Sunbathing and asleep, Winifred in the garden a day ago
When he took one look at those big bloodshed eyes last autumn, Chris shook his head very slowly and said in his best exasperated Lord Grantham voice " If she blots her copy book within six months ..she's out!"
Well it's now six months later, and of course, she's not out!
She wouldn't ever be out,even if she had turned out to be the bulldog version of Hannibal Lecter
That's the rule of rescue dogs
Once their feet are under the table
They are there to stay.
Like all of our re homed bulldogs, Winifred has blossomed in her new home.
Last week, I thought she had wandered off through the open garden gate and after several minutes of running around , I eventually found her sat hopefully in the back of the berlingo waiting for an extra car ride. Car journeys, walking amongst the pack and exploring the field with a lurid red plastic ball in her mouth are now highlights of her new country existence
Now although Chris remains vociferous in his " dislike" of everything bulldog, I do think that Winifred has melted one small tiny cold corner of his heart over the months.
Every night she will wander up to his place on the sofa, and will offer her big fat lips up to him for a kiss and every night he will give her a brief throwaway reply of " get lost fatty"
But I always catch him giving the old gal a brief pat on the head or a quick rub of the arse
Bosom friends they'll never be
But she's thawing the academic slowly and surely
....with her big goo goo eyes and her massive lion sized heart
