I’m very taken by the story of Merlin – the dog, rather than the shape-shifting magician pal of Arthur. Though there is something magical about the dog.
Merlin, a springer spaniel, went missing on New Year’s Day. He suffered a fit in his owner’s front garden in the village of Seaton in Cumbria and bolted. The frantic owner, Daniel Horsley, took to social media to ask for help to find him. He got quite a lot of help. Within hours over 100 people were involved in the search, bringing drones and heat-seeking cameras.
But even with more technology than normally deployed in a chase scene in Slow Horses, Merlin wasn’t found, through the day, or into the night. And then was. Or rather he wandered in, hours later, like a teenager who’d been out, with nobody you’d know, doing nothing, calm as you like.
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I can imagine David Horsley’s skyscraping joy and relief, and that’s not just because Merlin looks like my dog, Toastie, who, in case of doubt, is the greatest dog. Toastie is happily lying at my feet as I write this and shows no desire to bolt. Thankfully.
Dogs have a way of getting to you and getting to others too, even if the other doesn’t realise they could use a little something.