Supper's Ready?

FADE IN

Interior day. A man sits on a sofa reading the paper. A black labrador dog 'Diesel' pushes its head past the paper and licks the man.

Diesel: What time is it?
Man: 5.45
Diesel: Yay. Supper time.
Man: No.
Diesel. What? I always eat at 5.45.
Man: Here you eat at 6.

(Diesel walks round table twice)

Diesel: What time is it?
Man: 5.45 and 30 seconds.
Diesel: Yay. Supper time.
Man: No.

(Diesel fetches coloured scrunchy slobbery thing and places it on man's bare knee)

Diesel: What time is it?
Man: 5.46.
Diesel: It's not supper time yet is it?
Man: Take a wild guess.
Diesel: Suppose you forget.
Man: I don't think I will.
Diesel. Still, better safe than sorry. I brought you some slobber.

(Diesel lies at my feet and looks mournful for 45 seconds)

FX: voice off in next door garden.

Diesel barks.

Diesel: I saved you from attack. Is it supper time?
Man: Eight more minutes.
Diesel: 'kin joking.
Man: Language
Diesel: I may die of starvation in seven.
Man: I'll risk that; your owners already gave me the beer.
Diesel: Anyway, I've been thinking. How come you eat five times a day and me only twice?
Man: My gaff; my rules. Beer?

(Diesel walks round the table twice more)

I get up to get food after six more minutes, delayed only by tripping over a dog on the way and on the way back.

FX: eating noises

Man: What time is it?

Close up of dog and empty bowl then of clock showing 6.01.

FADE OUT

Dog-sitting

Diesel in action

A friend remarked how Steve turns into Diesel-Steve when his doggy chum comes for his holidays. I do, I guess, go on about him a lot. Maybe it is because he is ever present at anything I do at home and requires an investment of an hour or so a day for walking.

Fact is I like dogs, especially labrador retrievers, and particularly black ones. Other breeds are available.

Looking after a friend's well-behaved dog for a few days reminds me of something I really miss but also a few things I don't. The company of a loyal, obedient dog is brilliant. The sight of a retriever bombing into a bush and returning, against the odds, with a slobber-covered tennis ball is a wonder of the world. A warm body on your toes is a nice way to watch TV. But dog hair everywhere, cow-pat eating, carrying the black plastic sack of disgust and the lack of flexibility to go out all day - these things are not so good.

Diesel arrived without anything to fetch. No ball. I took his favourite plastic bone with me on the first walk. Its strange shape made fetching a bit complicated as he couldn't anticipate the bounce. After about half a mile he left it for me to carry and disappeared into the bushes. He re-emerged with an old tennis ball. Probs one he had lost last time he was here.

This ball was our plaything for the next few days. In the open fields he fetches it when thrown but then on the footpaths he carries it.

I have noticed that he is much better at not losing it these days. He runs ahead of me, puts the ball down, sniffs about a bit then picks it up as I pass him again and runs off a bit further.

Today is day six. All is going well until he runs up to me without the ball, as if I have it. We have a conversation. I speak fluent labrador:

Diesel

Idiot man. What have you done with my ball?

(I gesture with empty palms. Diesel dashes back along the path)

(I walk on. Dog returns with no ball)

This is one of your jokes isn't it? Like when you pretend to throw it one way then throw it the other.

(I gesture again. He dashes back and doesn't return)

(I reluctantly walk back to an area of long grass by a ditch. Diesel has been known to get in the ditch, and drop the ball but as it floats he can see it and find it. He is sniffing the long grass where he has obviously left the ball. I try to find it but can't)

Idiot man

Come on. We'll have to leave it.

Diesel

Are you mad?

Idiot man

(Stern voice) Come on.

Diesel

Well if you're going to do your disappointed voice I'll come and cheer you up. You haven't heard the last of this.

(Walk proceeds until we get to the point where we normally play throw and fetch again.)

Diesel

Where's the ball? I want to fetch the ball. Throw the ball. Go on. Throw it. Go on. I'll run a bit then stop. That normally helps you remember.

(I give the empty palms gesture)

You lost my ball!

(I dangle the lead)

OK. I'll just run on a bit and wait for you to remember where you put it.

(10 seconds pass)

Got the ball?

(8 seconds pass)

Got the ball?

(6 seconds pass)

Got the ball?

( I put him on the lead)

How come I am being punished for something that is clearly your fault?

(We return home. I go to the pet shop and purchase two new dayglo balls and, as a treat, a small bone.)

(I hand over the bone)

Open the door.

Idiot man

I'm going out.

Diesel

This is torture. I'm not allowed to eat bones in the house. It's me that needs to go out; not you.

Idiot man

This house is different. Here. Eat it on your bed.

Diesel

Are you mad? I'll puke.

(I go out and leave Diesel with the bone)

(I return. Idiot woman had returned first)

Idiot man

Where's the dog?

Idiot woman

He's in the garden eating his own vomit. I've cleaned his bed up.

Idiot man

He told me that would happen.

(Idiot woman makes gesture. Idiot man goes to his basket)

Happiness

Springer spaniels. These creatures collide with the game of life unable to believe that any of it is meant to be dull.

A garden? There must be a ball. There is. Now the man is coming to play. I'll drop the ball in that bag of newspapers he's carrying. Weird he wants to read the papers rather than play with the ball. Funny chap. I'll drop the ball in the water feature then bark at it. Brilliant. He's coming to play now. Why is he putting the ball where I can't get it? Now I'll have to jump into those bushes and try to get out without getting stuck. Fantastic game. The pigeons in the tree jump when I bark. Even that frog in the bush does. Why is this man so dull?

A walk? Wow. Never done one of those before. A stream. Let's all jump in. Come on the rest of you. You're so slow. Mud? Wow you could roll in that. Another ball. Throw it. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Why are you all so tired? I'm not. Where's supper? Lovely. More ball? No? Pah. You're rubbish. I'm going back to that family I came from. They'll want to play having been away all day so I'll have a bit of a sleep first. Laters.

I think it is technically impossible to be unhappy whilst looking after a springer. Thanks Slades for lending us Jem. Come again soon.