Chapter Twenty-Four
I bound from the car and, nose to the ground, zig-zag around the front lawn of my new home. I hoover up downy feathers that stick to my wet nose and I sneeze, sending the feathers flying. As a pup, I once tore a cushion to shreds searching for the duck inside. I found loads of feathers but never found the duck. I’m still searching. Can’t be that many naked ducks about.
‘So, what do you think?’ Rose asks, smiling.
What do I think? I think those bitter white tablets the vet gave me were worth it after all. I can’t feel my stitches and my paws seem to float above the grass as if I’m dreaming. I run over to Rose, tail wagging like a windscreen wiper in a downpour, and lick her hand. After being cooped up in a cage at the vet’s, I need the wind in my fur, big time. So I charge up and down, leaning into each turn like a motorcycle at Brands Hatch, almost tripping over a faded wooden sign on the overgrown grass that once welcomed visitors to Duckdown Cottage. It even has a white duck painted on it.
Duck!
I bolt down the side of the house to where the duck droppings are so potent it’s like fireworks going off in my head.
‘Monty!’ she calls. ‘Leave the ducks alone.’
She can’t be serious! Duck and pheasant retrieval is what I’m bred for. It’s a calling.
I go into selective hearing mode and charge for the pond, revelling in the glorious combination of mud, poultry poo and stagnant water. It’s the canine equivalent of
