In a perfect world, we’d all have dogs that never misbehave or upset anyone. Unfortunately, I have an 18-month-old terrier, so barely a day goes by without at least one misdemeanour. If I had a star chart on my fridge, the sort that people use for their toddlers, Dennis would have zero stars. Last month, we went to stay with a friend’s parents in Berkshire and I belatedly realised that her mother has chickens. I was alerted to this by a sudden squawking outside the back door, whereupon I saw a white blur scurrying around after several orange hens.
‘DENNIS!’ I screamed. He ignored me. Eventually, I cornered him under the hen house, hauled him out and shut him in my car for a spell so that he could have a good long think about his actions. Half an hour later, my hosts implored me to release him so he could scamper around the garden with their corgis. Unfortunately, not long after that, Dennis squeezed back into the chicken pen and the same drama ensued. Except this time, he managed to get his jaws around the neck of one unfortunate Bantam. Let’s just leave it at that.
'It felt a bit Agatha Christie — eating dinner while a murder hung over us'
Mortifying. Like having a child take a felt tip to the de Gournay wallpaper in the spare bedroom, except instead of felt tip it’s blood. I stuttered apologies all evening while Dennis was shut back in the car. We ate vongole and made small talk, but it felt a bit Agatha Christie — eating dinner while a murder hung over us.
Flowers didn’t seem thoughtful enough by way of apology. Ditto anything edible — ‘I’m so sorry my dog mauled your chicken, please accept these violet creams on his behalf.’ I spent some time Googling ‘chicken themed presents’, and wondering whether something chickeny from Emma Bridgewater would do it, but anything with a chicken on it seemed insensitive, a reminder of the callous barbarity that happened under the yew hedge.
In the end, I bought two pretty, porcelain mugs with birds on them. Not chickens; one was painted with tits — willow tits, bearded tits, crested tits and so on, plus the word ‘tits’ in big letters. The other said ‘peckers’ and featured ringed peckers, hairy peckers and lesser spotted peckers. An attempt to make my friend’s mother laugh seemed to strike the right note. Off they went, with an apology card from Dennis, promising that he’d be much better behaved the next time.
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