Dogged

'Easy, Ripper. Get down, boy.' Marge pushed a foot absently at the dog as he thrust his bullet-like body between her legs, tail whipping at her calves in anticipation. Can't blame the dog. She dropped a chunk of liver for him, watching proudly as the strong jaws snapped it from the air. Good reflexes, that one. Breeding always tells. She picked up the knife again and resumed her chopping. Ripper liked liver.

The dog watched her, drooling. When she did not drop another piece, he began to thump his tail against her legs again in a steady drumbeat of anticipation. She murmured something, but did not look down. After a moment she turned, plate in hand, and he danced across the floor in front of her, tail waving in ecstasy as she carried his meal over to the door and placed it on his mat.

There was silence then, broken only by hoarse grunts and slurps as the dog bolted his dinner. Marge watched him with pride. He'd always had a healthy appetite, even as a pup. She'd watched him blindly pushing the other pups away from their mother's teats and she'd known at once that this was the dog for her.

He turned to look at her now, and she bent and scratched him behind the ear. He gave a low whine and thumped his tail.

'What's that? You want more?' She shook her head. 'Bad luck, boy. No more.' He gazed up at the work-surface. She scratched him again. 'Aren't you a clever one? You know there's more liver, don't you? That's my Ripper.'

She straightened with difficulty, and waddled back to the pile of chopped meat. Grabbing a plastic box, she heaped the liver in and jammed on the lid, then bent down again, offering her bloody fingers to the dog so that he could lick them clean before she put the remaining offal carefully away in the fridge.

'That's for tomorrow. Isn't it, my love?'

She filled the kettle and fished out a teapot, teabags, milk and sugar. Behind her, Ripper grunted softly and leaped onto the table to look out of the window. She brought the tea things over to the table and sat down, breathing deeply after the exercise.

'Tea, Ripper?' She put the saucer down in front of him before pouring out her own cup. 'Three sugars. Just the way we like it, mmm? There's my boy.'

The dog ignored her, staring fixedly out of the window. Marge tapped the saucer to attract his attention. 'What's the matter, boy?' She stroked the dog's neck and he whined, straining towards the window. 'Something outside?'

She heaved herself up from the chair to get a better view, then turned purple with anger. At the far end of the garden, under the hydrangea, a Staffordshire terrier and a Rottweiler were locked in combat.

'Jackass! Zulu! Stop that! Get down here!' Yelling at the dogs, Marge wrenched the French windows open. Both dogs ignored her. She grabbed the bucket which stood by the miniature plastic green house and hurried to the outside tap to fill it. Behind her, the kitchen door swung gently closed, as if moved by a sudden draught.

Ripper watched with alert eyes as she began to lumber down the garden with the bucket. He jumped lightly down from the table and padded over towards the fridge, staring at the door. It opened.

The plastic box drifted, feather-light, across the room towards him. He tore the lid off with his teeth as it landed, and wolfed down the liver, licking out the box greedily. When he was done, he gazed at the box again, watching as it rose into the air and stacked itself inside the dishwasher. Out in the garden he could hear Marge scolding the other dogs, her voice raised high above their bewildered barking. Ripper grunted and thumped his tail gently on the floor.

When Marge returned, sweating and dishevelled, he was squatted on the table lapping tea from his saucer. She sat down beside him and picked up her cup.

'Stupid dogs. Don't know what's got into 'em. You're not like that, are you, boy?' She brightened. 'Tell you what, we'll get you a treat tomorrow. You'd like some liver, wouldn't you, boy? Wouldn't you?'

He cocked his head and regarded her calmly as she rummaged in her handbag for her diary. Damn fine dog, she thought proudly. Understands everything you say. Damned if he doesn't understand he's getting liver tomorrow. Just this once. 'What would I do without you, eh?' she murmured, opening her diary.

'Well, bless my soul, boy! I've forgotten again, haven't I? You should have got it today!' Marge picked up her pen. 'There we go. I've written it down for tomorrow. That'll remind me.' A slight frown crossed her forehead as she looked at the earlier entries. 'I keep forgetting, don't I boy? Poor old Ripper. We'll have to do something about that.' She tucked the diary and pen back in the bag, shaking her head at her own forgetfulness.

Tomorrow she would remember. Tomorrow she would go to the butcher's and remember to buy that liver.

Ripper liked liver.