Alas, we are dogless.
Our flight for New York departs some time this morning, with any luck; and departure was at 5:30am sharp. So last evening, the dog was led away to sit with my mother in her ittle grey Peugeot, and driven off.
It all felt rather sudden. One minute he was there, the next: gone. No fuss, for my parents are well used to being a hotel for his nibs the moustachio’d wonder.
If he glanced back at me, it was just for an instant. I knew he was off for a rather nice walk in the grounds of an old stately home. There would be much socialising and bottom sniffing. Macaulay would be in Heaven.
When we went to see Macaulay as a one-year-old whippersnapper in the local animal rescue, it was my father who courted him with doggie biscuits. Oh, he’s nice, the dog thought; and came most willingly with us when we arrived after all the checks to collect him. He was most nonplussed to find my father and his biscuits were nowhere to be seen, and h was destined to live with us instead.
So Macaulay will live the life he always envisaged for himself for four days: close to biscuits, and his best doggie pal Spice, and the man he is sure he should have ended up with.
But we are doggone lonely. I keep having to resist the impulse to get up and take the dog for a walk. There is not a single animal in the house; just us four.
There is nothing left for us but to get on the plane.