Ten year old Samantha, better known as Sam hated the little white French poodle with a passion. As far as she was concerned, George was a snappy, snarling little beast who deserved everything he got. Unfortunately, the little curly dog was also the apple of her Grandma’s eye and received every luxury available to dogs and sometimes humans. Samantha loved her old Grandma and looked forward to her weekend visits. Minus the ‘wee beastie’ as she referred to George, Sam had a wonderful time.
Not that they did anything particularly special at the old woman’s house. If anybody asked Mrs Carruthers why her granddaughter was so keen on visiting, she would reply, ‘Och, she canna gie enuff aff ma wee doggie, George’. Sam occupied herself with television and if her Grandma were baking, she would lend a hand. Her Grandma gave Sam the pastry cut-offs and she would fashion them into wonderful shapes to be baked and eaten later at tea with jam. Mrs Carruthers had remained blissfully ignorant to the world of technology. No DVD or VCR but she possessed an ancient washing machine boiler with a heating element and its very own wringer. The boiler delighted Sam and she was an eager volunteer in assisting her Grandma to put the clothes through the wringer, using all her strength to bring the handle around as each item was wound through. While the rain beat down outside, Sam would occupy herself by counting the hundreds of porcelain ornaments her Grandma had in her china cabinet. Tiny little thimbles, delicately sculptured statuettes, Sam adored them all. She loved everything about Grandma’s. Except the dog. George was there, its snarling, barring teeth to remind her each weekend that she was an unwelcome visitor. Nights were worse.
When Sam was asleep, George would enter the room and nudge her awake. This night as usual, he entered and sniffed Sam’s calm breath. He snapped at her face, causing Sam to sit up. Rubbing her eyes, she saw the little dog in the moonlight. In his most condescending tone he spat at her accusingly, ‘Eating my chocolate drops again. You know it isn’t natural to eat food designated for dogs’. Mrs Carruthers had a jar by her armchair filled with choc buds, which were especially for George, but on the weekends he stood by helplessly as Mummsy meted them out to Sam as well. It drove George to distraction. Why Mummsy would even entertain this ragamuffin of a child was beyond him.
Sam was wide awake now. ‘Get lost beastie, you don’t scare me. Any dog that needs its bum powder puffed after a poo, can’t be a real dog!’ George growled at Sam menacingly. ‘I told you, I’m sensitive in that region! And for your ignorant information, being uncultured, one can hardly expect you to understand, I am a dog of pedigree. All comforts need to be extended to one so grand as I.’ ‘Still’, he said as he stuck his nose in the air, ‘I don’t expect, a filthy groveling human child to grasp the notion’
Sam had heard it all before. The pompous poodle was so full of himself. She poked her tongue out at him. ‘You still lick your own willy though don’t you, so you’re no better than the mongrel ‘Basher’ next door!’ The pom at the end of his tail stiffened and the dog stood as proud as he could. It was all he could do to muster a civil word but he would not be conquered by subordinates. Not he. Really, this girl was the absolute pits. No discretion or understanding of the ancient canine rituals of dogs. How dare she, she cheapen his lineage with such banter!
In his most regal voice he addressed her. ‘It probably comes as no surprise to a child who consumes her own nasal mucus as a pastime that I abhor you and your own bodily practices. Any part of my body that I lick is connected to rites of passage, history and canine lore. You on the other hand have some explaining to do with why you eat parts of your own body for no other reason than boredom’.
Sam blushed in the dark and simply replied ‘Shut your face before I scream for Grandma’ She turned over, her back to the dog purposefully ignoring him and hoping he would disappear off the face of the planet very soon. Sam could not see what her Grandma saw in the little brute. One thing was certain; she would pick her nose more discreetly in future.
George stayed for another five minutes. He had not planned to but he had a sudden bout of wind and he felt Sam’s room was the most appropriate place to release it. Being a dog of pedigree however, he was mindful to always say, “Oh! Was that me? I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to’. Sam held the covers tightly over her nose and mouth and survived the awful doggy stench with resolute obstinacy. Finally, George murmured ‘Goodnight Snottygobbler’ and trotted out to find his own personal bed in Mrs Carruthers bedroom. Although George disliked little girls as uncouth as Sam, he rather delighted in the nightly jaunts to her room to remind her all was not a fairytale. He settled down in his wicker basket and was lulled to sleep by Mrs Carruthers or as he knew her, Mummsy’s light snoring.
It was still dark when George was suddenly woken by what? His ears pricked up. Was it an intruder? The little cultured pedigree wobbled at the legs but he hopped out and ran onto the landing. No, there was no sound. As far as he knew, no sound was good. He was alarmed inside though. He sniffed the air. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He ran into Mummsy’s room. Nothing. He saw immediately. She wasn’t breathing – no sound. He barked and barked but Mummsy lay inert on her back. The panic was fast rising in George when he suddenly remembered Sam the liar next door. He tore into her room and leapt on the bed.
‘Quick, quick, get up now, Mummsy is in trouble’. Sam sat up again in fright at being waken so unceremoniously. ‘Wha, wha?’ ‘Mummsy, Grandma isn’t breathing, we have to do something. Now!’ George sprung off the bed to the door barking noisily. Sam went into her Grandma’s room expecting to find the naughty dog had played a nasty joke. The lack of colour in Grandma’s face told Sam otherwise and she immediately realized the gravity of the situation. Her Grandma was dead. She burst into tears. She ran over to her and crouched by her face. George jumped onto Mummsy’s ample bosom and exclaimed, ‘What will we do? Oh what will we do?’ Sam cradled Mrs Carruthers in her arms as she wept openly and kissed her Grandma’s mouth repeatedly, ‘Grand’ smooch ‘ma’ smooch ‘I’m’ smooch ‘so’ smooch ‘sorry…..’ she rocked her head from side to side, almost violently, while George, in hysterics over the possibility of losing his one and only Mummsy jumped up and down frantically on her chest yapping away.
It was only a slight movement, but George saw it. Mrs Carruthers finger moved. He ran down her tummy and back up to her chest and proceeded to bounce away, crying out ‘Tell her you’re sorry again snottygobbler it seems to be working! Sam was deaf to anything George said, so great was her grief, that she continued to kiss and tell her Grandma that she loved her, she was sorry for everything, all the while moving the old lady’s head back and forth, side to side in her wailing bereavement.
Mrs Carruthers suddenly spluttered and sucked in much needed air, colour suffusing her darling features. Sam fell back aghast trying to collect her wits about her. The dog continued to jump up and down on her chest, yapping wildly ‘Oh praise be to bow wow heaven, she’s forgiven you!’ Sam picked the phone up next to her and dialed 000. George bent to the task of licking his precious Mummsy motored by furious tail wagging and continued paw stamping.
When the ambulance arrived, they found Sam and George in the same position. Mrs Carruthers, barely conscious, was taken to hospital with a suspected cardiac arrest. After they had told the accompanying Police Officer what had happened he shook his head in amazement and patted them both. ‘You’re a pair of heroes. What with the dog giving all that heart massage and your homebaked kiss of life little girl, the two of you have managed to save a life between you. You realize you could not have done it without each other?’ Sam and George looked at each other shyly, their common interest uniting them for the first time. ‘Well it’s the best story I’ve heard all year and I take my hat off to you both’. The Police Officer bowed solemnly to Sam and George then left them in the care of ‘Bashers’ neighbour, Mrs Hoskins.
As Sam and George were tucked in the same bed, George tentatively nestled in the crook of Sams arm under the covers. He felt a sudden kinship with this child whose love for his Mummsy was, all things considered, as great as his. And Mummsy had forgiven her. Sam wrapped her other arm around the little poodle. His loyalty to her Grandma was unflinching. If it hadn’t been for him, they would both be very lonely right now. She kissed the top of his head with great affection. There was a restful silence of comradeship broken only by a small sound, then Sam said ‘Oh! Was that me? I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to!’ They snuggled closer to each other, snickers of laughter shared by two good friends.
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