'I'll take this one home with me.' Arthur laughed as he picked up the last unsold spaniel in the litter.
Gerald smiled at his father. 'You don't need to do that,' he said. 'I expect we'll find a home for him soon.'
'You have,' replied Arthur. pulling his cap firmly onto his bald head. He tucked the dog inside his jacket and turned towards the door.
'Mavis will go mad, Dad,' said Gerald. 'She hates anything that can't be tidied away.'
'Aye, that's right.' Arthur strode off down the garden path. He walked fast for his age and would be home in twenty minutes, though he preferred not to think about that at the moment. He could feel a warm wetness running down inside his shirt and he smiled as he remembered the last time that happened.
His wife Bessie had been alive then, and Gerald had been fourteen years old. They had bought a puppy just like this one and had all laughed when Arthur showed them his wet shirt. There was a lot of laughter in those days. Nothing was quite the same since Bessie died.
The old dog had died soon after, and he had not found the heart to get another. But this one was different. Arthur knew as soon as he saw it that it was the answer to his problems. For a start, it was fat like him - it looked as if it could hardly stand on its pudgy little legs. Then there was the way it cocked its head – cheeky-like. Arthur understood dogs, and he knew this one would be a good pal - faithful through thick and thin.
'Thick and thin,' Arthur repeated the words to himself. A bit like Bessie and Mavis, he thought. Bessie had been thick - well, wide really. Always overweight, she had never let it bother her and did not try to hide it underneath stylish clothes. She had been a bit of a muddler, but he had got used to that. It was her sunny nature and effervescent cheerfulness that lived on in Arthur's memory.
Her sister Mavis, on the other hand, was narrow in both size and mind. She wore thin grey clothes that made her look like an overdressed stick insect, and her rare smile made her tight mouth disappear altogether. She moved in, unasked, after Bessie's death - to help him, she said, but Arthur had a sneaking feeling that was not all that was intended. She had been looking at him in a peculiar way, and it seemed to him that she had designs on more than his domestic arrangements. He had to admit that she ran an orderly house, but it was when it came to himself that he objected to her organisation. That and her carping attitude were beginning to get him down.
Arthur was now approaching the house with its shining windows and neat front garden. He looked at his watch. Four minutes to one! He could almost smell the perfectly cooked dinner. At one o'clock, on the dot, it would be put on the table, and if he was not, there he would be in trouble. He patted the puppy, and laughed to himself. He'd be in trouble anyway.
He looked at his watch again as he opened the door. Two minutes late. He waited for the whining complaints, but Mavis, coming out of the kitchen, stopped suddenly with a look of consternation on her face. She seemed lost for words and Arthur watched as she struggled to regain her self-control.
'What is that dreadful smell?' she gasped.
Arthur was nonplussed. Then he remembered.
'Oh that,' he said as he pulled the puppy out and held it aloft. 'That's just this little fellow. He's peed on my shirt.'
Mavis's mouth opened and shut several times. Then her voice returned. 'Get it out of here - dirty filthy thing!' she screeched. 'And don't use such vulgar language in this house.'
'No, no, and yes.'
'What do you mean - no, no and yes?'
'No - I won't get it out, and no - it's not a dirty filthy thing,' replied Arthur calmly. 'And yes - I will use any language I like.'
'Then get out yourself and take the wretched thing with you,' she yelled, pushing him towards the door.
Arthur stood his ground. 'Hold on,' he said. 'Haven't you forgotten something? This is my house.'
Mavis stepped back. She looked straight at him.
'Then I shall go myself,' she announced. 'What will you do then? You'll never be able to look after yourself. You need a wife to organise you.'
So he was right. Mavis did have designs on him. Arthur tucked the puppy under his arm and went into the dining room. Then, with his wet shirt sticking to him and the dog at his feet, he sat down to enjoy his dinner. He could hear noises from Mavis's bedroom but ignored them until the dining room door was flung open.
'I'm going to my brother's,' Mavis announced. 'I'll send for the rest of my things as soon as I can.'
'Aye,' said Arthur, carrying on with his dinner.
She looked at him with an air of disbelief but, when he did not respond, she stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Arthur leant across the table and cut up the meat from the dinner that Mavis had so carefully prepared for herself. He put it on a bone china tea plate and covered it in gravy.
'There you are, littl'un,' he said, putting it down on the spotless carpet. He smiled as he patted the fat little body that reminded him of Bessie. He had definitely been right about this one, as he had been right about Bessie when he chose her for a wife. Like her, the puppy was going to be a perfect companion - the answer to his problems in more ways than one.