I’m beginning to think that simply by mentioning Connie Francis’ Baby’s First Christmas I’ve invoked some kind of curse. First Radio 2’s Sara Cox plays it at peaktime, improbable enough – and now we find ourselves with an actual baby’s first Christmas situation.
Well, sort of.
If you’re picturing me stood on the steps of Curnow Towers a la Mrs Thatcher (“we are a grandfather”) you’d better back up the truck. Our daughter is responsible, but only in the sense that as of last Thursday she has acquired a three-legged friend (and yes, that is 75% of a Roy Rogers song).
Her dog is called Rikki and he’s a Podenko (no, me neither) and somewhere in his past he’s lost a leg. He’s four, so it’s his first Christmas WITH US, in the same way that TV programmes are ‘new TO DAVE’. He’s very quickly warmed to both my daughter and wife but he’s not all that keen on men so as yet he’s only got close enough to tentatively smell me. (You can decide for yourself how close that is depending on how pongy you think I am.)
Getting a dog as a single person is a bit like Brexit in that it restricts free movement; but in fact I think our daughter will be glad to have some company around the place. Having moved from our ‘home complete with menagerie’ it’s probably been rather quiet living on her own this past year. I can’t, to be brutally honest, see Rikki fulfilling any kind of ‘guard dog’ role given how timid he is – but on the other hand, missing leg or not, as soon as he twigged he could jump on the bed he appears to have really found his calling as a hot water bottle.
Andrew Curnow's Ramblings 