Doc Barbara meets an old friend

Darwin, the dog, was very happy living with his new owner, Doc Barbara. Professore Ramsbottom-Thrutch had been extremely kind but she was at home more and he had moments of the day, in her humble abode, that made him almost purr.  He particularly liked it when she put down her huge book, Worms of Lithuania, and sat erect on the sofa, in her blue-and-white checked skirt with her broad black knees poking out. He would emerge from his fish-themed blanket and cosy bed, come up to her and rest his face on her right knee. He then drooped his paw pleadingly over the left knee with his tail in the middle - and ensured that he had a mournful, begging look in his eyes.

I'd be more comfortable on the sofa. 

Often, she would let him jump up and she'd run her fingers in questing fashion down his vertebrae as he dozed off into canine dreamland and she ruminated about invertebrates.

Yet - he had found the last two outings a trifle discombobulating: the worms had been obstreperous and the sheep far from docile. He asked Doc Barbara if they could go for a quiet walk round the park, with no adventures and certainly no antagonists. 

They had just passed the bandstand where her orchestra had once surpassed themselves, when they heard a shout of: "Einstein, Einstein."

Please forgive the worm his Italian solecism.

They paused whilst Doc Barbara racked her brains in order to decode this cry and had concluded (erroneously in every sense) that it was someone calling for a beer: "Ein stein", when there was a loud whoop and a person floated over the hedge.

More clearly, the voice asked: "What are you up to, Einstein?" and Doc Barbara was just about to respond that he had arrived at the space/time continuum that had something to do with fast trains, when she recognised Belinda Twaddle. She was aware that Belinda had come down from her earlier position (six years ago) imitating sloth behaviour but did not realise she was still around. 

Then came the climactic moment, the ultimate and nearly unbearable happiness for woman and canine. Belinda had a dog named Einstein, whose only fault was a tendency to wander off. Yet flaws of character are relative (punning reference again) and soon Einstein hove into view. (Should that be hoved?)

He was given his name because of his unruly hair and has no interest whatsoever in what E is equal to, whether  mc squared  or quadrupled or a pumpkin.

Darwin and Einstein became instant friends in the hygienically dubious way that dogs usually do and which we will not, definitely not, picture here. 

Doc Barbara was also delighted to meet her friend: "It's an ill wind that doesn't have a silver lining," she opined - and Darwin almost understood. 

Doc Barbara and Copernicus, the sheep

 In our last tumultuous episode we left Doc Barbara's worms in revolt under her lawn. She was unaware of this, however, and was devoting her mental energies to solving the question of the snickering sheep, when she became aware of Darwin, the dog, peering meaningfully at her over the sofa arm.

Walkies, please.

Darwin was of the opinion that they needed to visit the field again and question directly why there was snickering when the sheep, Copernicus, was mentioned by name. 

Erasmus, the leading ovine, was embarrassed when addressed but Doc Barbara spoke in her most magisterial fashion - she is VERY scary when she's in this mode - and he ordered Copernicus to turn round.

Even the worm is giggling.

Copernicus was revealed to have a glowing, bronze-coloured rear end of which he was completely oblivious. The other sheep could barely contain their mirth and snickered more obnoxiously than ever. This fundamental (get that pun!) aberration of hue was because of a strange genetic mutation that caused his hind quarters to be similar to those of the ancestral moufflon. "All Darwin's fault," said one sheep and our poor dog was humiliated. 

Why do I always get the blame?

"When we had the meeting to choose our official names, we voted for Copernicus as his nomenclature, claiming it was because he understands the workings of the universe," explained Erasmus, "but really it's so that we can call him, behind his back, because that's where the humour lies ..."

His voice tailed (not that metaphor, please) away but there was a joyous shout from the entire flock: COPPER KNICKERS. 

Darwin guffawed and several passers-by paused to see what was happening but Doc Barbara was in supercilious, regal mood and was NOT amused.

"That is very lambish and hurtful," she scolded them "and you will desist forthwith." 

Things suddenly don't feel very bright.

The sheep looked - there's only one word for it yet again - sheepish and agreed, apart from one who had to have the word 'desist' explained several times. And 'forthwith'. 

Doc Barbara and Darwin went on their way home and she, as usual, summarised this exploit with an old proverb: Two swallows do not cry over spilt milk. The canine was no wiser and looked forward to his bed.

Doc Barbara and the worm rebellion

In our last thrilling episode we left two vital plot lines in suspense: why were the sheep snickering and what were the worms up to? Put the sheep out of your mind for this instalment  (you might have guessed anyway and they are not a pleasant image when giggling) and we will discover why the worms were revolting. Please do not crack that old joke about worms always being revolting - because I want to do it. There was general agitation (not that one about "Who's he?" and "What wars did he fight in?" please) because Doc Barbara was now more focused on Darwin, her newly adopted dog than them, her previously beloved invertebrates. Although she was busying herself translating an arcane tome about Lithuanian worms into Indo-European and that evinced a continuing interest, the chief amongst them decided to call a meeting. His official name is Worm One because their spelling is deficient and that's all they can manage.

They really aren't very bright, are they?

When they had all donned their woolly jumpers and risen to the surface, Worm One explained that this was to be an urgent council/counsel meeting like the famous Diet of Worms. Worm Two spoke up and said he didn't like the sound of that one little bit as he had no wish to be eaten. Worm One was beginning to lose the will to live, let alone conduct a meeting, but he called upon his inner resources of character, explained the historical reference and continued. Ignoring the clamour to visit a city named after them, he stated that had nothing against Darwin, whose paws created pleasant percussion beats as he walked above them, but he was stealing their thunder. 

Worm Four (Worm Three having gone into premature hibernation) piped up that, if there was going to be a storm, he was going back underground, woolly jumper or no woolly jumper. Worm One hastily concluded, ordering a week's strike during which they would not - absolutely not - pull down the leaves on Doc Barbara's lawn. All nodded in agreement - they are quite easily impressed and like to nod to show they are following the discourse. There will be no blacklegs, ordered Worm One, and closed the meeting before anyone could make a comment about legs, whether black or any other colour.  Worm Five had already opened his mouth.

Doc Barbara and the local sheep

Darwin, the newly adopted dog of Doc Barbara, was keen to accompany her of one of her fabulous exploits now that he had settled in at home with his comfortable bed, cushion and fish-themed blanket.  Doc Barbara explained to him that there was one hurdle to be jumped before they could set out together: a field of sheep. Alarmed, Darwin asked if he had to leap over all the sheep (his understanding of metaphor is stunted) but she, an avid fan of The Archers, assured him that she meant that he had to be trusted near them.

When they arrived at the spot, the two leading ovines were waiting, placidly chewing rich grass. This did not prevent them from having a sotto voce discussion which Darwin, with a dog's superior hearing, absorbed without understanding and relayed to Doc Barbara, who rather reluctantly, told him the gist.

Darwin? Don't like the sound of him, personally.

The sheep were complaining that they disliked Darwin because he had  invented evolution. Without him, they would still be moufflons (ovis gmelini), lean and muscular, agile and wearing a pleasing brown coat with arresting black stripes. Instead, because of him, they were unwieldy, meaty and bearing awkwardly massive wool fleeces which had to be sheared annually at least - a very scary process. Doc Barbara offered to intervene diplomatically and Darwin agreed, although he had not noted her as being over-endowed with tact and nuanced utterance. Off she went to accost the sheep.

Meanwhile he sat, feeling very small and anxious because of the tone of what he had overheard: the sky had turned grey, his ears and tail drooped, his fur shrank and even the grass looked sad.

 
Somehow, I feel quite desolate.

Soon, Doc Barbara returned and said that any misunderstanding had been cleared up and that the sheep were now in amicable mode, even apologetic and embarrassed. Darwin dared to raise his eyes and opined that they did look - well - sheepish. (Puns are his natural trope). They introduced themselves as Erasmus and Copernicus (there was a snicker from the rest of the flock at this last name), promised that he would always be welcome in their field and that they would accompany him to the gate. Darwin was cautiously gratified but hung back a little, because they still seemed quite large and worryingly (not that pun, please) likely to fall on top of him because of their spindly and insecure legs.

Everything seems OK but you never know.

A worm now poked its head up from the earth: a rumour was circulating underground that Doc Barbara was transferring her focus away from invertebrates and there was concern that they would be even more overlooked. (Did you twig both puns in that sentence?) 

Is this true and why did the sheep snicker? All may - or may not - be revealed in the next thrilling episode. We may remember Doc Barbara's motto: "Procrastination is the thief of jam tomorrow" and hope for the best. Poor Darwin is now totally confused.

Doc Barbara and canine comfort.

All was going well on Darwin the dog's first evening with Doc Barbara: she was busy on the sofa, translating a scholarly work on Lithuanain Worms into Indo-European (for reasons not well comprehended even by her), whilst Darwin lay in his new bed, occasionally emitting a gentle snore. 

After a while, when she was trying to find a suitable cognate term for Typhlosole, she became aware that he had risen and was sitting in front of her with paw raised towards the armchair. 

Please, please, please.

She did observe that he had purloined her best green cushion as a throne whilst he made his imperious gesture, but the imploring look in his eyes made her forgive him and ask what he wanted. 

His gaze was set firmly on a small but thick blanket that she had knitted and which was draped tastefully (insofar as Doc Barbara does tasteful) over the chair to hide its worn patches.

Darwin shivered slightly - but dramatically - to indicate that he was cold, understandable since Doc Barbara regards an ambient temperature of 15 degrees as positively sultry. She caved in and laid the blanket in his bed ready. Inwardly she resolved to teach him to speak politely and with due reverence when voicing his needs. 

In gratitude, he jumped up beside her (not allowed) and she stroked his now warm back to show that she wasn't angry. As her fingers moved through his curly fur and over the little knobbles of his spine (remember her predilection for invertebrates!) she felt a tightening in her chest around the region of her heart. This she attributed to the fact that her thick tights - which she always pulled up to her armpits - had shrunk in the wash. But we know better, don't we?

It can be hard getting humans to understand but it's worth the struggle.

As Doc Barbara settled into bed she thought to herself that a stitch in time saves a dog in a manger. 

Doc Barbara and canine necessities

Doc Barbara had assumed that she would go off to a local pet shop and buy what was needed for the arrival of Darwin, the Professor's dog. Bed, 2 bowls and a lead. However, she had not accounted for the dogged (ho! ho!) determination and steely stamina of her new canine friend. He insisted on choosing his own accessories and was adamant that all his friends went to a store nearby that sold the latest trendy gear, without which he would be an outcast and pariah. Doc Barbara replied that she doesn't do trendy and that dogs do not go shopping - and so off he set, in rebellious mood, on his own (though we note his backwards, pleading glance).

I am not sure if I have my credit card with me, though.

Her only desire was that he should be happy, however, and she followed him to the designated emporium, in some trepidation as to what it might cost her - in money and life-long principles, she of the thick tights and frugal habits.

Undaunted although discombobulated, she stepped inside, holding Darwin by the scruff of his very furry neck - as he had, as yet, no lead.  Being a pointer, he seated himself in the middle of the floor and indicated his chosen items with raised paw, trembling with anticipation when he realised he could have his initial embroidered or painted on. 

Since Doc Barbara is fervently green, she could not but agree and did share his opinion that the touch of purple was both aesthetically pleasing and less stridently opinionated. Both returned to her humble abode, deeply satisfied and looking forward to their next outing. But will that be a walk in the park for our heroine?

Doc Barbara, the Professor and Darwin, the dog.

 In our last pivotal episode it was decided that Doc Barbara would adopt Professor Ramsbottom-Thrutch's dog, Darwin, while he went on a research tour of the world investigating reactions on patients in dentists' waiting rooms to various hilarious poses and antics. However, when he realised the air miles that this would involve, he asked if that investigation could be carried out in the UK. (After all, Lancashire people with agonising toothache might raise a smile whilst those in Islington would merely grimace. Much data could be extrapolated from that). Our Professor - as can be seen here - has impeccably green credentials.

The Professor emerges from his previous ecological travel machine, now unfortunately defunct. 

 

Such is his global renown as a sociologist that this was granted - but the arrangement about Darwin would hold firm. Doc Barbara would become his owner and the handover would take place as soon as she had chosen the new bed, bowl and lead that the animal would require. At first they thought it better to keep the old, familiar belongings but Doc Barbara wanted Darwin to be aware of reality and accept change. Nominative determinism at work there. There must be no hankering although hunkering down would be encouraged. The next cliff-hanging episode will tell of these accoutrements but, meanwhile, we will wave goodbye to the Professor as he embarks on his mission - all to be accomplished by bike this time..

The weather looks fine here but Doc Barbara warned the Professor that every silver lining has a cloud.