Excerpt

        Obeying his mother, Alcazar picked up a pair of long rusty scissors and came towards me.  Feeling a little fearful at his approach, a low cautioning Puli dog growl suddenly found its way from out of nowhere into my mouth.   An instinctive action, one that I had never had any cause to express before, which to my amazement, suddenly stopped Alcazar dead in his tracks.  For a moment, the young man's face turned to an ashen shade of its natural state.  Unsure of what to do next, he sheepishly turned to his mother and brother with a sickly smile upon his face.  Whereupon, Ribera suddenly grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and lifted me up and onto an old box crate where he firmly held on to me while Alcazar, now blushing red as a beet-root with embarrassment, roughly set about clipping away my thick Puli coat.

With each snip of his scissors, the long trundled locks of my lovely coat fell in bits and pieces about my paws.  I thought of all the hours of loving care that my dear master had spent in carefully brushing out my coat.  What would Big Father PuliDog have barked or done had he been in this situation.  Being the champion he was, he would have probably torn Esmeralda's smoky caravan apart from top to bottom!  But it was I, not Big Father PuliDog, who was alone with Esmeralda and her two sons, all of whom seemed to be very strange individuals to say the least.  Who could say what they might do if I were to turn and act aggressively towards them.

I became angry with myself and somewhat ashamed at having wandered into such a ridiculous situation as this.   Especially now, when realizing that even if I was able to escape and set about sniffing my way home or even locate the whereabouts of my brother Incaby, to attempt such an action during the bitter cold and frosty snow of winter without the protection of my thick Puli coat, would in all probability, lead to a most disastrous end.

     Ribera and Alcazar led me out shorn and shivering to their old battered van where I quickly climbed into the back and sought the warmth of a smelly burlap sack.  After several cursing attempts, Ribera was able to start the cranky sounding engine and we drove across town until he could find a quiet alley just off the main high street where they were able to discreetly park without being charged for the space.  Alcazar slid open the side door and led me out of the van onto an icy pavement from where we made our way towards a busy high street.  My first impression of the city was quite overwhelming - if not a little frightening, while at the same time I have to admit that I also found it to be quite exciting.  I had never in my life, smelt or seen so many things going on in so many different directions at once.  It was all so distracting that for one brief moment, I forgot all about my missing coat and the awful cold as I suddenly became totally caught up in the city’s surroundings and drawn very far away from the loving bonds of my master's house.  Here in this bustling up-town neighbourhood, where the way of life was very much the way of the world, nothing stood still!  Everybody and everything was in a hurry.  There were...

Motorcars, motorbikes, trolleys and trams,

Mothers with babies pushing their prams. 

People on corners discussing their cares,

Vendors with barrows hawking their wares.

Ladies out shopping for something needed at home,

Like a brand-new hat or a tortoiseshell comb.

Just looking for something, though not sure what,

A wig might do or that blue china pot.

People of all shapes, sizes and dress - oh, what a mess!

They're waiting for buses or hailing a cab,

Greeting a friend, who's out walking her lab.

Riding in buggies drawn by a horse,

Or pushing a cart o'er a cobblestone course.

Then crossing the street in a rush for the train,

Bumping into someone, who walks with a cane.

Stepping in a puddle - oh, what a muddle!

Brushing on by without a thought or a care,

Like a colony of ants with a far off stare.

Dreaming of colours in shades of grey,

Just hurrying on, just hurrying on, through another day.

***

“Shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales which may be devised by casual persons, and receive into their minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of those which we should wish them to have when they are grown up? 

We cannot...  Anything received into the mind at that age is likely to become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that tales, which the young first hear, should be models of virtuous thoughts...”

                                                                                                                              PLATO - Republic VII

                             

    Regardless of age, one will find this book to be a charming and delightful story about a friendly Puli dog named Philos.  This is an adventurous tale embodying a heart of wisdom and virtue, allowing one to meet and recall the kind of polite and gentle heroes that once salted the fantasy pages of wholesome literature.  The theme of separation and loss is basic to many children's stories and here a bold attempt has been made to handle such in an engaging way - so much so that anthropomorphic animals become more than just believable.

    Written in cliché-free prose that may only be described as elegant, unostentatious and measured, the author has effectively translated his thoughts in such a way that one is constantly reminded of the kind of classic tale that once enlightened the tender minds of all young readers - a bold stand against the contemporary genre of 'gritty realism' or the 'in your face relevance' currently advocated by the prevailing mediocre standards of modern education in order to persuade young people to read.

   Both brave and written with extraordinary elegance, this book is imbued with enduring wisdom and endearing imagination, making it a genuine pleasure for readers of all ages.