I was on the phone to Girl, thinking of something interesting to tell her. ‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘And this afternoon I’m taking Daisy to the vet to get her put down.’
‘Why?’ said Girl.
‘Oh, you know. She’s two years old now, so she’s had a pretty good innings. Plus her fur’s got really dirty and rather than clean her I thought it would be cheaper to get a new dog. You’re not upset, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Good, that’s what I was hoping. See, I read somewhere that the best time to kill your pet is when your kids are away at school. That way they don’t notice for ages and it’s much more caring, apparently.’
Afterwards, Girl told me that she’d been playing the conversation on speakerphone to her horrified friends. They all now think I’m a sadistic evil dog murderer.
Are there any other dads out there who are as puerile, embarrassing and irresponsible as I am? I do hope so because I believe it’s our primary purpose. Mum takes care of all the basic stuff: discipline, feeding, grooming, nurturing, washing, organising, moral guidance. Dad’s there for the vital finishing touches, such as ice training. Ice training is what we used to do in Dulwich Park when the ponds froze over and the officious sign appeared on the wooden bridge saying it was too slippery to walk on. So first I’d take the kids onto the bridge to defy the sign. Then I’d lead the kids out on to the ice to annoy the other park users. It was rarely long before some finger-wagging busybody would stop to lecture me on my appalling recklessness. At that point, my work was done.
It’s for similar reasons that my current greatest ambition is to take Girl foxhunting (which with luck we’ll do next season, when I’m researching my new book project Mister Delingpole’s Sporting Tour).
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