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Bisto’s Sequel

You couldn’t write this script. It would be too unbelievable even as a work of fiction.

And as I write, I’m still pinching myself.

Okay, let’s go back eighteen months. My old Jack Russell – the geriatric JR beloved of many, not just me – passed away, and despite the advice of well-meaning friends, I could not quite bring myself to get another dog straight away. I loved her to bits, and at that time, I couldn’t cope with a “replacement”.

A few months after Bisto died, my sister’s Old English Sheepdog popped her clogs. She immediately bought a puppy. An Old English/Border Collie cross. And I fell in love with her from day one.

We are over two hundred miles apart, but we see one another as often as we can. And whenever we were together, Zsa-Zsa and I bonded even more closely. And the family kept pestering me to get another dog.

But still I didn’t feel ready. My geriatric JR was such an integral part of my life, and I still couldn’t deal with the idea of a replacement.

So for eighteen months I was dog-less.

Then my sister, family, and Zsa-Zsa came to stay for a few days, and of course we talked dogs. They (quite rightly) were determined that enough time had elapsed, and I should have another dog.

We even talked, quite seriously, of Zsa-Zsa having puppies. Already, at least two were spoken for – me, and my nephew and partner, ‘cos we all loved Zsa-Zsa and we all wanted clones!

Holiday over, they returned home, and I returned to the day job.

Three days later, Sis phoned. She’d seen an ad in the local paper. It was an eighteen-month-old Old English Sheepdog/Border Collie cross, free to a good home.

Cross and age were right. Could it be Zsa-Zsa’s brother?

A young working couple with a big bouncy dog. Too much. Not enough time to devote to such a dog. To their credit, they were sufficiently aware of the dog’s needs to realise they could not do him justice.

I asked the history. And, yes, he came from the same litter as Zsa-Zsa. I was a five-hour drive away, but Sis was only 30 minutes.

A few frantic phone-calls later, Zsa-Zsa was reunited with her brother.

Jake is now happily dragging his new Human along the expansive sands – almost unknown by tourists – of Dunnet Bay. Happily he bounces along Farr Beach, with not a soul in sight. He chases his ball along the sands of Reiss, with only the occasional continental European to sniff up. Jake has his own agenda, and loves this big empty space.

(Jake’s Human’s thoughts on why it should all be so empty, are politically motivated, and will find an outlet elsewhere.)

Fitivver*, Jake and Zsa-Zsa love one another dearly, and miles are not an issue. So their respective Humans have seen a lot of one another lately. Dunno who pulls the strings.

But no way could I have made up this story, even in one of my most Glen-Orded moments.

My new dog is the long-lost sibling of the dog of those who are closest to me, although we are five hours apart. The warld’s ill-pairtit.

(Och, and BTW, div ye think I’m enthusing too much? I love Jake, but the geriatric JR was special, and she will always be special. She pioneered cameo roles on websites, aye, even on opinion sites before BE was born. If ye shoved “geriatric JR” – in quotes – intae Google, it would be interesting to see the results. I must try it masel’)

*Fitivver © Mike Clark 1803.

PG Author: Mike Clark

Mike discovered the joys of horticulture when, as a small child, he overheard a neighbour say she’d dropped a sixpence in the tattie patch. He has been digging ever since, with the tenacity of a true Scot, hoping one day to find a fiver.
Despite now running his own landscape gardening business, Mike claims to be permanently broke, due in part to his quest for fame resulting in writing gardening columns for free.
He likes trees, Jack Russells, and 12 year old Glen Ord, but not necessarily in that order. Gifts of any of these can be sent c/o britishexpat.com, but he would like to point out that the third item is by far the easiest and cheapest to post.
One of the highlights of his life was winning a toilet brush in a raffle. He persevered with it for ages, but he’s back on the paper now…
Mike approaches gardening and writing with exactly the same formula. Throw in plenty of manure, and something good will eventually spring up.

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