12/10/2026
The Day of the Great Betrayal,
The story of a posh Cockapoo
Being the true and unembellished account of a Cockapoo, as dictated to a reluctant biographer
I should say at the outset that I am a dog of considerable dignity. I have the ears of a spaniel, the curls of a poodle, and the moral character of a small magistrate. So when I was bundled into the car on Tuesday and told we were "just popping out," I knew at once that I was being lied to. Nobody pops out with a lead, a towel, and that particular quaver in the voice.
The place smelled of lavender, wet dog, and fear, the fear being, I regret to say, largely my own. Behind a counter stood a woman of gentle demeanor, sleeves rolled, hair held up by what I took to be a pencil, wearing the expression of someone who has been bitten by every breed in the Kennel Club Yearbook and forgiven them all. This, I learned, was Sido.
"Hello, gorgeous!" she cried, in the voice of a person greeting a long-lost nephew who owes her no money.
I did what any self-respecting dog would do. I became a boneless puddle on the lino and refused to participate in the proceedings.
"Oh, you are dramatic," said Sido, scooping me up with the ease of a woman lifting a bag of sugar. I went limp, a tactic I had seen work for cats. It did not work for cockapoos.
Then came the Bath. I will not dwell on the Bath. Suffice it to say that I am a creature of the open field, born to roll in fox leavings and the occasional fortunate badger, and here was a woman proposing to remove the finest odours of my entire autumn with a jug and something that smelled of coconut. I told her what I thought of this. I told her at length, in a series of operatic howls that, I am reliably informed, carried as far as the post office.
"Yes, yes," said Sido, soaping me with a brisk tenderness that was frankly insulting. "Terrible. Dreadful. You're being very brave."
I was not being brave. I was being loud. But I confess the word lodged somewhere in my chest, rather like a biscuit one has been too proud to swallow.
Next came the Dryer, a roaring beast of a thing that I assumed to be the end. I closed my eyes and composed my will: the squeaky hedgehog to the spaniel next door, the good cushion to nobody, since the good cushion was always mine. But a strange thing happened. Sido's hand stayed on my back the whole time, warm and steady, like a tide that had decided to take my side. And somewhere between the second and third roar of the dryer, I noticed that I had stopped shaking.
It was at this point that she produced the scissors.
I should explain that I had, until then, been on the very brink of forgiveness. But scissors! Near my face! I resumed howling at once, on principle.
"Hold still, you lunatic," murmured Sido, with such evident affection that I held still out of sheer astonishment. Snip, snip, a gentle pass round the eyes, a fussy little tidy of the ears, and she stepped back, head on one side, as though regarding a painting she'd rather expected to hate.
"There," she said softly. "Look at you."
I looked. In the mirror was a creature of unspeakable glamour: ears like silk, curls like a Parisian waiter's, and an expression of wounded majesty that I felt was rather becoming. I wagged. I could not help it. The tail simply went off on its own, like a fireman's bell.
"Ha!" cried Sido. "Knew it. Treat?"
Now, I have my principles. I do not take bribes. I do not forgive those who have wronged me with coconut shampoo. But the treat was a small liver thing of such sublime quality that principle, I'm afraid, collapsed on the spot, and I licked her wrist in what I trust was read as a purely diplomatic gesture.
By the time my person came to collect me, I had leaned my entire weight against Sido's shins and was refusing to go anywhere. The betrayal, you understand, was now the other way about.
"She's been an angel," lied Sido, ruffling my ears.
"She screamed the whole place down," said my person.
"Well," said Sido, with a wink that I felt was meant for me alone, "so did I, my first day."
I have since decided that we are, she and I, in a state of armed friendship. I shall go on hating the bath, the dryer, and the scissors until my dying day. I shall also go on pulling her towards that door every four weeks with the unbridled joy of a dog who has discovered that the person who torments her is also the person who adores her, which, as any married creature will tell you, is the whole secret of the thing.
Next time, I'm bringing a fox-poo souvenir. Just to keep her on her toes.
This put a smile on my face and I hope it did the same for you too! It is but my husband playing with Claude! 😉
