My long-time drinking sidekick, The Bookseller, was a frequent companion on my visits to The Temple.
The regular dogs there that I mentioned in my first post on that great pub, three lovely border collies, used to enjoy playing with the customers. The favourite game was catching beermats frisbeed through the air. One of the dogs was particularly energetic, revelling in a long chase or a high jump before seizing the flying mat triumphantly in its teeth, sometimes pulling off fancy moves like over-the-shoulder catches and spinning jumps. The other, older dogs would tire of the game after 10 minutes or so, but this young, frisky, exuberant one would just go on and on. Generally, we punters would have to take it in turns to keep her happy until she'd had enough; it could be too time-consuming, too exhausting for one of us alone to keep her adequately entertained.
Well, all except the Bookseller, that is. His enthusiasm for the game exceeded that of the dogs. If, on certain evenings, they seemed disinclined to begin the game, he would chivvy them into taking part. Once they got going, he seemed quite immune to fatigue or boredom. He would quite happily keep at it for 15, 20, even 30 minutes without a break. He would tire the young dog out.
It was at this time that I became convinced that the Bookseller must have been a dog in his previous incarnation (and is evidently eager to return as a dog next time round!). It's a more carefree life, I suppose.
When I thought on it further, I realised that 'dogginess' is evident in every aspect of his personality: he is touchingly loyal, exuberantly affectionate, prone to getting over-excited about things (dashing around madly, clumsily, soiling the furniture), apt to snarl and sulk when offended.... quite incapable of being left alone in a car.
Mind you, I miss 'the beermat game' too. The richest pleasures are often the simplest.
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