A Dog's Day Outing

by John Power

Minka is a cross-terrier male dog, who, on first appearance, resembles an overgrown Jack Russell. A closer look reveals a dark speckle through his whitish coat, which is balanced with chocolate brown markings on his head and at the base of his tail. A diamond-shape mark on the crown of his head is his main distinguishing feature. Minka is a good-natured and affectionate animal, at least with humans and bitches.

During June 1988, when Minka was about six months old, I decided to take him on a train-ride to Motherwell. With Minka on his lead, we took a leisurely stroll from my tenement flat in Dennistoun, down to Bridgeton Station, stopping frequently to allow a dog to do what it normally does at lamp posts. Not in any hurry, we took our time on this one-and-a-half mile saunter, with the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cool of the shade, as we crossed from north to south through quiet, dusty, deserted streets.

On boarding the Hamilton Circle train, I chose a seat with a good view, not far from the sliding doors, and the dog came up to sit on my lap, to look at the world whizz by. The next stop was Rutherglen, followed by Cambuslang. I noticed that dust from Minka's paws had marked the light coloured trousers I was wearing. Lifting him gently to the floor of the carriage, I started  brushing off the dust. So busy was I, with this matter of deportment and vanity, that I had barely noticed the train drawing to a halt at Newton Station.

Suddenly, I noticed that Minka was no longer with me.  I glanced round, just in time to hear the doors close. Much to my horror, there was the daft mutt standing on the platform, looking at the train move off, with his master on board !

"Don't panic! Don't panic!"  I thought to myself.  Clearly, I had to get off the train at the next station, which happened to be Uddingston. I rapidly reached street level, and had a look round, to get my bearings. "No telephone boxes in sight......what's that along the road ? ......'Angels'....looks like a pub or a hotel... most likely they will have a telephone..." These thoughts ran through my head, as a heat and haste induced thirst coaxed me into a quickening pace towards the entrance. Why didn't I get the next train back?  It being a Sunday, I believed that a once-hourly service was in operation, and I had checked the timetable to discover that I had just missed a train back to Newton.

"A pint of lager shandy, please. Do you have a public phone?" The matronly barmaid pointed to the far end of the bar, as the amber nectar steadily filled the glass. I  took a long sip of the cool liquid, to quench my thirst, and pocketed the change, keeping a ten-pence piece for phoning the private cab which would take me back to where the pooch had disembarked.

On the way back to Newton Station, I explained the situation to the driver, who, God Bless him, was most sympathetic. In other words, he didn't burst out laughing. Within ten minutes we had arrived, and I paid the driver the fare. He kindly offered to wait until I had found Minka and had established his safety and well-being. I sprinted up the stairs to the platform above and gave a description of the dog to the first person I saw.  A young man,  casually dressed, pointed to the thorn and weed-infested embankment three track-widths away..

To Page 2