more like copper than gold—shines in the sun. She lives
in a family of six other dogs. All of them were out for a walk with her, but she came straight over to have a sniff at me.
I sniffed back at once. The Man said, “Better comeaway, Buster.” But Flora’s owner said, “No problem at the moment. But I’m counting off the days.” I’m counting off the days
too. We will be back in Derbyshire next week.
December 10, 1996
Flora is lost to me for ever. This morning, on our way to the old railway line, we saw half a dozen dogs coming towards us
across the fields and the Man said, “Look, Buster. It’s Flora.” It wasn’t. And it would have been much better if I had not
been reminded about her.
The Man asked Flora’s owner where she was. I do not know what the answer was but the Man said—with remarkable lack of sensitivity—“Well
that’s that Buster. When you next see Flora she’ll be an old married lady with puppies to look after. She’s gone away to spend
the week with another thoroughbred golden-haired retriever.” My only consolation is that I have a memory span of only twenty-four
hours.
December 23, 1996
The Man went mad this morning. I hope that it is only temporary. Usually I get into trouble if I go within a yard of his bathroom
door. But just before lunchtime, he dragged me inside. I had barely begun to shake a towel to death when he picked me up and
dropped me into the bath. It was half full of warm water.
Not content with it lapping against my stomach, he splashed it all over me. Then he got a bottle from a shelf and poured something
sticky on my back. “Don’t worry, Buster,” he said. “It’s specially for dogs. If it goes into your eyes, it won’t hurt.” Until
then I had not thought about it going into my eyes, so I had not worried. I started to worry when he told me not to.
The sticky stuff out of the bottle bubbled all over me and he splashed me again until it was all washed off. That is when
I knew he was mad. Why else would he put the sticky stuff on me one minute and wash it off the next?
The Man let the water out of the bath whilst I was still inside. Then he rubbed me with the towel I had tried to shake to
death. That was the only nice part of the whole thing. He did not get me dry, so I shook my coat. Then we were both wet all
over. TheMan retaliated by insulting me. “At least you don’t smell any more,” he said. Everybody knows I am very clean. It said so
on the advertisement when the dogs” home put me up for sale.
December 24, 1996
Everybody is behaving very strangely. The Man has brought a tree into the house and planted it in the hall. The tree has very
strange fruit and flowers. The fruit rattles when I shake the tree and the flowers glow when the Man switches the lights on.
I am not allowed to go anywhere near the tree.
There is another tree—only much bigger—on the grass opposite our house. As soon as it got dark, the flowers lit up and thousands
of people arrived to stand round it and make a noise. Most of them made the same noise but, with my expert dog ears, I could
tell that one or two were making a different noise from the rest. I sat in the window between the curtains and the glass and
barked. I did not bark very convincingly. There were too many people for one dog to frighten away.
PART IV
Tolerance
In which Buster meets—in diverse circumstances—a variety of other animals and struggles, with different degrees of success,
to regard them as friends.
January 1, 1997—Derbyshire
The Man got up late this morning and said that he always regretted it afterwards. I think he meant that he regretted keeping
me waiting. We did not go on our long walk until the afternoon. In the fields on the way to Baslow, there was still a lot
of snow on the ground. I like snow. It tickles my stomach. The Man says it makes me more stupid than ever.
On the way home I was let off the lead when She said that I