Somewhere Below Zero: a RUFUS adventure

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The big red bow was causing me embarrassment, but I didn’t let it stop me.

Let’s get the bow out of the way so I can concentrate on the real story.

My mistress had just won an award for her book PASSION BEHIND THE ASPIDISTRA. It hadn’t sold as well as her previous books, but her publisher entered it into the Romance Writers Who Talk A Lot About Love Without Actually Telling Their Readers What People Get Up To, which seemed like a strange title for an award, but that’s what my mistress told her friend, Maude. My mistress never lies to me, so it must be true.

So, the day comes for the award presentation, and my mistress said I could go with her, in the Lagona.

I love riding in the car — the wind in my fur, delicious smells wafting in from who knows where — bliss.

The middle of winter means that it will be a cold drive, but I don’t care. I’m wearing my winter coat, and my ancestors came from a frigid part of the world.

I got up early and had my breakfast on the terrace, despite the cold. The sun was up, and even though it didn’t have much oomph, I still enjoyed being in its warm glow.

My mistress came at me with the red bow, and I was too startled to run away.

“Everyone is going to love you in this,” said my mistress.

Not if I eat it first,  I was thinking.

“And don’t you dare chew it off, Rufus. I’ll be very cross if you do.”

So, what was I to do? She is very kind to me, and I love her so.

Just suck it up and wear the damn thing, Rufus!

I’d patrolled most of the perimeter in the morning when I went out for a wee, but there was still the pond to check on.

I knew we were going to be away overnight because I heard my mistress booking us a room in a hotel. She was very annoyed when she first rang; apparently, that hotel didn’t like dogs — have you ever heard of such a thing? She gave them a piece of her mind.

“Have you ever had a dog run out and not pay the bill? Come in drunk and vomit on the carpet? Have loud parties in their room? Steal a lampshade? No, I didn’t think so, you ignorant man!”

My mistress has a way with words.

The pond looked beautiful in the morning light. The ducks, which I have an uneasy understanding with, were looking for bugs in the reeds. The surface of the pond had frozen over during the night.

One duck, or at least I thought it was a duck, had broken through the ice and was splashing around. Except it wasn’t a duck despite the duck-like noises it was making. It was a small dog — smaller than me.

It seemed that he had walked out on the ice to sniff the DANGER  sign and had fallen through.

He sounded desperate, the way that dogs do when they are being beaten by their owner, or caught by a big dog intent on doing them great harm.

I edged out onto the ice to get a closer look. As I got closer, the ice was making strange cracking noises, and I got scared. Now I was within sniffing range, and the faint odour of a friend reached my nostrils. It was the dog known as Scruff. We had been great friends when we were pups — got into all sorts of trouble. Scruff is the reason that the butcher hates me as much as he does.

Scruff’s owner moved away — closer to the city.

“Don’t worry Scruff,” I said because I knew that it was important that he knew I was still fierce and brave.

In truth, I was terrified, but friends don’t let friends sink to an icy grave, even if you haven’t seen them for a long time.

“This is going to hurt, Scruff,” I said as I took hold of his ear. He didn’t have much fight left in him. He must have been in the water for a while before I got here.

“Don’t worry,” said Scruff, “I’m so cold I can’t feel much. Pull me out please.”

 “This would go a lot better if I had hands,” I said through a mouth full of ear.

Scruff helped as much as he could, and after several tries, I pulled him up onto the ice.

“I’m not sure I can walk,” said Scruff.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drag you. It’s only a short way.”

I was trying to sound confident, but the cracking noises were increasing.

When I got him to the shore, we both lay on the cold grass for what seemed like a long time.

“Rufus, what’s happened, and who is this bedraggled fellow?”

It was my mistress, come looking for me. I didn’t mind if she scolded me. I was so happy to see her; I wagged my tail furiously.

I gave a small bark and nosed my friend. My mistress is brilliant, and she worked it all out very quickly.

“Did you two fall in the pond, or did you save this little dog, Rufus?”

I stood up as tall as I could so that she knew I was the brave one. Scruff was too cold and tired to walk, so my mistress picked him up and carried him back to the house. I trotted along next to her, feeling very proud.

My mistress lit the fire and wrapped Scruff in a green towel, sitting him on the rug and telling him to stay.

He was in no condition to argue.

Scruff’s owner was back in the village for a visit, and Scruff came down to the pond because he remembered it being the place of many adventures. At least, that is how he told it to me as we sat warming ourselves in front of the fire.

When my mistress used her telephone to find Scruff’s owner, I knew we would not have much time together. We talked about old times and the fun we had as pups.

My mistress let Scruff’s owner keep the green towel.

“He’s nice and warm in there. Best not to disturb him,” said my mistress. She is very kind because I know she loves that towel.

My red bow was ruined, so my mistress made me a new one, and before I knew it, we were in the Lagona speeding along the country lanes heading for London and an award ceremony.

I knew we were going to have fun, but after hanging my head over the side of the car and enjoying the exhilaration of sheer speed, I felt drained.

I curled up on the leather seat and dreamed of the adventures that Scruff and I had experienced, back in the day.

I’ll miss Scruff, and I’m glad that I was there to save him.

Friends should always save friends and let friends save them right back.

 

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11 thoughts on “Somewhere Below Zero: a RUFUS adventure

  1. “Passion Behind the Aspidistra”: nice work, Terry. I guess “Rubbers Behind the Rubber Plant” doesn’t qualify for the “Romance Writers Who Talk A Lot About Love Without Actually Telling Their Readers What People Get Up To” award.

    Liked by 2 people

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