More about Dixon-dog (thanks to Shail)

That inveterate scribbler Shail was kind enough to visit my Blog this afternoon and left me a few comments and a gentle reminder that I had promised to tell you more about my dog Dixon.

It was coming up to Christmas about 45 years ago and I was in our nearest town with my youngest son – doutbless boring him silly by trawling the shops for nothing in particular.  We were in a fairly large privately-owned department store (yes, they existed in those days) and came upon a group of excited shop assistants – who had come out from behind their counters and were clustered round a confused, scruffy, small black mongrel.  Apparently he had come into the store with his owner who then nipped out another door into the street, leaving the dog behind.

He had been abandoned – a Christmas casualty no doubt.

My son and I were taken by his rather hidden charms and I boldly offered to take him home, saying we were thinking of getting a dog (where on earth did that come from?).  A piece of string was produced from behind a counter and fastened to the dog`s collar, which, of course, had no name tag.  I left my name and address with the store with a view to returning the dog should his owner come back to claim him.

My son and I then made our way down the High Street to the car park – trailing a very reluctant mutt who was doubtless contemplating his fate – not knowing he had fallen into the hands of an animal-mad family who were just waiting to own a dog (!)  Although he was not too keen on the cars whizzing down the High Street he showed no reluctance to hop into the back seat of our newish saloon car for the journey to what was to be his new home.

He needed a name so I called him Dixon – there was a popular TV programme at the time called Dixon of Dock Green (about a policeman).  Everyone used to say, when I told his name `Ah, Dixon of Dock Green?`.  `No,` I would reply `Dixon`s of Victoria Circus` because that was the name of the store where I had found him.

My family and I were living in a modern bungalow in the market town where I was born.  It was nearly Christmas.  The Christmas tree was standing in the corner of the sitting room – lights twinkling and decorations gleaming.  Probably a few peek-proof presents underneath on the floor.  Peek-proof perhaps but not water-proof.

Dixon was getting really excited – he pulled on his string once he was let out of the car and tugged enthusiastically up to the front door  – oh boy, he thought, a home!  Suckers to fetch my food and cater for my every need – indeed the latter was beyond his wildest dreams – for there, in the carpeted front room was his very own personal tree.  Yes, he did what doggies do – he went up to the Christmas tree and cocked his leg!  What a pad!!!  Happy Christmas Dixon.

More about Dixon later …

Yours aye,  Anne

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