Puppy Party

uring, and indeed after, The Event of the Year, that is to say the wedding, life was pretty hectic. It was also actually stomach-churningly exciting. I should say that in the Normal Run of Things I have never been very interested in marriages and people’s love-lives and that sort of general nonsense. But out of the number of possible people in the world for my sister to fall head-over-heels in love with, Nick Harris was quite probably the best. And this was not just because he is a kind and friendly sort of man who does not ever say those super-cringeworthy or boring things like, ‘Oh, haven’t you grown!’ or ‘How is school coming along?’, but also (and mainly) because he is a vet.

Now you might well ask, ‘What exactly is so mind-gogglingly fascinating about being a vet? It is not a mega-cool job like being a celebrity singer or someone on the telly who does those Reality Shows where they put you in a house and watch you turn into a loony.’ And you would be right about that last bit. Being a vet is not in the slightest bit like that.

Thank the high heavens above it is much more exciting! But then I would say that as I am what some people might call a dog person, which means that I am

about anything dog-related, and that includes vets. Especially vets like Nick Harris who are extremely knowledgeable and wise when it comes to the subject of the average CANINE, in other words, dog.

So, as I said, it was really what my best friend Molly Cook would call FORTUITOUS that my sister had had the good sense to marry Nick Harris and not some other useless type of man like the boyfriends she’d had in the past. I will not go into those types. Mum has said it is best that we Draw a Veil over them. I asked Molly what that meant, as she is super-intelligent when it comes to difficult words and expressions. She explained that it did not mean, as I had thought, that we needed to find all of April’s old boyfriends and cover them up with some kind of fabric, but that ‘to draw a veil over’ something means that it is best to forget about it.

Even though I was quite insanely happy to think that I would be able to say, ‘My brother-in-law is a vet, don’t you know?’, the most exciting thing about the Big Day was that Honey, my most gorgeous-est pooch, was allowed to be a bridesdog!

I know, it’s bonkers doolally-crazy, isn’t it? But she was! And if you want to see a picture of her and her mum, Meatball (a pooch of extreme adorable-ness who has the misfortune to be owned by sock-stinker extraordinaire, Mr Frank Gritter himself) then you really should go and get yourself a copy of Puppy Power and turn to the back. (Actually what am I saying? You shouldn’t just turn to the back, you should read the whole thing through from page number one right to the end, obviously!)

Honey and Meatball were the chief bridesdogs, and they had help from two of Honey’s own cute pups, Titch (who now belongs to my totally bestest friend in the entire world, Molly Cook) and Cupid (who belongs to Nick and April – yes, they finally got their own dog at last).

‘Cupid?’ I hear you ask. ‘Isn’t that the most idiotic of names for a golden Labrador?’ And you would be right, which is why, thank the high heavens above, Nick managed in the end to gendy persuade April that actually it might be better if they called her something else. He did this very cleverly. He waited until April had had the most type of wedding she could ever have dreamed of, and he said the most romantic and icky-sloppy stuff about how much he loved her in his speech, and he whirled her around the dance floor as if she was a princess and he was Prince Charming and THEN he very cleverly chose to announce in public (well, in front of me and Mum and the people sitting on our table) so that April couldn’t go too goggle-eye-mad-as-a-mongoose with anger at him: ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. I don’t think Cupid really looks like a Cupid.’

‘Oh?’ said April. Even though she was having the Time of Her Life, she still managed to sound pretty scary and her eyes were

and her lip curled stiffly.

‘Mmm,’ said Nick, keeping his voice light and airy. ‘I think it’s because there’s this huge beast of a cat who keeps coming into the surgery who’s called Cupid. His owner is a teenage girl who’s crazy about him and can’t see that the name doesn’t really suit him. Anyway, it doesn’t feel right to me, treating this bruiser of a cat and then coming home and having to call our lovely pup by the same name. Do you think we could call him something else?’

It was pretty obvious from the puzzlement in April’s expression that she did not like the idea of a soppy teenage girl calling her cat the same name as their beloved pupsicle. And obviously a Cat Name is not good for a Dog Name. She thought for a moment and said, ‘Yes, well. I can see your point.’

And so, thank goodness to gracious, from that day forward Cupid was no longer called by that stupid and frankly outrageously embarrassing name.

Still, embarrassing name or not, Custard was a gorgeous bundle of poochiness. And I got to know him a whole lot better after the wedding, as he came to stay with us while April and Nick were on honeymoon! It was , as it was like having my own new puppy all over again (except that we knew we would be giving him back in a couple of weeks, so Mum was not even one tiny bit stressed out about it like she had been when Honey was a pup).

Honey loved having Custard around the place, although I did think it sometimes looked as if she was feeling slightly like Mum does when the holidays have been going on a bit and Mum starts to say things like, ‘Much as I love you, Summer . . . ’ and ‘The holidays are lovely, but it will be nice to get back to normal,’ and ‘I do miss a bit of a routine,’ and ‘Will you PLEASE shut up?’

Custard would jump on top of Honey all the time and barge into her as if she was trying to knock her over, and if Honey had a stick she particularly wanted to have a good chew on, Custard would grab the other end of it and tug and tug. And if Cheese and Toast were being quiet and for once, Custard would pounce on them and make them hiss and spit and sometimes scratch Honey if she happened to be in the way.

Honey was quite Understanding and Patient when Custard was being irritating like this and sometimes even seemed to like playing his games with him. But it was always Honey who got tired first, and that was when Custard would Resort to Ear-Biting.

And of course, who in the wide world would like having their ears bitten? I know I certainly would not. And Honey did not either. In fact, she made her feelings Very Clear Indeed. She snapped back.

I was shocked the first time that it happened. I had never seen Honey bite anything that was not food or a special dog toy. She had never bitten me or Molly or even Frank Gritter (who is possibly the only human I would actually myself consider biting, he is sooo annoying sometimes).

When this ear-biting started, Mum began to get a bit with having Custard around the place too.

‘It’s not that I don’t love him,’ said Mum one morning. (Here we go, I thought.) ‘But I do feel sorry for poor Honey, and this house is not really big enough for two dogs to be constantly careering around the place. I have to say I will be glad when April and Nick are back.’

I could see what Mum meant, but I was not that keen on the idea of Custard leaving us. And at the time I wasn’t that thrilled about April coming back either as I thought she would walk right back in and be her usual Bossy Boots self and go on and on about how amazing her honeymoon had been.

However, when I complained about these things to Molly, she did point out the one majorly good thing about April coming back from honeymoon.

‘Now’s your chance, Summer,’ she said in a Conspiratorial Moment the day before April got back. ‘The bedroom is all yours!’

And though I am now ashamed to say it, I beamed and stuck both my thumbs up in a