My boy’s mother’s husband was plastering a wall last week when a sack of lime fell off the scaffold and landed on his dog…
My boy’s mother’s husband was plastering a wall last week when a sack of lime fell off the scaffold and landed on his dog, which was lying at the foot of the ladder. The sack burst open and some lime went in the dog’s eye. For nearly a week the poor dog’s cloudy, pus-encrusted eye introduced a welcome little drama into their united family. Would Duke lose his sight in that eye? (And, if so, would he still be able to retrieve shot birds with only one eye?) Or would the vet’s unbelievably expensive eye-drops save it? The matter was still undecided when, working overtime to pay the vet’s bill, my boy’s mother’s husband was again on the scaffold plastering a wall, and a dollop of lime dropped off his trowel and fell into his eye.
My boy’s mother’s husband is a no-nonsense countryman. I couldn’t have wished for a more down-to-earth or more masculine role model for my boy, who lives under the same roof and sees more of him than he does me. Six days a week he works as a builder’s labourer. On Sundays he shoots — rabbits, pheasants, pigeons, depending on the season. His most trenchant opinions relate to the rearing, management and shooting of game birds. A shotgun, a half-dozen shooting books and a pair of obedient gundogs are all he owns. When not at work or out with his gun, he sits at the kitchen table making cigarettes with a rolling machine and drinking tea. With the three kids, my boy included, he’s been strict but fair. For his sober consistency, I’m grateful to him.
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