The Musings & Misadventures of Ziggy Moonbeam

He was curled in a ball on the rug when he heard them. After a day lounging outside in the sunshine, Ziggy Moonbeam was wondering what might come next, he did like to keep a busy diary and looked forward to that time of the day known as “after work”.

Perhaps it might be a trip to see Grandmuvver and Grandfarver, a journey worth making for the cuddles and – of course – the warm bowl of scrambled eggs that would be just ready for him to eat on arrival. Or perhaps it would be a trip out in the car to buy a bag of chips and eat them as a family of three, the treasured journey better known as a “chip run” in the Moonbeam household. At the thought of a greasy chip, Ziggy felt a trickle of saliva escape his mouth and swallowing with pleasure, he licked his rubbery lips in anticipation.

Or perhaps, perhaps, it might be a trip to the…  BEACH!

In terms of adventures, the beach was up there with the love-infused scramblies cooked by Grandmuvver, and the carefully chosen chips proffered by Muvver and Farver, blown on until they were cool enough for him to eat, topped sometimes with a smear of ketchup. He knew the journey to the beach by heart, the dips of the road and the many smells that drifted through the open windows of his silver chariot as it rolled along the tarmac; first the tantalising smells of other people’s dinners cooking away, then the dusty road and scent of goats. Then, as they left the countryside behind, the air would fill with more exotic smells; the distant smell of fishermen and the treasures they carried in their buckets and the salty odor of the sea.

Arriving at the beach, Ziggy would hardly be able to control himself, yelping with delight as he saw the big bath that stretched on and on forever. And on that sand and those pebbles, he would run and he would sniff, sniff, sniff, pulling in all of the scents of the day; the ice creams that had melted from their cones and landed on the sand, the crumbs left over from picnics, the footprints that carried news and smells from far and wide.

And then, of course, there was Chiquita. 

🐔

The best beach days were those that delivered the white silhouette of Chiquita emerging suddenly from behind a sand-dune, her hair gently blowing in the wind.

Chiquita was older, Chiquita was wiser and Chiquita was beautiful.

Together the two small dogs would stroll, she telling him her stories of beach-life. Chiquita lived across the road and was allowed to wander free, spending her days as she wished, wandering the long sandy beach and exploring the picnic site. She knew all the best smells, leading her young friend from discarded flipflops to cracked buckets and spades, then on to large boulders and pieces of driftwood, and together they would leave their mark, she stooping low, he cocking his leg, balancing shakily. Ziggy would never let Chiquita know that at home he never lifted his leg, preferring to do his toilets like a girl.

How lucky she was to live beside the beach and be allowed out to walk by herself, the small dog often thought to himself. The freedom. “Chiquita is a street-wise dog Ziggy, you are not,” Muvver would tell him as he watched forlorn as his girlfriend abruptly stopped and casually wandered off into the distance, tempted home by some smell or other, uttering not even a goodbye. “With such freedom comes risk,” continued Muvver. “And you, my little darling, have not been raised like that, but more than that Ziggy Moonbeam, I don’t think my nerves could quite handle the thought of you out alone”.

Muvver and her nerves, Ziggy thought, and sighed.

Then suddenly, Farver’s shout of “Ziggy, let’s splash!” would come and the little dog would forget his dreams of freedom and run into the shallows with a crazed look in his eye. After a wild splash in the sea and some more running, Ziggy Moonbeam would clamber into the car, drink a big bowl of water and let his wet, salty body be dried by Muvver and his seatbelt be fastened by Farver. On the drive home, he would lay on the back seat and think, really, life was rather wonderful.

🐔

“The mechanic said it’ll probably be out of action for a month. So we’re going to have to work out our weeks very carefully and try to save as much money as possible for the repair. At least we’ll be saving on petrol and meals out anyway, with no chip runs or beach trips”.

With this, Ziggy’s beach daydream stopped very abruptly as suddenly things began to make sense. That funny smell from the car the other day, the extra bottles of refilled water Muvver and Farver had packed that Ziggy had positively known weren’t for him, his distaste of tap water well known in the Moonbeam household. 

“Just in case it overheats again,” Farver had sighed and Ziggy had watched as the two of them waved goodbye to him and walked wearily to the car, arriving home one hour later looking sad, and the small dog had realised with horror that his silver chariot was nowhere to be seen.

The chariot was gone. Gone. For a month. Ziggy Moonbeam could think of nothing worse.

🐔

Before him, the summer stretched out long and hot and Ziggy decided that with no fun to be had, he might as well just sleep the days away. That would teach Muvver and Farver for taking away his fun. But after a week, this was becoming rather tiresome in itself, not that he was about to let his parents know.

Muvver had tried teaching him a new trick, but even the tastiest of treats couldn’t entice the little dog to “play dead”. Another day, she had called him downstairs and presented him with a toy rat made from Farver’s old socks. “TA-DA!” she had declared with excitement as she pulled the oddly shaped creature from behind her back and pretended to make it dart up a chair leg. Ziggy had felt just a twinge of remorse as he turned his back and trotted into the living room, hopping up onto the sofa with a grumble before closing his eyes and feigning sleep.

🐔

He was thinking of Chiquita one Saturday afternoon when Grandfarver’s voice woke him from his slumber. It was a pleasant surprise, made even more pleasant when his nose picked up the scent of scrambled eggs. With just one swift movement, the small dog leapt from the sofa and hurried into the kitchen, his feet skidding on the floor as he came to an abrupt standstill by his grandmuvver’s lovely ankles.

“Good afternoon my darling,” Grandmuvver cooed, a small Tupperware box glistening in her hand like a diamond. “Muvver said you’re very bored so we thought we’d come and visit you all, and we thought you might like some scramblies!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent happily in the garden, with Ziggy Moonbeam curled up on Grandmuvver’s lap listening to his parents and grand-parents chattering away about him.

“What he needs,” Grandfarver pondered, stroking his little beard as he often did when he was forming a plan “is a job to keep him busy.”

Ziggy shuddered.

“Not like the last one of course,” Grandfarver quickly added as he saw one of his grand-dog’s eyes open suddenly. “Perhaps job is the wrong word. What he needs is… an errand to run!”

And so, after much chatter and a good dose of angst from Muvver, it was decided that Ziggy was going to be given his first ever errand, and it would come with a level of freedom he had never experienced before. Instead of Grandmuvver and Grandfarver picking up the groceries in the absence of the silver chariot, Ziggy Moonbeam was to be sent out to the shop to buy supplies instead. As he sat on the floor, from beneath the table he saw Muvver’s foot frantically tapping on the ground.

🐔

Between the four of them, a small cart was built using the wheels of an old doll pram and an old wooden apple box. This was then attached to a harness that attached to Ziggy’s body. For the next few days he trotted around the garden in practice, like a small black pony pulling its cart.

“Well young man, I think you are more than ready to embark on your adventure,” Farver said proudly as he watched Ziggy finally perfect his left turn. And with that a teary-eyed Muvver, overcome with worry, turned, and walked into the kitchen where she sat at the table and began to write a tear-stained shopping list.

🐔

“Right then Ziggy Moonbeam, you are about to embark on your first experience of freedom and I want you to listen to me very carefully please,” Muvver said, beckoning the little dog over to the sofa to sit with her. He approached slowly, dragging his feet along the floor, already weary of the endless words and worried tone that would inevitably come next.

And, with the small dog sitting in front of her, the list began.

“Don’t get in any cars with strangers, even if they’re kind. They might think you’re a stray and you’ll end up at the pound. Don’t do humpies with any other dogs, they might bite you. Don’t eat ANYTHING off the ground. If you see a snake, turn away and run as fast as you can. Be very careful when you cross the road, just like we’ve taught you. Don’t let any children poke you and if they do, do not bite them however much you feel the need to. Don’t do any toilets in the shop or eat any food in there and don’t let any smells distract you at any point. Do you understand Ziggy Moonbeam? I want you to do the shopping and then come straight back home.”

As Muvver’s worried little eyes bore into him from behind her glasses, Ziggy couldn’t help but thinking that he bet Chiquita’s Muvver didn’t give her such a long list of rules every-time she left the house.

🐔

And so Ziggy set off on his first true solo adventure.

As he heard the garden gate close behind him, he took one glance back towards the house where Muvver and Farver stood waving at him. “Don’t forget what I told you Ziggy Moonbeam,” drifted Muvver’s voice frantically before it was captured by a sudden gust of wind and carried away.

As he trotted along the road with pride, Ziggy could hear the coins jangling in the little velvet pouch Muvver had attached to his collar. What terrific responsibility he’d been given. Determined to fulfil his first true errand and make his parents proud, the little dog walked with purpose. He briefly stopped to sniff a discarded crisp packet that was blowing down the pavement, but remembered Muvver’s list of rules and continued on his way to the next village, remembering the smells of the route from those days when the silver chariot was still in action. When a mother pushing a buggy, with a small child clinging to the side, appeared in the distance, Ziggy began to worry. He feared nothing more than these small humans with their stumpy teeth and snotty noses – because let’s face it, even a small human was a big human to the little dog – reaching out and grabbing at his fur, or worse still, poking him.

As they got closer and he saw the child’s fat little cheeks break into a toothy smile, the small dog put his head down and ran, the coins jangling louder and the wheels of the little cart squeaking with the ferocity of their speed. “DOGGY, MAMA!! DOG DOG!!” came the excited squeal as he hurtled past, narrowly missing the small chubby, sticky finger that was thrust towards him.

When he dared to look back and knew the mother and her children were far enough behind him, Ziggy came to a halt, the wheels of his little cart as grateful as he was for a rest.

🐔

Ziggy Moonbeam wouldn’t realise until he reached the door of the little village shop that in his haste, the shopping list that had also been tied around his neck had been captured by that same ferocious gust of wind that had taken mother’s words as she bid him farewell earlier. How could he have known that the wind, in all its curiosity, had decided to follow him?

🐔

The bell tinkled as Ziggy pushed open the door and he walked in with purpose. Even with no shopping list, the little dog knew his parents well enough to feel confident in his task. Walking past the bags of kibble he despised, he lifted his paw to swipe down three tins of the finest dog food, licking his lips as he imagined the juicy jelly encased chunks of meat that lay within. A big box of dog chews followed.

Heading into the next aisle, he carefully collected three big bags of crisps, knowing that Farver was always generous when it came to sharing the salty slivers of potato. Ziggy decided that he too would be generous when he returned home and would let Muvver and Farver both have a few.

Marmite! He would recognise that bright jar anywhere. He couldn’t go wrong with Marmite, the spread being the breakfast of choice in the Moonbeam household, with the finest crust always saved as an offering for Ziggy. Realising that the little cart was starting to become heavy, Ziggy decided his shopping must be almost complete. Making his way to the counter, he was suddenly distracted by the most tantalising smell of freshly roasted chicken.

“They’ve only just arrived, straight from the Wittle Farm” he heard the shopkeeper tell a customer. “And I tell you, these roasted chickens fly out of the shop as soon as they’ve arrived!” Which struck Ziggy Moonbeam as a slightly strange thing to say, because truth be told, the chickens didn’t look all that capable of flying anymore. Unable to resist the smell any longer, he stood on his hindlegs and gave a small, insistent bark to the shopkeeper, who lifted one of the freshly roasted chickens from the counter and placed it in the little cart.

“Well, you’re certainly the first such dog we’ve had in the shop,” the shopkeeper said as he tallied the shopping up and untied the small pouch from around Ziggy’s neck. “Your parents must trust you very much to give you such a big task. I’m surprised they didn’t send a list really…” he continued, shaking his head in bemusement. “And I say, you’ve even got enough change for a dozen eggs if you’d like them? What, after all, is a home without eggs?”

Ziggy couldn’t have agreed more, smiling up at the shopkeeper as he tied the empty pouch back around his neck and carefully placed the carton of delectable smelling eggs on top of the other shopping.

And with that, Ziggy Moonbeam trotted out of the shop and began his walk home, intending to stop only briefly for a quick drink at the local pub. And the little dog’s intentions were truly there, at that moment anyway. As he saw “The Golden Egg” loom in the distance, he hastened his speed and was relieved to reach the pub Muvver and Farver sometimes took him to on a Sunday after lunch. The ice cream tub was there, as it always was, filled with fresh water and after he’d quenched his thirst, he wandered around the trees in the pub garden and diligently sniffed and marked anything of interest. Then he continued on his merry way.

🐔

The little dog was just over halfway home when catastrophe struck. It came in the form of a small rock that had dislodged from a stone wall that ran alongside the lane. Ziggy had been so busy thinking about the goodies that were sitting in his cart and which one Muvver would prepare for him first, that he didn’t see the calamity-intent rock sitting in his path. All he knew was that one moment he was happily trotting along, and the next he was in a big wobble.

As the wheels swung wildly from side to side, it took all the little dog’s strength to try and find stillness again, but when he finally came to a comfortable stop, it was too late for the eggs. There they lay, smashed on the ground, glistening mounds of uncooked yolks and shells. As he walked on dejectedly, Ziggy realised this must be the first time in his life that he hadn’t been excited at the sight of an egg.

As he continued on his journey home, his mind began to fill with egg-shaped panic. If the eggs had gone… then he wouldn’t have any to eat at home. It was a complete disaster, but one for which Ziggy realised there was a solution. Really, he thought to himself, he was quite a genius!

🐔

As he passed the sign that read “Welcome to Bogdon”, Ziggy paused and raised his head in the air. But the wind was still blowing in small gusts, carrying smells here, there and everywhere. He knew he’d have to listen very carefully instead, and so the small dog sat for 20 minutes, both of his tall ears pivoting like a submarine periscope.

And finally it came, the rooster’s call. Ziggy knew the rooster, with his poor time-keeping that was renowned in the village, wouldn’t let him down. And so he headed in that direction.

Several minutes later, the little dog arrived at a small farm where he saw the rooster standing on top of the little barn, watching his harem of hens proudly. Ziggy knew that where there were hens, there were eggs, and with a bravery that would’ve greatly impressed Farver, he boldly walked through the open gate and made his way to one of the hen houses. It was certainly a squeeze doing anything with the cumbersome cart on his back, but Ziggy was able to manoeuvre himself inside, and BINGO! There, in front of him, lay small clusters of the most mouth-wateringly perfect little eggs.

“You do not help yourself to things Ziggy Moonbeam!”, came Muvver’s voice from a place deep within his mind, but Ziggy decided that in the case of eggs, exceptions were possible.

It soon became clear, however, that neither the rooster nor his many wives were in agreement, with the theft of the eggs only the final straw in a darker picture, innocently unrealised by the small dog. As if that wolf bringing in one of their aunts on the back of his cart hadn’t been disrespectful enough, one of the younger hens had cried out. What had poor Penelope even done, other than stop laying eggs, that had warranted her being roasted and sent to the shop?

In the grief-fuelled attack that followed, the small dog found himself desperately trying to escape from the little wooden house. When he managed to reverse himself out, with his cart miraculously intact, he found he was covered in the gloop of broken eggs and the stench of chicken poo, with small quivering feathers angrily sticking to his body.

As he hurried away, he left behind the angry shakes of hens ruffling their feathers. It had all started off so well, his day of freedom, and now look at him. Ziggy Moonbeam knew he had let Muvver and Farver down.

🐔

It didn’t take long for the little dog to realise that he was also hopelessly lost. Bogdon, while not a large village, was one with many twists and turns, and today the wind most certainly wasn’t on his side. Sniffing his way home would be impossible.

Taking the path which seemed the most obvious way to leave the farm, Ziggy hurried on his way, coming to an abrupt stop when four small kittens leapt into his path. Brushing up against him, the tiny creatures swiped at his legs with their sharp little claws.

“You’re the dog who’s been given freedom aren’t you?” The striped one asked in a shrill voice. Ziggy nodded nervously. “We have freedom ALWAYS,” the black and white one shouted. “Because CATS ARE BETTER THAN DOGS”, the four kittens shrieked in unison.

When a shadow crossed the path, Ziggy was relieved to see the four kittens leap away from him and freeze, their little cloudy eyes filling with fear.

“ENOUGH!,” came a booming voice, and Ziggy turned and jumped when he saw a large ginger and white cat standing by his side. The cat, he noticed was bigger than him.

“We treat our neighbours with respect, even if they are of dog-kind, do you understand?” the large cat scolded. “Now hurry home and tell your mother that I will be coming over later to discuss this matter.”

“Who sh-sh-shall we tell her is coming over sir?” Asked the boldest of the kittens.

“Your father!!”

🐔

When the kittens had disappeared, the cat turned to the little dog. “My name is Tom”, he said, introducing himself. “Now I’m guessing after that old ruckus with the hens, you’re a bit lost. Allow me to guide you home, my friend.”

And so the strange duo walked, side-by-side. Ziggy watched with admiration as Tom stopped and lifted his tail at gates and trees, emitting a pungent smell. He himself began to casually lift his leg, wobbling as he did his own special marks up gateposts. Tom looked on impressed when Ziggy boldly cocked his leg against the local postbox. Muvver would be horrified, the small dog thought, with a pang of guilt.

As the pair walked, Tom told Ziggy about his life, and the little dog listened in awe. Tom was a wild creature. He stayed out all night, ventured far and he caught mice and snakes. He ate, slept and went home when he wanted to. Tom was his own boss.

And then there were the ladies.

As well as being an adventurer, Tom was a true ladies’ man, a truth that became evident as Ziggy watched one feline after another cross the male cat’s path, slinking along seductively, before hopping onto a wall and coyly licking at their paws, watching the large athletic cat from the sides of their eyes.

🐔

Soon, the houses began to look familiar and Ziggy realised they were nearly home. Tom had indeed been a true friend and had done good on his promise to return the little dog safely home. It was at this point, however, that the little dog began to realise that Tom might have had some ulterior motives.

“That looks like a fine chicken you’ve got in your cart,” he said casually as they passed the local cemetery. “I’ve enjoyed your company so much little dog, perhaps we should sit and have a bite to eat under a nice shady tree,” and without waiting, Tom turned and boldly walked into the cemetery and flopped beneath an apple tree.

And of course Ziggy, having made friends with the the most popular cat in the neighbourhood, could only follow, a small smile of pride on his face. To share a bite or two of the chicken with Tom would be an honour, he decided.

Being in the cemetery itself felt like freedom to the little dog. He had been there once before as a puppy, but had been banned from ever entering again when Farver had turned and found the little dog digging maniacally at the freshly dug earth.

But today, he was here with maturity on his side, in the company of his new friend and together they were going to eat a small but civilised meal.

As Ziggy twisted and managed to get hold of one side of the chicken with his teeth, Tom pulled at the wrapper with his mouth and soon the roasted chicken was there on the ground between them. As the aroma drifted up towards the pair, they found themselves eye-to-eye and within minutes, all that remained of the meal was a pile of bones heaped on the floor.

The rest of the afternoon, the cat and dog dozed beneath the apple tree, the only sounds being the gentle snores of Tom and the small belches of Ziggy, who lay with the cart tilting at a precarious angle behind him.

🐔

Dusk was falling when Ziggy awoke to find he was alone in the cemetery. Still feeling full, he slowly pushed himself to his feet and began the short walk home, the wheels of the by-now tired little cart squeaking along behind him.

As he reached the gate of his house, Ziggy knew he was going to be in trouble. The day hadn’t quite gone to plan after all and there she was, at the window. With that worried face that Ziggy knew so well.

Only, when Muvver came running out into the garden and a gust of wind blew through the trees, he noticed that it had carried the worry away, and replaced it with something that could only be described as a terrible look of disappointment.

“Inside. Now,” she said in a stern voice that Ziggy hadn’t heard come out of Muvver’s mouth before.

🐔

Inside the kitchen, Ziggy sat down and watched as the movement sent one of the wheels of the cart rattling off beneath the table. Muvver sat on a chair and together they waited.

In perfect silence.

Thirty minutes later, the door flew open and Farver hurried in, his face tangled with worry. On seeing the little dog safe and well, his look changed to happiness, before it too morphed to the same look of disappointment that was still covering Muvver’s face.

“Ziggy Moonbeam,” bellowed Farver, before stopping and taking a deep breath and continuing more calmly. “We sent you out this morning with one task, and we trusted you young man. Can you imagine how we felt when you didn’t come home? When I went out to look for you and I found the shopping list blowing down the lane? Then, when I passed by Mr. Wittle’s farm and he came running out and shouted at me that my dog had been terrorising his hens? You had ONE task Ziggy Moonbeam, and you’ve let both your Muvver and myself down. But most of all young man, you’ve let yourself down.”

As Farver bent down and began to undo the little harness, Ziggy saw Muvver walk over and start lifting the shopping out and placing it on the counter. It was her sigh of sadness that sparked the first feeling of remorse in Ziggy.

“Three tins of Fido Gold and the chews he only gets at birthdays, a jar of Marmite, with the lid chewed, and three bags of crisps” she said to Farver, before lifting out the receipt. “There was also a whole roasted chicken and a dozen eggs, although where they are now is anyone’s guess.”

“A rather easy guess, I’d imagine,” said Farver wearily, eyeing his furry son’s greasy face and feather-clad body.

🐔

That night, after a thorough bath with none of Muvver’s usual accompanying chatter, Ziggy found himself at the end of his parent’s quiet wrath once more when he refused to eat his kibble.

“The sad thing is Ziggy, that there were some lovely treats on the list I sent you out with. If you’d only been a good boy, then you would’ve eaten like a true king today.” The little dog licked his lips at the memory of the roasted chicken that he and Tom had devoured like a pride of hungry lions.

For the next week, the Moonbeam family lived on a simple diet of pasta and vegetables from the garden. With every penny being saved for the revival of the silver chariot, Ziggy’s shopping spree had come at a cost. With no morning coffee, Farver’s grumpiness filled the house, and the bread Muvver baked was doughy and unpleasant, unable to be improved even with a layer of butter and Marmite.

The Fido Gold remained in the cupboard and Ziggy watched with disappointment as Muvver placed the chews in his birthday box, which would mean 7 more weeks of waiting. Instead the little dog was given kibble with vegetables. Secretly, he rather enjoyed vegetables, but now lived in fear that Tom might appear at the window and see him enjoying his greens.

One week after his catastrophic brush with freedom, Ziggy was delighted to hear the rumble of a familiar car and see Grandmuvver and Grandfarver appear at the gate. Back from their holiday, the family gathered in the garden with cups of tea and a bowl of crisps and and after several short words of reproach from Grandfarver, the moment of absolute forgiveness finally came and a chew arrived in front of the little dog in Muvver’s hands.

“Poor baby,” cooed Grandmuvver when nobody was listening. “All you wanted was some freedom my darling, and do you know what? I hope you had a wonderful time. Muvver said she thinks you ate a whole roasted chicken. What a big, brave boy,” she said, pulling something from her bag; a hard boiled egg wrapped in kitchen paper. And after the little dog had gobbled it up secretly, he let out a happy squeak and pressed his head against his Grandmuvver’s arm, gazing up at her with adoration.

🐔

But even a visit from Grandmuvver and Grandfarver couldn’t rectify the fact that the silver chariot was still gone. Every morning, Muvver would watch on with confusion as Ziggy Moonbeam simply trudged to the front door after her high-pitched cry of “Walkies!”. Certainly, a walk around the village wasn’t as fun as the beach, but surely it wasn’t that bad?

“It’s very peculiar,” Ziggy heard her saying to Farver one morning. “There’s a big tom-cat who’s started following us, and for some reason Ziggy spends the entire walk cocking his leg. He’s definitely changed after the shopping incident”.

Muvver was even more shocked when one day, out of the blue, Ziggy threw himself down in the “play-dead” pose she’s spent so long trying to teach him. She didn’t see the four small tails sashaying around the corner.

🐔

Then the day finally came.

“Ziggy Moonbeam?” Asked Farver, and the little dog’s head snapped up from its slumber.

“Would you like…?” Asked Muvver, her voice deepening with anticipation.

“To go…” said Farver.

“To…”, this time Muvver, in their exhausting pitch which could easily be said in six simple words: “let’s go to the beach Ziggy”.

“The beach?!!!!” His parents cried in unison.

And with that came a beep from outside the front gate, followed by the jangle of keys as the mechanic returned the silver chariot in all its glory. It was finally repaired.

It’s difficult to say who ran fastest, but Muvver, Farver and Ziggy Moonbeam all ran, skipped and whooped to the car, before hurrying back to collect bags, a rug, water and Ziggy’s little rucksack “for every eventuality”.

🐔

After a short journey, the little dog simply couldn’t contain his yelps of excitement as he saw that enormous bath glistening in front of him, and together the trio ran to the water.

As Muvver spread the rug on the sand, Farver pulled out a large paper wrapper and Ziggy’s nose twitched with excitement. Together the little family sat and watched the waves, with Muvver and Farver’s fingers dipping into the bag of warm chips drizzled with salt and vinegar, sometimes crashing together as they both offered the little black dog a chip at the same time.

There was truly nothing in the world like a chip-run.

And then, with just a few chips left, she appeared. Chiquita was as beautiful as ever, and Ziggy was certain she looked happy to see him again, but first he wanted to share something with her, and leading her to Muvver and Farver the little dog stopped and looked at the chip bag before doing one small insistent bark.

Their bellies full of chips, the two small dogs walked together. For the first time ever, Ziggy Moonbeam was off the lead. “Maybe freedom comes in different shapes and sizes,” Muvver had said as she had – albeit nervously – unclipped the lead. Ziggy knew Chiquita was impressed with his story. He told her how he had barked at a child, battled with hens and shared a roasted chicken with his new friend Tom.

When the sun set, the pair said goodbye and Chiquita headed home, turning to smile as she reached the tip of the sand-dune.

🐔

The smells of freedom hit Ziggy with force on the drive home. How he’d missed those smells, how he’d missed these adventures. As they drove into Bogdon, he saw Tom strutting down the road, his eye firmly fixed on a seductive brown tabby cat.

And at that, Ziggy was suddenly overcome with a deep hope that when he got home, Muvver would take him upstairs for a bath and dry him with a big soft towel. And perhaps, afterwards, there might even be a bowl of the yet-unopened Fido Gold waiting for him, and maybe tomorrow the silver chariot might take him to the house of Grandmuvver and Grandfarver where a bowl of scrambled eggs and cuddles might be waiting.

Life, really, was rather tremendous.