Margery and Prince
Sorting through some old photographs I came across an old tattered one of myself and my sister’s dog. A faithful mongrel called Prince. He was such an amazing dog, I’m sure he could tell the time.
Every morning he would scratch at his front door to be let out and then would make his way to my sister’s mother-in-law’s house.
At the stroke of 10 o’clock he gave a loud bark. He was then given some breakfast and after this he rested awhile.
Then he made his way to the local butcher’s for a small bone, a tickle under the chin and a few strokes from the butcher’s boy, and finally a dish of water.
By this time it was nearly 11 o’clock, so off he then trotted across the road to the pork butcher’s. At the stroke of 11, the timing was always spot on, he had his few titbits there. Then he was on his way again.
All the shopkeepers on this busy street, which was called Brunswick Street, actually looked forward to Prince coming to visit them. They used to be looking outside their shops with their arms out looking at their watches because of the precise time he arrived.
His last port of call was the cake shop, where he was very partial to an ice bun.
This routine went on for a few years until, sadly, one morning Prince never arrived. The shopkeepers were told Prince had passed peacefully away.
For years after the local people fondly talked about the clever dog which had a beautiful black shiny coat with patches of white, and was called Prince.