‘Mum?’ I said.

I tried to keep the tone conversational, quiet and reasonable. Just a normal question on a normal day.

‘What?’ Mum wrapped the roast in alfoil and placed it into the oven. It was beef. It was disgusting. Not only had an innocent animal died to fill that piece of alfoil, but the cost to the environment was enormous. It was clear that putting the meat into the oven was a betrayal of the planet and a damning verdict on humanity.

It was also clear I’d need to stay away from the kitchen when the smells started coming from the oven. I can resist everything except temptation …

‘Can I have a dog?’ I peeled a carrot in what I hoped was a casual fashion. ‘Please?’ I added because manners never hurt.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Apology accepted.’

‘No. What did you say?’

‘A dog.’ I decided to keep my sentences short in the hope that the fewer the words, the foggier the meaning. Plus I mumbled. Maybe Mum would say ‘yes’ if she thought I was asking for a log. You want a log, Rob? Go for your life. Or a cog. Or a bog. Or a hog. Okay, maybe not a hog.

‘Are you insane?’ said Mum.

‘Is that a trick question?’ I replied.

‘Did you just ask for a dog?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You are insane!’

I put the peeled carrot into a pan and picked up another. To be honest, I was very careful in my handling. Mum’s comments about vegetables had scared me a little. What if they did feel pain? What if this carrot was silently screaming, Please don’t strip off my skin with a sharp blade clearly designed for the purpose of torturing, not just me, but my friend the potato and other sundry tubers? What sick mind could design that implement? I gritted my teeth and continued peeling. Mum could top and tail them. That was, for me, a bridge too far.

‘It’s not really a dog,’ I said.

‘That’s a relief,’ said Dad. He was in charge of the gravy. ‘I thought you asked if you could have a dog. You know, a canine.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Mum.

We all chuckled at the misunderstanding.

‘I apologise,’ I said. ‘What I should have said was, can I please have a fluffy bundle of rubbish?’

*

Agnes asked if she could come with me on my after-school walk with Trixie and I was happy to agree. It was basically her dog, after all, and it’s not like I was a stranger to walking around town with an old person in tow.

If I’d ever cared about street credibility (which I hadn’t), it’d been destroyed a long time ago.

‘You’ll have to stop regularly and let me catch my breath,’ she said. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be.’

I scratched my head. ‘Neither am I,’ I said. ‘Do you know anyone who is?’

‘You’re like your grandfather,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Fair point.’

We walked for an hour, but that included multiple stops while Agnes caught her breath. In a sense, we were lucky. It was that time of the afternoon between school finishing and people coming home from work, so there weren’t many dog-walkers on the streets. This pleased Trixie who, and I think I might have mentioned this before, took the presence of another dog as a personal insult.

Trixie was at least an equal-opportunity bully. In the absence of dogs, she went for people. Anyone who came within snarling distance.

‘What’s her problem?’ I asked Agnes.

‘She’s a fluffy bundle of rubbish,’ Agnes replied. ‘To her, all the rest of the world is a problem.’ She stopped and fanned herself, even though it wasn’t very hot. ‘You know,’ she added, ‘I find that dog both annoying and adorable in turn.’

I opened my mouth, but Agnes held up a hand.

‘Annoying, because … well.’ She sighed. ‘She finds everything irritating. I’m old, Rob, and I take pride in being irritable. I’ve earned the right over many years and no one is going to take it away from me. Everyone should have a hobby. But I can’t keep up constant irritation. It’s too exhausting.’

‘And adorable?’ I prompted.

‘Adorable, because she sees no limit on her power and ability. Look at her.’ I did. The dog was in one of her more frenzied states, possibly because a very large man was crossing the road half a kilometre ahead of us. He might have been a sumo wrestler and was therefore fair game for a terrier that wouldn’t tip five kilos on the scales. C’mon, coward, she seemed to be snarling. Give it your best shot, punk. I can take you.

‘She’s delusional,’ I said.

Agnes started walking again.

‘Or a suffragette,’ she said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A suffragette,’ said Agnes. ‘You know what a suffragette is?’

‘Yes. We did a politics unit last semester. A suffragette was a woman who campaigned for equal rights, particularly getting the vote, at a time when women were thought to be second-class citizens.’

Agnes was blowing pretty hard. She put a hand across her chest.

‘Do you mind if we sit on that bench for a while, Rob?’

It took a couple of minutes before she could speak again.

‘Yes. That’s what a suffragette was. And some would say women are still considered second-class citizens. But you don’t understand the odds a suffragette faced back then. She had no power, no influence. No one cared what she thought, because the world was run by men. Still is, unfortunately. So no one was on her side, except some other women. Not all, I’m sad to say, but some. Yet, despite those massive handicaps, they changed the world.’

I kept silent. This was interesting and, anyway, I got the impression Agnes was talking more to herself than anything.

‘That’s why I love this dog. She doesn’t care she has no power. She’s not the slightest bit bothered that the odds are stacked against her. She howls and gnashes against the status quo and who’s to say she won’t be successful in the long term?’

‘So Trixie’s a feminist?’ I said.

‘Exactly,’ said Agnes. ‘And feminists are the world’s best people.’

‘Trixie’s a dog,’ I pointed out.

‘You’re like your grandfather,’ said Agnes.

‘No need to insult me,’ I said.

‘He’s not all bad,’ said Agnes. ‘Where’s your respect?’

I kept quiet. Sometimes it’s important to cut your losses when there’s no chance of winning an argument.

‘A fluffy bundle of rubbish?’ said Mum.

‘Or a feminist,’ I said. ‘Possibly a suffragette. Depends which definition you prefer.’