Coco's Corner: 21 September

It was our garden sports day the other Saturday. I am a competitive canine. If there's a race, I'm there. So picture the scene: the ed in chief is in Scotland, installing the middle pup at Edinburgh University. Back south, in the kitchen are the oldest pup and Mr Dawnay, 'chillaxing' as the sports day goes on outside. I can hear the loudspeaker. 'And after the egg-and-spoon and the under-fives sack race it's the dogs' race.' I bark to alert them – I am victor ludorum in the dog race – but they ignore me. I shoot off into the garden. First I make sure that there are no cakes on the ground for me to tidy up, and then I join the starting line. The whistle goes, and I scamper towards the finishing line, but an annoying terrier (the adjective is frankly redundant – all terriers are annoying) shoots ahead!

Usually Mrs Dawnay stands at the line with a piece of cold sausage but this time my failure to win for the fourth year running went unnoticed and I slunk back into the kitchen. It wasn't until a neighbour poked his nose into the kitchen and described the scene (mentioning that I attacked the winning terrier after the race) that my family knew I'd joined in. But I'm not ashamed. Mr Dawnay patted me. 'Can't help it darling, can you? You've got Johnson blood, haven't you, ' he said.

COCO

Office Dog

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