Sir Walther Fitzpaws

"Look at the haunches on her! You know she'll jump through any hoop for you."

Yes, my eyes were huge too. His next comment had my jaw on the floor (honest to God Hyde Park doesn't taste as good as it looks).

"Oh and look at her! Proper breeder that one. Not too old and did you see those hips? She'll give you a pedigree litter." Dave turned and saw me struggling to change back to my normal shade of anemic white. "Not enjoying yourself? It's a different hobby I'll grant you but it can bring great joy. Just be open-minded Dory."

This is a hobby? Sounds more like pimp my dog or maybe dawg as those lively Americans would say. "Not what I expected," I admitted truthfully. "Still could be worse."

I could be all alone at home counting ceiling tiles—obviously not in the good way. I haven't had sex since puberty. Hold your horses I've always been late to any party including puberty. Only got my period at eighteen. Mum wasn't worried about it like me. She thought it was a great way to make her daughter popular, and not pregnant. Didn't matter though there were no takers at school anyway. Uncle Geoffrey was quite gentle at least. It was flattering in an extremely incestuous sort of way. Oh, and if you were wondering I have two-hundred-and-sixty-seven-and-a-half tiles in my flat. I'm sure you were.

"Give it a chance, Sorry Dory," he said impatiently. A little too impatient for my proper English sensibilities. "I will," I mumbled. Could never look people in the eye. Especially those who meant everything to me.

So that's Dave. He's not what you'd think. I mean he didn't look like he's stalked anyone, ever. Still has a lush forest of hair. There's a gut but it's not pronounced enough to make me jump behind him in a gun fight. I've never seen him plastered in tweed and he doesn't mutter to himself like he enjoys his victims with a decent glass of Chianti. He even managed to figure out how not to die alone. Dave's actually married—I know, curious that—and he has two kids. Weirdly enough he just really loves this crap. The dog shows I mean. Keeps him sane he says. I guess that's the point, stereotypes are only half-baked and half-truths.

I asked him some time ago if pity compelled him to befriend me. "Only at the beginning," he answered. "Now I keep coming back because you're funny, in a funereal sort of way." Me funny? I still say he feels sorry for his, "Sorry Dory." Could it be that I remind him of his grandmother? Best to keep him around anyway. I'm funny can you believe it? One less reason to overdose on my Zolpidems.

Oh Lord, I'm going to die alone. When offing oneself which way would be the least messy? I really wouldn't want to be a bother. All that blood on the floor and I don't even have any cats to enjoy me after I'm gone. God! Who are you woman? Not sure I believe in God, do you? Anyway do dogs eat their owners? Should keep a bottle of marinade handy. I'm a though old bird. Dear Lord, I have neurosis.

This is why you're single Theodora. Could be the name too. Theodora? Now that's how you cripple a kid. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? Shorten it to Dora and I sound like I fought in the War! Noble though, now those were women but why the War? Did the others not matter as much? Not sure the casualties would agree. On the other hand, make it Theo and I sound like a dude. A real nerdy one. Could do the dog shows then. Just need some tweed.

Oh right you can't see me, I laughed at that. Terrible thing. Never liked my laugh. You remember that chronically depressed donkey? The one from the book about the bear who always managed to get his head jammed in honey jars. Loved that story. The characters were so relatable. Well imagine him laughing—could he laugh? That's what I sound like. Unbridled braying until I get self-conscious a about a chuckle later. Then it just gets awkward and sad. Best way to shut up a room: get me braying. Only laugh in my head nowadays.

"Dory?" Dave clicked his fingers in front of my face. The nerve of this good man.

"Sorry, were you rambling?"

He frowned. "No you were. See this is why we're here. You need a hobby, Sorry Dory." I grew indignant at the words but it didn't last—it never did. He was right of course.

"How would I do shows? I don't even have a mongrel?" My voice was over dramatic and self-pitying.

"They prefer to be called dogs and the show is hardly the point."

"Well what is then?"

"Company, old girl. You're alone."

"I'm not!" I was really but who likes to be accused by the truth?

"Ah, here they come."

"Who, people?" I asked with apprehension. "You know I don't like those!"

"Relax it's my family. They're bringing your gift."

"My what? I don't like gifts, or people who give them to me." Dave guffawed deeply. It was a good sound really. Why can't I laugh like that?

"You don't mean that Sorry Dory. Now come say hello."

I've met them of course, extremely briefly and still it was too long if you ask me. No one ever does though. Except Dave. He cares. His family isn't that bad really. Once you get over the smiles. God their faces must hurt.

They hugged me! How indecent of them. To hug a stranger, an English stranger at that. Oh very well they weren't strangers and I really enjoyed the hugs but still proper people don't do that sort of thing, do they?

"How are you Auntie Dory?" Jenny, the youngest, asked. Her hug was excruciatingly tight. Was quite pleasant actually.

"Well thank you," I replied with my eyes firmly affixed to the ground. Can't even look a pleasant little girl in the eyes. Theodora, you're strange.

His wife had a darker pallor, beautiful skin. She was from someplace exotic, Spain I think. Father never trusted foreigners. Well he didn't trust anyone really, especially the milk man after what mum did. "This is for you," Isabella said with that accent which always buckled my knees. Finally there was no choice I had to raise my eyes. There on a leash was a drooling ball of fluff. A Corgi I think is what it's called.

"Dear, God! Is it dangerous?" I said with genuine conviction.

How very amused they were at my expense. Is this why I'm considered funny? Not sure I like it. At least I have someone, anybody who wants to be around me.

"You're wonderful, Auntie!" James, exclaimed. That's the oldest one. Started growing facial hair recently. He'll be a real charmer one day. With his father's accent and mother's Iberian skin the girls will love him, or boys I don't really judge. Fine, I do. But it's all right isn't it? I don't ever say it out loud. I'm not good with social interactions if you haven't noticed.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Stop referring to him as a thing might be a start. Then simply keep him alive I suppose and we'll take it from there," Dave replied a little hotly.

I think I glared a bit before relenting.

"Where did you get that ... him I mean?"

"One of the members recently passed on. She was wonderful and so's HE." Dave motioned at the thing. "She told me to give him to someone special. Someone who would really need him. Well that's you Dory."

"Me? A dog? No, I'm sorry I have too much going on. It's not the right time. I'm not in the right place ... "

"Yes and the planets are not in alignment. You're never going to be ready Dory. You'll always have an excuse. You always want to start tomorrow until one day you'll have to tell me about how you're not ready to join the angels at choir practice in heaven."

"I don't believe in God," I said with supposed annoyance but he painted a vividly accurate picture.

I didn't speak, not out loud anyway. I stared at the thing. It was really cute and for some bizarre reason it, I mean he—darn it—found me agreeable, I think. He ensconced himself at my feet. Nothing or no one had ever ensconced themselves willingly near me. I tried to still sound indignant but that boat was well out to sea about five licks of my toes ago. Still no point in letting Dave know so soon. Then they'll leave. "What do I call it ... that," I sighed, "him?"

"He's Sir Walther Fitzpaws. Yes, yes, I know," he stopped me from giving a biting rejoinder, "but that's his name. He's a show dog. He has extremely good pedigree."

"Pedigree? The Prince Regent had pedigree but still died as a fat old fart with crystals as sharp as knives cutting through his swollen feet."

"Why do you have to do this dance? You know you're going to take him and you're going to join me at the club."

"I'm not doing dog shows! All that prancing and showing off," I protested.

"The dogs do that."

"Then what do I do?"

"You're his guide. You only give the commands. He does all the heavy lifting," he added hurriedly. "Then at home you simply shower him with love."

"Love?" I exclaimed alarmingly.

"Yes, love. We all need it. Even you know it, or at least crave it." That one hurt. It really did. Isabella squeezed Dave's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said and he meant it.

"It's okay, you're right." God knows I do need some of that.

"What does he eat, foie gras and caviar?"

"He's not the royalty, Dory!" Dave was really fed up now. "He's just a good little dog!"

I didn't reply. I looked at Walther's eyes. Dave's right I thought. He's just an innocent, non-judgmental plump ball of fur. No wonder Her Majesty loves these things. He spoke softly now, "join me tomorrow and we'll start your training. He's a great dog just promise me you'll give him, and yourself a chance?"

What was I to do? I didn't want that thing, okay maybe I did, but, but ... Oh God, how tired I was of buts! I nodded in the end. Whether out of desperation or need I still wasn't sure but I owned a dog now, a pedigreed one at that.

"You're going to be very happy, I know it, Auntie Dory." It was the tiny one. She was awfully sweet with her diminutive-adult ways. They all needed to hug me for some reason. It was annoying and awkward, but I lingered every time.

"Think about it and give me a call later okay?" Dave said by way of parting. I watched them go. They seemed happy. Well I guess that's what it was, I've never been sure. The kids ran off to the swings. Cute little buggers. Could it be so bad to have one of those? The question startled me as well. I guess my deep, deep, oh-so-deeply buried maternal instincts do crave something to nurture. For now Sir Barksalot, or Walther, will have to do.

Getting him back to the flat was rather easy. Basically walked himself, or was it that he had walked me? Either way we were both safely home and staring suspiciously at one another from across the living room.

"You're not a cat but I always knew I'd be a cat lady, minus the felines though," I told him. "Never could stand the damn things. All that holier-than-thou nonsense and suddenly they want a scratch. Rubbing up against you like a two pound stripper. Reminds me of mother, not the stripper part, although she does dress like one." Walther didn't speak but nodded sagely.

"Didn't see you coming though," I rambled on. "You're actually quite cute with all the plush and that head tilted adorably like you're trying to scrutinize my ravings."

He moved closer and jumped onto the sofa. His head found my lap. It was comforting, didn't touch it, that, him—this is ridiculous!

"So what are you supposed to do?" I wanted to know. "Do you do anything except pant and shed? Better not wet that carpet. It's worthless, like me, but I cleaned it last year. Was it last year? Anyway I only spring clean when I have people over and by people I mean mother. Well don't really need to clean the carpet for her. She'd look quite at home on a piss-stained rag." My God I'm unpleasant. My floor-bound eyes met his. They were only slightly judgmental. You are, but I still approve of you, they seemed to say.

"You're an extremely good listener you know that? Even so I probably should get rid of you if you start answering back." I waited embarrassingly long for a reply. "Good, not homicidally batty just yet," I told him. "We'll try again tomorrow," I brayed.

"Best to feed you I guess. No foie gras I'm afraid. Only this fancy canned stiff Dave gave me. Looks good though. Really good." I dipped a finger into the "meaty" stuff. "Tastes even better," I muttered enthusiastically. Walther and I both grabbed a spoon and we dug in. Okay, it was only one spoon. Don't look at me like that! I like the, well let's just call it company, okay?

I'm sure there are things you all dread: an alarm early in the morning; when an unknown number flashes on your mobile or even that heartbeat-elevating ring of a doorbell. Now I fear, no completely dread, all of those but the doorbell happened. It meant one thing, mother.

"Darling you look drab. Not just the clothes." She pinched my cheeks. The effrontery of family.

"There. Well it's marginally better at any rate. Have you found a man? Of course you haven't."

Lord I'm not allowed a syllable edgeways with this one.

"You need a man, Theodora."

You do, I thought. It's the only time you ever shut up. Probably not, actually, with you faking all those orgasms. I really should've said that!

"Good Lord what is that thing?" Mother didn't like dogs, but suddenly I did. She jumped on the couch. "What is that? Why is it here?"

"It's mine. Well maybe."

"You? A dog? How laughable darling. Get rid of it!" she demanded. Walther was earning his keep.

"He's staying, Mother. You can go," I stated flatly.

"What? how dare you, you, you impertinent, thing you?" she stammered with growing rage. "I birthed you! Carried you for eleven months you lazy creature—"

"Yes and it's the only noble thing you ever did for me," I cut her off. I've never done that before. Was it the dog? No not dog, Walther.

Mother advanced. Jumping from the couch with menace and clouds of cigarette smoke trailing behind. "This time I'll slap those pale cheeks, darling!" She stopped short with her palm raised high. "What? What? The thing just pissed on me! You, you mongrel." Mother aimed a kick but the sure-footed canine dodged the stiletto with ease. She landed hard on her plump derriere. Didn't feel anything I'd imagine. Fat old thing.

Mother gave her ultimatum: "choose, Theodora! Either that, that thing leaves in a casket or I do." Don't think she realized how she phrased that but it did make what I said next better. My eyes moved from the floor and firmly glowered at Mother.

"Then it would be best to ring your undertaker. He's staying, but you! Off you go. You know where the door is. Always pleasant to hear it shut behind you." I lifted her from the floor and shooed her down the corridor.

"Well I never! I'm never I'm coming back you know!" She protested with such insincere indignation.

I dialled Dave automatically after the door shut with a most satisfying thud. It's the only number I know by heart. "What time tomorrow?" I asked.  They were the most genuine words I'd ever said.