Quite a lot of time has gone by since I last felt the need to write about me and my Perfect Pooch, Honey.

Since becoming TRULY BONDED AS A PAIR through learning some mega-faberoony training tricks last summer, Honey and I had been getting along like a House on Fire, which means that we were even more the best of friends than we were before she learned how to behave beautifully.

I have to say, it was becoming a Pup Idol that did it, in my opinion. After winning a prize for some totally fantabulous dancing, Honey’s brain seemed to suddenly click into understanding that if she did what I asked, life would be much better for All Concerned.

In other words, if she stopped eating all the food in the fridge and my sister April’s flip-flops, not to mention her mobile phone and other personal ACCESSORIES, and if she stopped jumping up and running in crazy circles and generally behaving like a totally doolally nightmare, everyone would love her more.

Even me.

And I pretty much loved her one hundred and ten per cent to start with.

In fact, over all, Honey had really calmed down these days. Even April had stopped calling her ‘that mutt’, and she actually sometimes stopped and stroked Honey or gave her a pat on the head. In fact, she even volunteered to walk Honey sometimes after work with her boyfriend, Nick (who was also Honey’s vet).

It had all become quite nice and easy.

‘Do you know, Summer,’ Mum said, ‘I never thought I would say this, but Honey is so quiet these days that sometimes I almost forget she’s there.’

Hmmm.

When Mum said this, I felt quite a NOSTALGIC kind of feeling that sprang out of nowhere. This is a word my Bestest Friend Molly told me, which means that you realize that things that happened in the past were really rather nice, in other words you have a YEARNING for the way they were before.

Honey had been such a cute little pupsicle, and now she was a big dog who was loving and adorable, but maybe just a teensy bit not as fun . . .

In fact, the more I thought it over and pondered, the more I realized this: the actual Truth of the Matter was . . .

Life as a dog owner had got a bit PREDICTABLE.

I suppose my feelings of predictableness were not helped by the fact that I was by then in Year Five, which was quite a grown-up and serious place to be in the General Order of School Life. It seemed that the moment you went into Year Five, teachers decided you had to be given twice as much homework as a normal human being can reasonably be expected to cope with. I mean, I knew I was going to be in Double Figures in the summer term, in other words I would be ten, which is quite nice, as it meant April wouldn’t be able to get away with calling me her ‘Baby Sister’ any more. But why did this mean that I had to know the names of all the rivers in the United Kingdom and the dates that all the various Invaders decided to come and have boring battles all over the place? What earthly use was any of that information to the average ten-year-old? It would have been much more practical to my day-to-day life in the Real World if our teacher, Mrs Wotherspoon, would tell us how to get the most from the extremely MINUSCULE amount of pocket money that I received, or how to learn all the words to the High Street Musical songs so that I could audition to go on my favourite telly programme, Seeing Stars, and wouldn’t have to RELY on tiny amounts of pocket money in the first place.

All this homework did not leave much time for SOCIALIZING – in other words, hanging out with Molly, or anyone else for that matter. Life was too serious.

I was thinking about this after a particularly yawnsome day at school when Mum came home and said, ‘Get your coat. We’ve got to take Honey for her annual check-up, remember?’

I had forgotten about this. Honey needed to have injections and a check-up with the vet once a year to make sure that her teeth were all right and that she didn’t have fleas and that her General Health and Well-Being was, er, generally healthy and well-beingish.

When we arrived, there was a Din and Clamouring of a commotion coming from inside the waiting room that was worse than usual.

Mum caught my eye as we walked in through the door and said, ‘What a racket!’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Anyone would think that a plague of catastrophic proportions has flooded the region and made all the animals in the district as Sick As Parrots.’

As it turned out, there really was a parrot in the waiting room! If he had been an actual sick parrot, I would have eaten my duffle coat there and then, but he seemed anything but ill. He was certainly making more of a Rumpus than a normally sick person or animal would do. He was talking very loudly, saying quite rude things about the people in the waiting room.

‘Look at the ears on that!’ he said, and I am sure he pointed his beak in the exact direction of a man with such huge ears you might think he was the BFG or something.

Normally I would have found this all highly hilarious. But I was not in a mood of Hilarity. I was in a mood of utter Dullness.

So was Honey.

‘Honey,’ I said to her, as she lay on the floor waiting patiently, ‘if you think sitting in the vets’ waiting room is boring, you should think yourself lucky you are not a girl in Year Five who has to add fractions and remember who Beowulf is.’

‘Who’s got a big nose then?’ yelled the parrot, pointing his beak this time at someone who looked like a clown on his day off who had forgotten to remove part of his outfit.

‘Don’t fancy your much!’ he squawked at a man who was sitting with a lady who was not the prettiest of feminine types, even if you were trying hard to be kind and think of something nice to say.

Just as the man with big ears looked as though he was going to pick up the parrot’s cage and fling it against the wall of the waiting area, another man walked in and everyone, even the big-eared man, turned to look and said, ‘Ahhhhhh!’

Honey looked up in a mildly interested manner, then plonked her head back on the floor again.

The man had the tiniest, squidgiest, softest-looking bundle in his arms.

‘Look, Mum! Look!’ I hissed. But Mum was already looking, and the expression on her face was one that I had not seen since . . . well, since Honey had been a tiny, squidgy, soft-looking bundle.

‘It’s a puppy!’ Mum squeaked, rather unnecessarily, as we could all see that.

‘Oh, Mum – do you remember when Honey looked like that?’ I whispered.

Mum nodded. Then she sighed. ‘It makes me feel quite emotional,’ she said.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked, carefully keeping my voice low. I hoped she wasn’t going to actually get all Emotional right there in a Public Place. On the scale of Mortifyingly Embarrassing Parental Moments, that would probably score at least one million.

It didn’t matter though. Everyone in the room was cooing over the puppy and the parrot was shrieking, ‘Hello! Hello! Look at me!’ the top of its squawky voice.

‘Well, Honey’s a big girl now. You’re ten – TEN! I can hardly believe it. And as for April ... I hardly see her these days, what with her job at the solicitors and all the time she spends with Nick. All my girls are growing up.’

I did feel a bit sorry for Mum. She looked really quite sad. I put my arm around her and we both sat staring at the tiny puppy.

Then Honey sat up and licked Mum’s hand. It was like she was hugging Mum too.

And that is when I had my totally inspirationalist idea.

‘Hey, Mum – why don’t we get another puppy?’ I asked.

Mum turned to look at me, her eyes wide and shiny, and I felt very proud of myself for coming up so mega-speedily with such a Stunningly Intelligent and Thoughtful Solution to Mum’s emotionalism.

‘A new puppy?’ she said. ‘I don’t think so, Summer Holly Love.’