One of my earliest childhood memories, at seven or eight, is being driven to visit the puppy we would be taking home in a few weeks. A litter of thoroughbred cocker spaniels had been born. All the happy, barky ones had been taken, leaving one timid little fellow at the back – the runt of the litter if ever there was one.
When the big day came, we drove back to pick him up. We decided on a name, based on his hair, which was exactly the same colour as golden roasted oats: Flapjack. Or, for short: Flaps. How strange it must have sounded, hearing someone shout: “Here, Flaps,” or: “Good boy, Flaps,” across the park.
Flaps became part of the Pelley family immediately. His hobbies included chasing after seagulls at 100 miles an hour (“Cocker spaniels are hunting dogs,” my dad would explain), jumping in the sea, and hiding from party balloons, which terrified him. He barked at the postman (classic) and tore up any post or paperwork he found – but no one believed Flaps had eaten my younger brother’s homework. Nice try.
Flaps was a big hit with my friends, mainly for his comedy name (although it wasn’t as bad as the name of my friend’s dog, Roger, whom I once had to take for a walk). I still have a postcard from a pal that begins: “Dear Flaps, Hope you are well and the eye problem has cleared up.”
The thing about Flaps was that you never knew what sort of mood he would be in. He wasn’t one of those push-and-poke-anywhere lapdogs, like the king charles spaniel my parents have now, Bingo. (Named after the nursery rhyme, obviously.) You had to be careful he didn’t take your fingers off.
Officially, he reached two of the three big human bites that would have meant him being put down. (I’m still not sure if this was a thing in the 80s, or an empty threat my mum used to get him to behave; it seems a bit harsh if it was the latter.) I kept quiet about the third bite, which left a permanent scar on my inner thigh, from when I accidentally sat on him after coming home drunk from a party as a teenager.
Every Christmas, my dad toasts absent friends. My dad also used to have a badge that read: “The more people I meet, the more I like my dog,” so we all know he is including Flaps. So, to Flaps: my childhood dog who bit me just the once and whom my friends preferred to me.
