Terrible Ted

                When we got him he was just a bundle of black and tan fur with two beady eyes and a wet nose poking out. Our eldest daughter squealed when she saw him and said, "He's just like a teddy bear", so naturally he became, Teddy (or Ted, Teddles or Twinkie). As he grew he fitted into his name and provided us with many a situation for a smile.    

              However, there came a time when smiles turned to frowns. It is my habit to rise at six a.m. and prepare for work. As I only have a light breakfast, my wife has given up joining me for the few minutes it takes before I go to fight crime in the streets. Ted, however, had made a ritual of getting up with Dad and biting my sockless toes while I get into my trousers, then plopping down the stairs to the kitchen and breakfast. He always ate his at high speed,  then turned to me with a doleful expression, begging for a few flakes from my cereal bowl. Inevitably, he got them.                

When this ritual was over, I would tell him in a serious tone, "Dad's got to go to work". His ears would go down and he would suffer the loss bravely. I'd close the kitchen door on him and take off, leaving my wife to slumber for another hour or so.                

Ted always had some stuffed toys in the kitchen and would hone his rat-killing techniques on them until his Mum appeared to give hime yet another lump of love. Their day would continue to develop the parentel/pet relationship that we all have with our four-legged friends.

On this particular day, my wife yawned her way down the stairs in contemplation of her morning cuppa (she's Irish and can't do without it). There was no sound from the kitchen to greet her and she puzzled as she opened the door, only to rear back with a gasp. There was mud splattered across the floor-covering, up the walls and scraps of vegetation scattered  the length and breadth of the room.                

There, in the bottom of a deep planter pot sat Ted, coated with mud and grinning all over his little face. The remains of the rubber plant the pot had contained were gathered around him in shreds. He had climbed into his water dish and scrambled up onto the top of the pot. Feeling dirt under his paws  the urge of the Terrier overcame him. The result - chaos, and the soubriquet "Terrible"  to add to his identity.                

Since then he has earned the title over and over again, but the first time is always the best. This evening,  I cuddled him, as he is going through the loading phase of Lysodren and is lethargic and sad. I couldn't help thinking of the occasions when we'd wished he was less active but now I fervently long for the day when he can demolish a pot plant again.  

Cherish your companions while you may, they are only on loan to us.