Homer the Dog



I am Homer. I was taken by my previous family to Edinburgh’s Seafield Cat & Dog Home when I was young and left there. I was put in a cage. All around were angry, snarling, barking, fighting dogs. The noise was horrible.

After a few days, a woman stopped at my cage. Then I was led out and she and a tall man took me to my new home. I was a long, lanky young dog then and raced around Astley Aislie hospital grounds – all damp grass and enormous rhododendron bushes.

Now I live in France on a big piece of land. All around me are oak forests where I can smell wild boars. The chasseurs (I know some French words) drive up our steep hill three mornings a week with their barking gun dogs. Then the shooting starts.

My master and mistress have been building their new house for eight years. My master spends too long on his digger moving rocks and earth. My mistress spends too much time writing at her computer. I have to remind her to leave her desk and go for a walk.

I go swimming in the river and reservoir. I love chasing sticks but not giving them up.

I am growing old now. I’m a happy dog but I still get very very anxious if I’m left in the house so my mistress takes me everywhere with her. I wait in the car, and stare out of the window until she returns.