This prediction has been floated for the past few years but he's consistently proved the doubters wrong and reclaimed his Christmas antlers. See his look of triumph last year:
But this year it was tacitally understood that the antlers would not be coming out. He's just too doddery and uncomprehending. He now resembles one of the bomb-blasted ravers you sometimes see staggering around on a Sunday morning trying to find their way home. As he stumbles through the house on bandy and unsteady legs he'll often just stop and lean against a wall, his milky eyes staring at nothing in particular. His hearing has gone, he flinches when touched and his continence is no longer impeccable. And yet, on a good day, the squeak of a rubber toy or the sound of a fridge door opening can still reactivate his energetic and perpetually starving former self.
He joined the family after a long and no doubt tedious campaign by me and my brother. We'll walk it, we'll feed it, you won't need to do ANYTHING, please please please please. My parents are clever people and they know their sons, so I hope it wasn't too much of a surprise for my mother when she subsequently found herself marching a sleepy dog up and down the local hedgerows while her horrible children festered in bed every morning.
As a young pup he had a complicated friendship with the incumbent pet, a snooty cat called Flossie. She probably didn't predict that this ignorable furball would soon grow into something specifically bred for the purpose of chasing things such as cats. Fortunately, she had broken him psychologically by then. They had individual baskets but it was common to find her stretched full length across his while he lay on the cold floor nearby, looking hurt and slightly ashamed of himself.
Playful chases were often ended by feline claws whacking canine nose. Charlie has, to date, chased hundreds of creatures and failed to catch a single one. Shrews, frogs, birds, squirrels, cats, other dogs, horses and motorbikes have all been targetted to no avail. He was once found in the garden enthusiastically plucking a deceased wood pigeon, but cause of death was later established as air rifle-related - not his MO. Plus the cat gave him an alibi.
That he has lasted to the age he has is a testament to the efforts of my parents to control his diet. His insane greed has long been a source of wonder and grudging admiration. On two separate Christmas days he was found panting on my bedroom floor surrounded by scraps of orange foil, stomach horribly distended. That's what happens when a small dog eats an entire Chocolate Orange. One visitor had a sandwich snatched from a hand left lolling over the arm of a sofa . If he is not able to steal, he begs. Not in an "Excuse me guv, got a spare sandwich?" way, but in a woof. woof. Woof. WOof. WOOf. WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! way. Which is actually very effective.
Charlie may have been an ineffective chaser, a failed killer, a thief and a noisy irritant but he has been a sterling dog. Cheerful, friendly, amusing and good-natured - you can't ask for much more. He will leave a massive hole when he goes, but the gusto with which he hoovered up his bowl of turkey and stuffing makes me think he's got a little way to go yet. The 2011 Chocolate Orange is not yet completely safe.
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