Confronting Roger should have been easy, I mean after all it was highly likely that he’d got my half-sister in pup. I thought of all the care free months Jill had lost. Instead of enjoying her days as a fresh young kelpie still learning the ropes suddenly she was to be thrust into motherhood. What was worse was the prospect of orange-fluff puppies in the family.

Oh the shame!

I’d intended to make Roger confess. To hold him down with one paw and growl until fear made him admit to his terrible deed. I’d even imagined how far I could go … just enough pressure until his kennel-eyes bulged and then, confession time.

However on my way to Roger’s farm I began to have my doubts as to whether he was responsible. Jill is a fine boned dog, attractive. She’s had her fair share of admirers although most are always tied up in the back of their owner’s utilities if anyone visits our place. But that’s the problem. Most isn’t all. And trying to instil in my half-sister the traditions of the working kelpie hasn’t been easy.

Roger was sunning himself on the back path when I arrived.

‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ Roger asked stretching luxuriously.

‘I’ve come about Jill,’ I said with a low snarl, lifting my top lip to reveal my teeth. I did have to put on a bit of a show after all.

Roger was on his guard immediately. ‘It wasn’t me. I tried, I’ll admit to that but someone beat me to the punch.’

A quick paw-clip to the side of his fluffy head and Roger was on his back, my paw on his throat.  ‘Speak,’ I demanded.

‘I heard it from Buck over at Dell Farms. He said it was a kelpie. Not from around here, a sheep farmers dog, just passing through. Bit of a lady’s man.’

I pressed harder on his slight neck.

‘That’s all I know, on my mother’s grave.’

I released Roger immediately. Swearing on your mother’s grave was not to be taken lightly.

‘It happened a while ago Jack,’ Roger’s voice was a little hoarse, ‘I’d be expecting the pitter-patter of feet any day now.’

I could feel a migraine coming on.

‘Can I get you anything Jack? You don’t look so good. I’ve got some of those tasty chews, pork rind?’

I watched Roger as he bolted up the back path and through the doggy door into the house. There was the crash of something from inside, a plate perhaps and then he came bounding back, the bag of chews clenched between his teeth. He dropped them on the ground between us. They smelt good. As we ripped the bag open and began to demolish the contents I found myself reluctantly liking Roger. Sure he was a show-pony with his regular baths and clippings and special diet, but a dog can’t have too many friends…. And I was hungry.