The Primrose Pursuit Read Online Free Page A

Primrose’s view; or at least, judging by her extraordinary behaviour at that door it wasn’t. I cannot think what she was doing there, and am unlikely to learn until I have returned from the Isle of Wight. Yes, my periodic pilgrimage to mother is nigh, and Mr W. is sanguine in his assumption that things will run smoothly in my absence. They won’t.
    So, my dear Agnes, it seems we have a little mystery on our hands; and I just hope that on my return it will not be to hear that our dear friend has been ferried away by the white-coated ones for ‘tests’ – as I believe incarceration is termed.
    Your good friend,
    Emily

CHAPTER SIX
    The Dog’s View
    On the whole, she’s not bad: quicker than F.O. – more on the ball you might say; and when we were out on the downs just now she walked along at a good old lick which meant that I didn’t have to keep turning round to see where the hell she had got to. (You have to keep an eye on them because so long as you are in their sights they think they are in control. They’re not, of course, but it stops them bawling your name all over the place and getting ratty.) Mind you, she got a bit edgy when we passed some sheep – obviously thought I was going to duff them up. Nah, not worth it: sitting ducks! They stare at you blankly, then bleat their soppy heads off and fall on their rumps running away. It was fun when I was a puppy but now that I’m a big dog I’ve got better things to do like stalking the rabbits, for instance. Now they can be a challenge. Some are easy, of course, but there are others that are real buggers. Cocky with it. And from what I can make out there’s an awful lot of ’em down here – much more than in our other place, and that’ssaying something. Yes, Bouncer’s going to have his work cut out keeping them in order! Still, this afternoon with the Prim I was as good as gold and hardly moved a muscle, just sniffed the wind and made a crafty recky. But once I’m really dug in here I’m going to sneak out one evening and make an ONSLORT and then they’ll know it!
    I tell you what though, when we were coming home we met someone just outside the house, a smart little geezer with a sort of pink plant stuck in his jacket. When he got level with us he raised his hat and started muttering. I’m not too good at understanding what humans say: I mean there are some things that are easy enough – like ‘who’s a good dog then?’ or ‘get out of the way, you little blighter’ – but for the most part they gabble and you really have to strain your ears. But it’s specially tricky grasping what they’re spluttering about when they lower their voices. And this chap’s voice was pretty low – pi-haa-no as the cat would say.
    Anyway, the man went burbling on and P.O. had the sort of look that the vicar often had, especially if he was with Mavis Briggs; the look that says, ‘For Christ’s sake, get to the point because I want my gin!’ Well, I think he did get to the point because she started to smile and said something like, ‘How very kind of you Mr Top-Ho. Yes, I would love to come. A little party, how charming!’ Can’t say that she looked very charmed – leastways not when we had got back inside, because the first thing she did was to kick off her shoes, light a gasper and say to Maurice, ‘Well really, that’s all one needs!’ No response, of course: the cat was in one of his po-faced moods, knackered by the soft-soaping earlier, he can only keep it up for so long. Then she started to shove her face in the newspaper and made awfulcrackling and rustling noises. I have noticed that human beings often do this when they are feeling ratty (which is quite often); they don’t seem to read anything, just make a rumpus turning the pages.
    Then with another blast of crackle she threw the paper down and went to the blower in the hall. I didn’t know who she was phoning but someone was getting an earful all right, and this time it wasn’t F.O.