. Liam was not much fun at first. All he did was wail and fill nappies. Some dogs are jealous of such babies but Happy was so kind hearted that he did not resent the baby or run away. Happy was not petted or played with so much because everyone was so busy with Mr Baby. 

A year after that the family decided to move to a far distant land called Libya. They could not take Happy with them because Libya does not allow dogs from other countries to come in because some dogs have a disease called rabies. Dad tried telling the Libyans that Irish dogs do not have rabies but they would not trust him.

It was about a week till they were to move away. Zaza was upset at having to leave Happy behind. The parents told her they would give Happy to her cousins Birney and Denis. They would come back and visit Happy twice a year. Cahalta had grown up a lot and she too was a little down hearted that the world’s loveliest dog was to be left behind.

Happy was a brainy dog. He must have realised something was not quite right. A few days before the family were going to hand him over to Birney, Denis and their parents something happened. Happy was sitting happily in the garden when mum hung the washing out to dry. Then she went in to do more housework. She came back an hour later and Happy was gone.

”Happy, Happy where are you?”, shouted mum. She was getting a little distressed. Then she noticed by the garden gate a large hole had been dug under the gate. Happy had dug his way out. Mum was worried for Happy. How was she going to tell the children?

When Cahalta and Zaza got home from school they were very upset to hear about Happy going away. ”Um, well, he has probably gone to find his friends”, said mum, trying to make the situation seem not so bad. But Zaza soon realised that Happy had run away. She sat on the stairs and wailed a dirge to the tune of Silent Night;

Happy come home/ Happy come home/ Ha – a – a –  a – py come home.

Bitter salt tears shivered off her angelic face. Cahalta would not speak but joined the lament with her own sounds. Tears scalded her chubby cheeks. 

They continued their song:

Happy come home/ Happy come home/ Ha – a – a – a – py come home.

They sang this chorus several more times.

Soon even dad’s face was bedewed with tears. 

If you sing the Happy come home song twice then he might come home. Sing!

In every free moment dad had he drove around the area looking for Happy. He went to the park where they used to take him for a walk but no sign of him. They were giving up hope.

Dad put up advertisements with Happy’s photo on it. ”Have you seen this dog? Large reward. Phone this number XXXXXXXXXXXX”

One evening on the way home from work dad saw a group of rough teenage boys walking by the road. The boys were wearing shellsuits and had skinheads and wore fake gold jewellery. The tattooed teenagers had a black and white dog with them. It was a border collie. Could it be? It was! They had Happy.

Dad’s car screeched to a halt and rolled his window down. The boys looked around when they heard the sharp noise. Happy looked around too. He barked gladly. The boys had Happy on a coarse rope around his neck instead of a lead. Happy strained at his rope and panted towards dad. ”Hello sir, what do ye want?”, said one of the boys suspiciously. The boy had bucked teeth that would enable him to eat corn on the cob through a tennis racket. 

”Ah well lads the thing is that’s my dog you have”, said dad. ”He ran away from our house just north of the city a week ago.”

Happy recognised Dad instantly and was straining at the rope and trying to jump in the car window. He barked an ecstatic greeting. 

”Ah no tis not sir. Tis our dog now. His name is Prince”, said the leading teenager darkly.

”Well when did you find him?”, Dad inquired. Happy was whining to go back to his master.

”About five days ago – down at the park just north of the city”, said the leader of the boys. 

”That’s when he ran away from us”, said Dad.

”’Ah well his name is not Happy – tis Prince, like. Isn’t that right Prince?”, Happy barked a clear ”no’’ to that question.

”No, your name is Happy!” said Dad. When the dog heard the name ‘Happy’ he almost jumped in through the car window again. Happy barked keenly and panted with enthusiasm. He cried and implored the boys to let him go back to his family. But they held onto him, heedless of his plaintive pleading. 

”We are travellers, like”, said the leader of the boys. ”We have a right to a dog the same as anybody else.”

”You do of course. I will tell you what. If I give you a thousand pounds could I have the dog and you can go and buy another?” said dad.

”Ok you can have him”, said the boy. 

Dad got out of the car and opened his wallet. He handed over the a thousand pounds. The boys took the rope off Happy.

”Welcome back Happy!”, said Dad. Happy jumped up and gave dad a slobbery lick.

”His name’s Prince” said the boy angrily. ”All right, Prince”, replied dad with a roll of the eyes.

In a flash dad had put Happy into his car and waved the boys goodbye. Happy almost smothered dad with loving licks all over his face. Then dad called Happy by his real name all the way home. Happy sang with elation. 

Happy bounded into the house and almost knocked Zaza over when he jumped into her arms. She cried for joy. Cahalta danced with delight, her cheeks aglow with glee. They all rejoiced long into the night. The family learnt their lesson and put a collar on Happy with his name and their phone number. 

After some time it was decided that they were going to move to a faraway country called Libya. Dad would be paid a lot of money and they would have a house by the beach. It was hot and unsuitable for dogs. The family were going to have to leave Happy behind. 

The day came when they had to give Happy to Birney, Denis and their parents. Zaza and her family all kissed Happy a tearful goodbye before they drove to the airport.

They came back to Ireland to visit Happy twice a year. Birney, Denis and their parents looked after Happy splendidly. He had a wonderful life on a farm. He rounded up cows and climbed hay bales. He had many play fights with other dogs and he had many doggy girlfriends. He became the father of a few puppies. He had a very full and fun life. After many, many magnificent years Happy was very, very old and very weary. It was finally time for Happy to go to the Great Big Dogs’ Home in the Sky. His spirit lives up there with all good dogs and he still has his shining black and white coat. Happy lies for eternity beneath a large rock in front of Birney and Denis’ house.

There never was a dog with a more suitable name than Happy.

The day I met the Queen

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The day I met the Queen

I won a chess championship and my parents and I were invited to Buckingham Palace. We wore finest clothes. We asked a taxi driver to take us to the palace to meet the Queen.

”You’re having a laugh?”, said the wizzened old Cockney man.

It was only with difficulty that we persuaded him we really had an appointment at the palace. At the palace we had to go through security.

 There was an usher in a black tailsuit and he was about seven foot tall. He told us in a super posh voice, ”Do not speak to Her Majesty unless she speaks to you first. That is the protocol. Otherwise everyone would be speaking to her at the same time.”

We then milled around in the enormous and gorgeously furnitured Throne Room with several other families who were there for awards. Almost everything in the room was red from the curtains to the carpet and the chairs. There were huge portraits on the wall of various kings and queens all caparisoned in their royal regalia. Then we were instructed to sit on chairs. Then the first bars of God Save the Queen played but no one sang. We all stood up.

Then Her Majesty the Queen walked in very slowly attended by some ladies in waiting. She wore a dark green dress and a diamond tiara. The Queen then turned to look at us and we gasped. It was astonishing that she was only 10 metres from me. She is a real person and she really occupies space. I have seen her on telly so many times it is strangely hard to believe she is human.

Then my name was called first! I had to walk forward and make a bow as I had been instructed. Her Britannic Majesty put out her white gloved hand and shook mine.

”What do you do?”, the 100 year old woman croaked.

”I play chess Your Majesty”, I said nervously.

”Well don’t let anyone take the Queen!”, she quipped with a twinkle in her eye. I never thought the Queen had a sense of humour. She then handed me my award. My heart was racing. What a bizarre and unforgettable moment.

I then went to sit down and was congratulated by my parents. The rest of the ceremony passed in a daze. Other people received awards but I scarcely paid any attention.

Miss Salter

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My favourite teacher

My favourite teacher is Miss Salter. Miss Salter is quite tall and slim. She has long brown hair and she always wears dresses. She never wears glasses. She is 24 so she is middle aged.

I like the sound of Miss Salter’s voice. She sometimes raises her voices when people are really bad but she never shouts at us. She is so much better than Mrs O’Connor whom we had last year.

Lessons with Miss Salter are really good. She can makes things fun even when I do not like the subject such as in maths. She keeps things moving fast but we can always ask her if we do not understand something or we need her to repeat something. She praises us a lot but not so much that I believe I am the best at a subject when in truth I am only average. She gives us encouragement. The best thing about her is that she explains how we can get better. She showed us examples of excellent work and she got us to say what exactly was so good about the work.

Things never get boring. We keep changing to a new subject every 40 minutes. She is good with brainy people as well as the not so brainy ones.

She is full of jokes and sometimes everyone is falling off their chair laughing. She makes me laugh until my face aches.

When we are getting drowsy she insists we stand up for some stretches. We also sing songs to cheer us up.

Miss Salter gives us homework. That is not my favourite thing in the world.

My fave teacher Black

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My favourite teacher

My favourite teacher is Mr Black. He is an Olympic gold medallist in swimming and we all respect him for that. He is so modest he will not talk about it.

We all behave for Mr Black because we like him. He hardly ever raises his voice. He is very reasonable and lets us to go the toilet if we need. Miss MacDuff makes it a big deal and scolds us if we ask to go.

Mr Black is fun and he cracks lots of jokes. There are gales of laughter coming from the classroom. He also reads to us very well and does lots of voices and accents for the characters.

The lessons go quite fast. He explains things well and he repeats himself enough. We can always ask if we are unsure about something or need him to repeat something. Lessons with him are enjoyable even in subjects I do not like.

We all know that Mr Black cares about us and is trying his best for us. We all feel safe and happy with Mr Black.

My favourite activity

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My favourite activity

My favourite activity is cycling. It is like the song by Queen, ”I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bike.” I ride my bike almost every single day.

If I do not get to cycle my bike I am het up. I have too much energy. I sometimes cycle late at night when there is almost no traffic around. Night cycling is safer. I can see cars miles off because of the lights and they can see me. In the daytime there is so much colour so cyclists do not stand out nor do cars. Further, there is a lot of sound in the daytime so you do not hear the cars far off.

I cycle for miles and miles. I ride in a comfortable upright position. I find it exhilarating to feel my muscles stretch and glow. When I get off my bike after a strenuous one hour ride I stretch out my thigh muscles and calf muscles. I go into low stretch positions or put my ankle up on a handrail.

I cycle in the park and along the road. It is a little dangerous to cycle on the road. I have to watch out for cars. I use the bike lane. However, it is not always physically separated from the motor vehicles. Motorists are increasingly cognizant of bikes because there are ever more cyclists. When cyclists are in a big peloton then the drivers are very aware of them. There is safety in numbers!

Sometimes I have taken too much of a risk. I cycled down a residential street too fast once and came onto another road. Cars parked restricted visbility. I do not remember pulling the brakes. Next thing I knew I was on the road and I had grazed my palms. I was not hurt. The driver had slammed on the brakes. Thankfully there had been no collision. He tutted and drove off. I had been at fault. It taught me a healthy lesson and I became more circumspect thereafter. More haste can mean less speed!

Cycling is exceedingly enjoyable. It is excellent exercise and it is also practical transport. It also saves the planet. That is because if you cycle you are not using a car, bus or train. A bike does not generate any carbon emissions. Cycling is also quiet. Cars and buses are annoying because of the loud noise they create. Noise pollution is ghastly.

It is essential to wear bicycle helmet when riding a bicycle. If you fall off you could hit your head. You could sustain a serious brain injury or even die. I just wear ordinary clothes when I cycle. Some people are lycra louts – they wear all lycra clothing and they are very inconsiderate to other road users. They often buy exceedingly expensive cycling clothes from Le Col. They tend to cycle racing bikes. They are very fast but very unstable. I have a poor sense of balance so I do not cycle one of those. Moreover, racers are in a very uncomfortable position. The cyclist is bent forward and stretched out with arms forward and head down. I know this is the most aerodynamic position but I am not a speed merchant. For me cycling is about getting around, light exercise and fun. I do not have to be the fastest cycler on the planet! I have long since accepted that I shall never be an Olympian.

I have had my current bicycle for over a year. It is large and green. It is a road bike. Therefore, it is inadvisable to cycle off the road on this bike. Mud sticks to it. The handle bars are far apart which means it is easy to balance. I can adjust the handle bars if I am leaning over more to one side or other. That is what gives you equilibrium – wide handlebars. Racer bikes have never narrow handlebars. One wobble and the cycler falls off.

When I come home after a good long cycle my heart is pounding. I am then able to do many pressups. I get an endorphin reward from having taken good exercise. I am buzzing and I am energised for the day.

a dream of uni and friday

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was in a uni lecturing. then set students some work and walked out for a break but out of the building. got onto my bike and cycled far away for fun. overcast sky. without a care in the world. I was enthralled by the buildings around me. dawned on me i should by at the uni. I became v anxious. turned aorund and pedalled back frenetically. the road was blocked somehow. Had to egt off bike. there was a tunnels of bushes – had to bend down to get througg. Bela was with me all of a sudden. did not think it odd. I was in charge of her. then I reaalised I could not hget through area with low bushes over me – they were too low. had to turna round and go an alternative route

finally got to the other side of where I needed to be. There was Friday. He berated me.I had abandoned him. lost him. in reality he is older than he appeared in the revrry. I felt guilt stricken and worried. But I was deeply relieved he was with e and safe. I had to hasten to work. would I be dimissed?

what can it signify? that UI am not wit h fridy?