LIFE IN MY NORTHERN TOWN

THERE has been a bit of a momentous event in my life recently, as my daughter has decided to get a puppy, which basically translates as I have now got a puppy.

Now this might not sound so momentous for most of you, but the basic fact of the matter is that I am not a doggy person.

I have not been a doggy person since I was bitten on the backside by an afghan when I was about ten and, needless to say, it – like the teeth – has left a deep impression on me.

I have had a deep distrust of dogs ever since. And it is all a bit scary, to be honest, as I know very little about dogs, especially puppies.

In fact, I know so little about dogs that I have no idea what kind of dog it is.

All I know is that it is just a ball of fur - so furry that until it moves I don’t even know which end is which sometimes, which can be a bit of a problem when I try and feed it.

And it is amazing how a puppy curtails your life, both social and practical.

Going into town to do some shopping is a problem now.

Well, not so much going into town – that is not an issue – it’s just that I can’t go into any shops now. Or cafes. Or anywhere, if truth be told.

And then there is the name. Audrey. Yes, I know, I know. My own suggestions for a name – Fang, Killer or Throat-slasher – were strangely ignored. So we are now stuck with Audrey.

And I don’t know about you, but believe me – taking a small, cute ball of fur with a pink bow-tie and sequin– encrusted collar is not a good look.

Especially when you are shouting “Audrey” every two minutes.

But I have to confess I am starting to fall in love with the damn thing, even though it is currently chewing its way through most of the belongings of my house.

And I can see how people get a lot of pleasure from owning such animals.

So if you see a balding, middle aged man walking round with what looks like a brown and white fluffy handbag with legs, please spare me some sympathy.