A haunting short story and a tale of loyal friendship
“That old dog of yours doesn’t look too marvellous,” Bert said as he slung his empty bag under the table. “What? Raymond?” Marge asked, affronted. Hearing his name, the shaggy mongrel lifted his head from the sofa and stole them a sideways glance.
“Yes, him,” Bert nodded.“he seems a bit, well, past his best. The last few times I’ve called he’s barely barked, let alone chased me. And a dog that doesn’t go after a postman? Well, that’s never right.”
“Perhaps he’s got better things to do,” Marge defended him.
“Well, he’s doing them in his dreams, then,” Bert replied.“look at him. All he seems to do nowadays is sleep.”
It was true. Raymond did spend more time on the sofa these days. But if you couldn’t have a nap when you were a dog of 15, when could you? “He’s 105 in dog years,” she told Bert.“that’s nearly as old as you!”
“All right, cheeky.” Bert coloured,“seriously, though, he used to be so full of life. Remember how he used to grab a stick and run up and down the garden when an aeroplane flew over?
I’m convinced he was copying them.”
“And when you took him on that shoot and he fancied he was a retriever,” Marge chuckled.
“And do you remember when the hunt came across the field and he took off with the hounds?” Bert asked,“only to come back with the fox. Best of friends they were. Well, Raymond, you certainly kept us entertained!”
The chat was interrupted by a yowling and hissing from upstairs. It was the cats fighting again. “I’ve seen the time he’d have been straight upstairs to sort those two out, wouldn’t you, Raymond?” Bert said.
“True,” Marge agreed.
“How about it, old man?”
Raymond lifted his head and listened to the noise. Then he shut his eyes and went back to sleep. “Go on, Raymond,” Marge urged. “Go on, boy. Show us you still can.” Reluctantly Raymond heaved himself off the sofa and walked wearily upstairs, across the landing and into the bedroom. They heard a few half-hearted barks followed by higher-pitched yowling, then frantic scuffing and snarling.
A while later Raymond came back downstairs, patches of fur missing and a fresh scratch across his nose. He gave Bert and Marge a withering look before curling back up on the couch.“he let them get the better of him,” Bert commented.“shame on you, Raymond.”
Sure enough the two cats came trotting down the stairs after him, heads held high. The partners in crime headed into the garden to their favourite patch of sun.“oh, Raymond,” Marge sighed.“anyway, enough about him. Tell me the news from the village, Bert.
“Has Moira Stubbs had her baby yet? And is Elsie’s boy still knocking around with those wrong ‘uns from town?” She put the kettle on and the two friends caught up on village tales as they had done for years. Once she’d finished her tea, Marge put her cup down and sighed.
“I’m going to miss catching up on the gossip when you retire next month.“i know,” Bert said sadly.“me, too.” Bored with their talk, which was disturbing his sleep, Raymond got up off the sofa and headed outside. The sun was shining and Marge and Bert watched through the window as he ambled along the path to where the mice nested at the end of the garden. These days he liked to lie and watch them. The cats were stretched out on their backs on the lawn, sunning themselves. Raymond sauntered past, seemingly oblivious. Then he stopped for a moment. Slowly he retraced his steps. When he was next to them, he paused, then cocked his leg and relieved himself all over them. Shocked, the shrieking cats leapt into the air, then fled. Raymond nonchalantly continued his journey.
“Did you see that?” Bert slapped his leg.“the old devil! He got his own back! Good old Raymond. I never doubted you. There’s life in the old dog yet!” Marge studied Bert as he strode around punching the air. Then she turned to him knowingly. “I know you too well. This isn’t about Raymond at all, is it? It’s about you!” Bert looked sheepish. She was right.“you’re worried that when you retire you’ll be past your best,” Marge continued.“you’re worried you’ll end up sleeping all day with nothing to do.” Bert smiled wryly.“got it in one, Marge,” he sighed.“i’ve loved this job. I’ll miss it. It’s kept me fit and in touch with what’s going on.” He paused and reddened a little.“but most of all I’ll miss finishing my round here with you. I don’t want to stop being your friend.”
Marge smiled.“you silly old so-and-so,” she admonished him.“don’t you know I feel the same? Besides, how will I keep up with what’s going on? I don’t get down to the village more than once a week.” Bert looked thoughtful.
“How about I come and call for you? We could take a walk into the village together. That’s if you’d like to.” He hesitated.
“I would.” Marge smiled. “We could call at the Crown and catch up on the local gossip together.” Bert took her hand and smiled.“that way we’d both stay fit. And friends.” Raymond walked in at that moment, his plastic bowl in his mouth. He plonked it at their feet for some tea.“and if you’re still worried about Raymond here, we could take him, too,” Marge laughed.“but it would be up to him.
It appears he still has a mind of his own!”
You’re worried you’ll be past your best