My family and other animals???

A woman of my word, I dial home to check up on the folks after their second consecutive weekend away at Lonavla. A more enervating trip sans ludicrous first time parents cloying, gushing and hovering over a not especially bright 18 month old. Pity, no pnpc to report, so I struggle to remember what my weekend was like, my hemming and hawing endeavours stalling with every full throated instruction yelled at the various domestics in and out of my mothers line of sight, and a sudden flurry of barking.

I resist the Shakespearean urge to go, 'Hark! Was that a bark?!' Barking? We Guhas of 14 Iris may have doggie bagged foodstuff for a number of years, but we've always stated upfront it was for Mim.... I wait and listen to the scary one scolding a mutt of some description, who retaliates by making off with her yellow dolphin. And to think the Beatles got flak for Lucy in the Sky - I didn't even know my mother had a yellow dolphin! Undaunted, Mommy dearest shouts at me over the cacophony attempting to elucidate upon the soundtrack. It would appear that my parents have acquired a 30% timeshare in the neighbours dog. A larger than usual spaniel, the one I've apparently seen before, usually confused about which door to head for. The scene is a familiar one and my mind races in an attempt to recollect the creature under discussion and fails miserably. "Black and white?" "Brown. You must remember him. You've seen him." I acquiesce demurely, with a soupçon of absentmindedness. "I must have."

"She's asthmatic, and they were thinking of giving the dog away, but the boys were really sad and Mr. Singhania really loves the dog, so they asked if we'd like to keep it, but I said, No! we're old, but he can spend some time at our place. Actually, I just don't think she likes dogs at all and she's a hypochondriac. The whole flat is being done and there's cement all over, so obviously she doesn't like dogs." Clearly. I ask what the dimwit is called. "Cuddles." I shudder delicately. Perhaps it's the breed that encourages daft names like this (like Sweetie is to Poms, Cuddles and Flakes is to cockers).

The sloppy spaniel is apparently still trying to come to grips with it's equation with Ba. His ultimate mission is to win over Ba. It is an uncertain relationship - Ba is happy to say "Ha ha, hellooo doggie...", even wave and chuckle at it, but doesn't like to be licked or have dog attached to his persona. Naturally, it makes the mutt even more curiously determined to know the big man better, albeit trepediaciously (I believe the story justifies a creative juste mot!). I grin, remembering the sight of a 6'3" suited man waving goodbye to two tail wagging 8" puppies, yipping around his briefcase, with strict instructions to behave.

Ma believes the poor chap is bored. He wants to play, but my folks are too old to be arsed and launches into his support system; The gentleman is hardly home, the boys have squash lessons, tuitions, school, blah, blah, and aunty hates dogs, but the money they spend on the critter. The mutt has his own maid, personal trainer and weekly beauty salon appointments. Hmmmm. I suggest with the utmost seriousness that my mother edify his mind with some duet chanting. Nam myoho renge kyo, arf arf arf arf, Nam myoho renge kyo, arf arf arf arf.... Her gurgle of laughter somewhat ruins her admonishment of my frivolity. Her ear splitting demand as to who the dog was left with negates my curiosity as to the lack of canine vocalisation in the background. They've been leaving the mutt with the folks longer and longer each day, so Minu the Scary has taken an executive decision and sent him straight back.

Reluctantly, I confess to a concall in 90 seconds and bid my parent a fond farewell. What yellow dolphin?????