Alter ego

 

Alasdair and Ishbel stood side by side on the path waiting for someone to open the gate to the dog pound.  Alasdair fidgeted with the knot of his tie and quelled an urge to buff his brogues against his calves.  Ishbel had been quite scathing about his decision to wear a shirt and tie, he thought.  ‘Unwarranted’, she’d said.  And when he’d tried to explain why the occasion merited a degree of formality, she’d sniffed derisively and muttered about foolish sentimentality and crying at weddings.

Alasdair breathed in slowly to pacify the butterflies in his stomach, and as he did so, he was surprised to discover that Ishbel was wearing perfume.  Aha! So this afternoon’s visit had moment after all – as important as a bowling-club tea or their wedding anniversary. He was debating whether to risk complimenting Ishbel on her choice of scent, when the pound gate was opened by a thickset, sandy-haired man in shabby corduroys and wellingtons.

‘Ishbel McCortachy’, Ishbel said, circling her right hand like a royal.  She gestured towards Alasdair, ‘My husband’, and continued ‘I rang this morning. We’d like a dog. Are you Drew Sinclair?’

‘Aye’, said the sandy-haired man, and invited them to follow him to his office.

An hour later, Alasdair was in despair.  There were scores of dogs to choose from. He couldn’t single out just one; he wanted to take them all.  He squatted in front of an empty kennel and cooled his forehead against the bars. 

A large greyhound sauntered out of the shadows at the far end the kennel.  The dog was thin and haughty.  It had tattered ears and baldness speckled its grubby, lilac-grey coat.  The dog looked Alasdair over dispassionately, then turned and strolled back into the shadows. 

Alasdair stared after it for a few seconds, then scrambled to his feet. He needed to find Drew. He wanted that greyhound. He’d name it Kenneth.

He set off almost at a run, and narrowly avoided a collision with Ishbel, who was holding a lead attached to what appeared to be an animated hearthbrush.

‘Isn’t she just too sweet’, Ishbel said.  ‘She’s called Fleur. We’re going to take her.’