We’re in a group of local friends, which meets regularly to drink beer and wine; and chat about books, films or whatever other nonsense comes into our heads.
The most distinctive member of this little community, is Larry the bassett hound. Here he is, on his most recent birthday. A fine fellow, as I’m sure you’ll agree.
Larry is loved by many. As well as being a fine dog (he stole the dog show at the recent local Summer fayre), in part it’s because he’s lived or stayed with a lot of us since he came here to south London. He’s now settled at the home of Gaby and Dick; before then, he was the centrifugal point to several shared houses. He’s slurped treats from multitudes of hands, and rolled on the carpets of lots of people.
He’s getting old now (twelve at his last birthday, if I remember correctly), but he’s been well-loved for many years. He exudes saggy contentment, content in the knowledge that there’s always a good friend around the corner to greet him with a juicy bone.