Just because we're in our teens....

When I was 5, we got a Puppy.

Not the Dogwithnobrain, but Rogue. A dog with a mission!

That dog could NOT keep it in his trousers (figuratively speaking).

Any time he was let out - he stood for a minute, sniffed the air, and took off at pace greater than anyone could keep up with.

He could smell a bitch in heat from 2 miles away. And frequently that is where we found him. Two miles for us, was a mile for him - straight over the main railway line.

The number of evenings I wandered the park beside the railway line looking for his tail. I was convinced when he disappeared he'd be hit by a train, and I'd find his tail. Never did though. I think that buggar knew the timetables.

On my first day at School, I was dressed devinely. Grey Skirt, home knitted cardi, white shirt, tie, blazer, long socks, and polished shoes and my beret. When I came home from school I offered to take Rogue for a walk. I wanted everyone in the street to see how completely grown up and gorgeous I was.

Mum fixed Rogue onto his lead, and I set off out the garden. Rogue paused for a minute at the garden path, lifted his nose in the air - lifted a leg and whooof - he was off.

And I was off behind him.

My little legs couldn't keep up with him, so I ended up on my belly, elbows trailing on the ground, just ahead of my knees. I was gripping on to that bloody lead for all I was worth, but I couldn't stop him.

I can't tell you how I got home, or even if I had the dog with me. I was traumatised beyond belief. From looking beautiful, I was reduced to a torn and bloody wreck.

Mum did tell me though, that I had managed to come home, Beret still perched on head.

This isn't Rogue, or DWNB, this is Sophie, or Dougal, I cant tell them apart - fluff balls!