Tim Dowling: the dog has seen my mother-in-law’s ghost – or possibly just a bug | Life and style

R.He is now a new dog, and her sleeping habits are firmly established: When I retired per night, I find that the dog is already lying on both sides of the bed, and its chin rests on my pillow. At this stage, I usually push it, and then it will retreat to its bed-completely gentle-or sleep on the bare floor plates, depending on the night temperature.

In about five, the dog will jump to the bed and the tunnel under the head of the first edge, and it extends between my wife and my wife, leaving only her back legs coming out of the top. This is how things remain until one of us decides to wake up. It is not perfect, but it is a routine.

The day routine is more flexible. The general rhythm is firmly – eating, walking, sleeping, walking, and eating – but there are random moments when the dog seems to require additional unlimited sharing, when you sit next to the sofa, put a nice claw on my food and give me a look that says: We need to speak.

“I just watch this,” I say, pointing to the TV. The dog turns into a look at the screen, then its eyes are shown slowly. It is easy to read a lot in the expression of the dog, but at times like this I feel deep wells frustrated. Perhaps, I think, it just wants to change the channel to a width with dogs in it.

The next day in the garden, the dog is vital but obedient, away from the forefront but he did not go out of view, played with other dogs but ready to not answer. She behaves completely to the end, when we face a woman in a long coat with two dogs on his own. Soon after our passage, my dog ​​suddenly stops, goes back and returns to appear. A whistle and I call her name, but the dog ignores me and follows the woman – completely strange – in the other direction, and all of them stare at her with a look of real dedication.

“Well, we have passed some good times,” I say, revolve in my leadership. In the end, the woman is obligated to stop and return towards me. We meet in the middle of the road, my dog ​​still fixes the woman, who smiles for me and ignores.

“This is because I have …” I do not hear the last word completely – something like “Sprraahtz” – which is in the event of discomfort at the moment when I eat a foreign term for a strong form of dog magnetic, perhaps as practiced in remote parts of Belgium, or perhaps Poland. Then the woman continues and receives a small dead fish.

“Oh, sprats,” I say.

“They love them,” she says.

In that evening, we and my eldest TV and I watch, while the dog sits next to me and stare at my ears.

“So the house message is: We need to get some SPrats,” I say.

“I saw them in the pet store,” says my wife.

“It is clear that they cannot get enough of them,” I say.

“Be calm,” she says. “I am trying to follow this.”

Suddenly, the dog barks once, jumps from the sofa, slipped through the coffee table and lands on the other side.

“What was that?” He says the oldest.

The dog sits and looks, stare at anything with a frightening concentration.

“What is this?” My wife says.

“It seems as if it is witnessing a kind of appearance,” I say. Perhaps the appearance of a small dead fish.

“Did you see a ghost?” My wife says. “Is she my mother?” The dog stares, without fading.

“I really think it might see a mistake,” I say.

“If my mother is, give me your claw,” says my wife. The dog takes two steps forward, and puts his right claw in the hands of my outstretched wife.

“It’s my mother!” My wife screams.

I offer one and I exchange a brief glimpse as if to say: a little strange.

“Give me your claw again if I miss.” The dog is necessary.

“This dog knows only one trick,” says one. “This is all.”

“A small insect hovering,” I say. “Or the children’s spider floats on the draft of the windows.”

“Thank you for the message from behind,” says my wife. “Now go below, try to see this.”

The dog climbs to the sofa and curls next to me, wearing a look of deep dissatisfaction. We see a shortcut for a moment.

“So yes, sprats,” I say.

“Oh my God,” says my wife. “We will have to be rewind!”