Voice Of The Third Age: Lis Solkhon

Hopefully you saw all those friends and family members to whom you are still talking after the traumas of buying all the presents and a supply of food which would not disgrace the entire British Army.

Every year I make a resolution that I will only buy what I know the family will actually eat, and every year, without fail, I end up with a number of exotic dishes which do not seem to please any of the family, or indeed any of the motley crew who always end up on my front door step. (If you called this year, of course, I don't include you in that category - it is the others!).

I was lucky enough to have my daughter and son-in-law with me for five days, and of course that included the famous Freeble, their beloved dog.

You may remember last year she excelled herself by falling down the stairs and ending up at the vets. Some people will do anything to get noticed!

You notice I say 'people' not 'animal'. That dog is more human than some humans I know.

She thought long and carefully before she would grant me her usual exuberant greeting because the last time she had visited me I had been remiss enough to forget to buy her special pound of sausages and I had been in the doghouse for the duration of her visit.

Believe me, elephants have nothing on Freeble when it comes to recalling the important things in life.

However, a peace offering from the chef at the lovely restaurant we visited on Christmas Day went some way to restoring my standing with her as she battled manfully, or rather womanfully, with roast turkey, a smidgen of delicate roast beef, just a touch from the roast lamb, all accompanied by vegetables done to a turn.

She's a terrible flirt and knows exactly how to get round the men I can tell you.

The only snag was that so much good living had a somewhat disturbing effect on her digestion.

Here next year's menu will contain some charcoal biscuits as a matter of self defence on our parts, as gales of wind followed her around the house for the rest of the day.

She is getting on in years now and, like most of the Third Age I suspect, she indulged in a little shut eye before she thought about talking a little stroll and then decided not to bother.

Well, not to bother until my son-in-law had locked up and settled down to watch TV, and then of course it became a matter of some urgency to take a somewhat delayed post-prandial stroll to see what the neighbouring cats had been up to in my garden.

Having satisfied herself that all was well with her borrowed fiefdom, Freeble allowed herself to be rolled up in her favourite duvet and settled down to watch the screen until she sank contentedly into the arms of Morpheus.

When we go out to dine we have to make elaborate arrangements to try them again after her last brush with danger, and the hi-fi has to be switched to her favourite channel, Classic, her water bowl and a few small delicacies have to be conveniently placed and then we are free to go out as long as we acknowledge that it is with her permission that we are quitting the house and leaving her in charge.

Third Age dog she may be, but I would not like to try conclusions with her when she considers herself to be in charge of things.

She greets genuine guests to the house with great pleasure and allows herself to be fussed over but when she has had enough to feed her vanity she will retire to her duvet with the air of a dowager duchess in need of a little rest and refreshment.

If you come into the house carrying a paper bag you will be subjected to an inspection which would not disgrace Customs and Excise as she satisfies herself that there is nothing of doggy interest in my house in spite of all her funny little ways and when I wave my family goodbye after one of their visits I am genuinely sorry to see all of them leave.

When the inevitable happens it will be like losing an eccentric elderly member of the family and she will be greatly missed.

Hopefully, that day is still a long way off and we still have many Christmases to enjoy her company.