An Irish Girl in England

The Yorkshire Lady and her small poodle

 The good thing about the English Lady's new house was that, like the last one, it was child-free. People get very cross when I express my utter hatred of children.  Don't they understand the fear behind it?  I will tell the full story one day.

Life was quiet, which was good up to a point.  After that point, one is pleased to have visitors. I liked it when the Yorkshire Lady came. She had a small black poodle, who made me feel very big and confident.  He liked to sit on her lap, and if I went up to her, he would growl.

If I could have laughed, I would have.  This grumpy old man had no idea how small he was.  I used to give him a lick on the nose, which only made him grumble some more.  Then I would leave him alone, and lie on my bed, or sit next to the English Lady to be stroked and petted.

I was safe.  I should have been perfectly happy.  Safety was what I had always longed for. But still I was beginning to yearn for something.  I couldn't see or smell

The Irish girl

what I wanted. But something in my doggy heart was saying, "There's more, Sheba, there's more."