Sotheby and Self

Mr. Sotheby keeps his own company. But when a strange figure that looks and acts like him starts prancing into his life, several questions are raised: is this 'oneself' all he is cracked up to be? Who is the woman from another age that keeps haunting him and his other self? Is Derek Sotheby the man he thought he was, or is he the fading shadow of the man that he used to be? - Finished!

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7. Politics for Pugs

It was the first time that I had noticed how cold it was.

Blasted boiler!

I sat there, musing at my own subconscious joke: yes, the boiler had blown yesterday, there was water all over the floor of the kitchen and fragments of incinerated boiler to prove it. My, I never quite understood why I never became a stand-up comedian. 

Ah, yes, the dogs.

"Ah, indeed!" echoed Pug, "Your dogs,"

"And my canine magazines." I agreed, "Never in all my years..."

"Years?" interrupted Pug, "How many years,"

"More years than you, Pug!" I replied,

"Ah, but for once you may be mistaken," said Pug, trying not to offend me, "for in Dog years, I would be a great deal older."

"But in human years," replied I, "I am a good deal past twenty-something."

"So that makes you thirty-someing!" cried Pug,

"Of the sorts..." I mused, "But old enough to be retired,"

"Pensions?" asked Pug,

"Pensions?" I repeated, "What do you mean by pensions?"

"Do you receive a pension?" asked Pug coming a little nearer. I was unsure of the answer, "Do you even know what a pension is?"

"Of course I do!" I exclaimed, "You need to watch your big slobbering mouth, Pug!"

Pug looked hurt and said that he couldn't help the slobbering: it was in his nature,

"Just as loneliness is in my nature, Pug," I soothed, "And I don't need a pension, as all my earnings come from investments."

"Is that an honest livelihood, sir?" asked Pug,

"Honestly, Pug!" cried I, "Where have you been, what have you been doing and where is my Pug? Anyone would think you've joined the Women's Institute!"

"The Women's Institute," said Pug, "does not discuss the moral matters of a healthy and honest career. I was simply reading the paper the other day when you were so busy staring into the fire, claiming to have seen the living dead!"

"Pug," I said sternly, "I shall send you to Battersea Dog's home."

Pug's eyes widened and his tail fell limp,

"The country farm?" he pleaded, "When you are gone, am I not to chase the cockerel?"

"Aye," said I, "As long as you keep your nose out of modern politics."

Pug agreed that that would be for the best.

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