Daisy's Eyes

They shone will brilliance, a sparkle that fired imagination. Of cause she could read, she read me … was never wrong.

Every decision, I would look over at her ever watchful anticipation, feasting on me.

‘Shall we … go for walkies, have a treaty-weety, have a cuddle?’ The mere mention of a cuddle would send her skittering to a corner where there was always a ball, a green one with an interminable squeak that would drive me to teacher mode and confiscate the annoyance. Daisy would grin, for she always knew where she’d hidden an endless supply.

Talking of endless supply, when in the kitchen she would stand by the tumble drier aware that on top were her treats. Should I try to ignore her eyes’ request her right front paw would scrape down the plastic door until I gave in, stopped what I was doing, popped the airtight lid and reach in.

Chopping carrots brought her to my side for she always waited until I had pealed and sliced them before receiving the shiny orange crunch. She had perfectly clean white canines, not that I saw them much for she was a gentle soul who sang. Yes, she could hit those operatic high notes like a diva.

Running through the scales from a to e she sang out to the squirrel sitting a’top the fence protected by 8 millimetres of double glazed doors, now dulled by desperate scratches. Often, to challenge those cheeky rodents, I’d open the door. Daisy would skitter forth crying out her aria, sending the grey rodent into apoplexy as it bolted for the beech trees. The garden was Daisy’s territory. From her sleep she would tune into the gate latch several yards away and greet every guest with a welcoming oratorio.

Daisy-May’s eyes danced over her visitors; yes they were hers, never mine, for I was always last in the cuddle queue. Friends were absolutely welcome as she would jump into their laps, check out mental wellbeing by sniffing their breath, before jumping off and trusting them with her precious possessions. If they rolled out of reach Daisy would sing in escalating pitch until I lifted the armchair or poked under the furniture with a long probe: Daisy’s eyes never leaving there care.

Size never mattered to Daisy. In fact the bigger the better. She often became the thirteenth player on a full pitch of footballers. Chasing the leather orb, she would steal it from booted feet dancing around, manoeuvring it into joyful play before someone had the agility and daring to pick it up. Ryan Giggs or Gigsie was her nickname. She was so alert. Her eye, nose, paw coordination, not to mention her fitness regime and obsession would have her picked for England!

She would be so cool about everything. If I said ‘time for walkies, Millie her twin would stay in her bed while Daisy ready at the door, would wait for me to find my glasses, search for my earphones, tune my phone to a podcast. Then I’d put on her splitter lead, fetch Millie (who hadn’t moved) and go to the door only to go back for the key and anything else I needed for the weather. Yes, Daisy read all this and would sit rolling her eyes until the door opened.

Watching her mummy, she would sparkle with those splendid brown orbs, ‘this way’ and give me a little tug as her nose pointed in the direction of her desired travel. You see if we went left she had the hedge rows and grass verges to enjoy while Millie had to settle for the hard, grey cause-way. But if I said ‘no Daisy, we have to turn this way’, she would sadden her eyes and lower her defeated head as Millie got the prime location. Wouldn’t be long before she was trying to cross the road though!

I could go on and on, such was Daisy’s characterful life.

She was always at my left and Millie at my right. Even in the armchair where I would sit and read, Daisy was on my left and Millie, my right. …

Alas, we’re lopsided now!