Roots

It was an early dog walk this morning. My needy beagle/alarm clock Bella deciding a 6.40am stroll would be a splendid way to celebrate the dawning of 7th August 2026. This previous start not so much a case of the early bird catching the worm, more the early dog walker gets to pick up poop sooner.

Upon prising open my eyes at this 6.40am canine wake up call, I felt particular tired. I took a good minute to focus my pupils away from blurred views of a beagle snout to a defined sight of a dogs conk. This hooter impatiently prodding me; it’s owner seemingly keen to inform me it was reveiller.

My raised fatigue levels a result of aberrant broken sleep; my two overnight pee breaks, one Bella overnight pee break and vociferous snoring from the hound contributing to this disruption. As she slept, my furry charges egregious nasal toots taking on sounds of the bagpipes. 

The snout, which ordinarily inhales scents with the same gusto her mouth consumes treats, emitting a cacophonous wail. A din that may not have woken the dead like the horn in the 19th century folk song ‘Do ya ken John Peel’, but had no problem raising yours truly from my slumber.

Footnote – The John Peel refrain was a Pennine hunting song. The horn, with a noise allegedly able to wake the dead, blown to rouse his foxhounds prior to the hunt. The same breed of dog as my snoring mutt.

Laying in bed attempting to shut out Bella’s bagpipe-like wails, my bedroom door suddenly slammed shut, vertical blinds blew inward and an icy chill emanated around the chamber. My initial thought was “My god, she has woken the dead with her snoring!”, until it became clear the culprit was a gust of wind further opening the window.

Anyhow, despite my sleep deprived lethargy, I dressed, grabbed Bella’s lead and poop bags and headed out of my backdoor to embark a 5-10 minute wander to the local park. The journey’s hors d’oeuvre the following imaginary verbal interaction between man and dog…

Bella – “You look knackered this morning, Gaz. Sleep badly?”

Gary (Tetchily) – “Erm, just a bit. Your bloody snoring didn’t help!”

Bella – “Was I snoring?”

Gary (Grumpily) – “Just a bit!… You sounded like the pipe section of the Scots Guards Marching Band!”

Bella – “I thought you liked the sound of bagpipes?”

Gary – “I do when they are played properly and are producing a stirring refrain such as ‘Oh Flower of Scotland’ or ‘Loch Lomond’. Not when the soundscape is an out of tune Mull of Kintyre emanating from a beagle conk!’

Bella – “I like the song ‘Loch Lomond’.”

In a mischievous attempt to further aggravate Gary, Bella embarks on warbling the chorus of ‘Loch Lomond’ in an unconvincing Scottish brogue,…

“You tak the high road, and I’ll tak the low road; and I’ll end up in Scotland afore ye. But me and my true love will never meet again on the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond…””

Gary (Snaps) – “Shut up, will you!… I’m too tired for your joviality and poorly mimicked Scots accent.”

Bella – “You can talk. When you sing along to Leith lads The Proclaimers songs your effort at the Scottish accent is far less convincing… You sound more like firebrand Democratic Unionist Party politician Ian Paisley, and half as tuneful!”

Gary (Gormlessly) – “I thought the late Ian Paisley was Scottish!”

Bella – “He was a Scottish as you are!”

Gary (Defensively) – I’ve got Scottish roots. My surname originates from a village in Aberdeenshire. A short drive from the Granite City.”

Bella (Spotting a crack in the damn which is Gary’s sensitivity) – “You are English…You’re guessing you’ve Scottish roots from your surname. However, when you did you family tree research you didn’t get back far enough to prove it definitively. You only unearthed English and Irish forebears.”

Gary (As usual, falling for Bella’s ploy of reeling him in) – “With my surname I’d venture I’ve bound to have Scottish forebears at some juncture. It’ll be like in 200 years time somebody with a surname of Patel, whose family have lived in the UK for centuries, will almost certainly have Indian roots in there heritage.. It’s the same thing.”

Bella – “Not necessarily. I’ve a friend called Trotsky and he has absolutely no Russian roots.”

Gary (Foolishly biting back at his charge) – “He’s a bloody doberman dog!!… What I’m referring to is naming conventions in human ancestry!”

Bella (Starting to feel this latest mischief making is amongst his finest work) – “So us in the animal kingdom aren’t entitled to research or reveal our ancestry… You humans make me bloody sick!”

Gary – “Why?”

Bella (Endeavouring to delve further under her owners skin)– “I’m always hearing you two leggers banging on about bloodlines, your forebears and nearly everyone in Britain being connected to King Richard I at some point. But as soon as I mention Trotsky having no Russian heritage you dismiss it as moot because he’s a dog!!”

Gary (Not in on the gag, wonders why his beagle seems so agitated) – “Look, I respect your right to know your bloodline, and I maybe able to unearth some information about your genealogy if your breeder has it to hand. Do you want me to?”

Bella (Continuing to real in her hapless doggy dad)- “I don’t feel your properly invested in investigating my roots!… I feel you’re paying lip service to it to shut me up!”

Gary (Getting ever more agitated) – “I will get in touch with your breeder if you want to know more about your forebears… Just as an aside, though, what would you do with that information if I got it?”

Bella (Deadpan faced) – “I’d reveal the details with pride to my peers, just like you humans do after your ancestry.com fix!”

Gary (Finally bites, hook line and sinker) – “REVEAL IT TO  EVERYONE!… REVEAL IT TO EVERYONE!… YOU CAN’T TALK!… ALL OF YOUR VERBAL INTERACTIONS ARE A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION!!!”

Bella (Delighted with the success of her latest mischief making) – “Yeeeessss!!… Get in!! … 1-0 to Bella!!!”