First Published: 2007
OUT OF PRINT
FIRST EDITION
Hardcover : 128 pages
Publisher : Orion, 2007
ISBN-10 : 0297852167 / ISBN-13 : 978-0297852162
Book Size : 15.2cm x 20.3cm approx
Phoenix Paperback
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Weidenfield & Nicolson
Published by 2008 by Phoenix (an imprint of Orion Books Ltd)
Kindle Edition
File Size : 2269 KB
Publisher : Weidenfeld & Nicolson (18 Sept. 2008)
ASIN : B002U94SI4
Book Description:
Buster has written these diaries himself - whenever he could remember where he hid the manuscript in his garden. In it he lays bear the truth of how The Man has held Buster back, pretending to protect fur and feathers. Buster's last book was an instant bestseller and, outrageously, The Man took all the credit. To add insult to injury, there were no extra biscuits. Worse, The Man forced Buster to eat low-fat ones, while he himself continued to eat lots of chocolate ginger nuts.
Despite The Man's best efforts, Buster still gets into lots of scrapes, and, although his sight and hearing are failing somewhat, he still wants to 'go courting' - especially in springtime. Buster remains unaware of what happened that day at the vet's, and no one will explain it to him, but they continue to allude to something.
On a visit to Ireland a gentleman tapped his nose and said to The Man, 'You can't fool me. I've worked it out. You wrote the book.' Buster was so upset by this vile calumny that he wanted to give the gentleman a good nip. Then he remembered the words of someone called Robert Kennedy who The Man goes on about: 'Don't get angry. Get even.' And he has. And this time it's personal.
As Buster says, 'No more Mr Nice Dog.'
Extract from Author’s Note:
“The story, which began in an overgrown Paddington yard, back in 1995, is not yet over. Much has changed with the passage of the years. I am wiser as well as older - not only whiter round the muzzle and longer in the tooth, but also a little less likely to leap without looking. In Derbyshire, where I spend half my life, I am still able to jump up to the window in the door, like a ferocious jack-in-the-box, when the postman knocks. And I still leap over the sofa into the drawing room when The Man who lives with me decides that, for the good of the postman, we are better kept apart. I still bare my teeth with bogus menace, but I go willingly. I now accept my temporary exile from the hall with tail held high and confidence that, in five minutes, I shall be back where I belong.
The Man has grown old too, but less gracefully. And, if our walks are any guide, he is not as fit as I am. Unlike me, he has not looked after himself. I eat a carefully balanced diet, drink only water, take regular exercise and have my teeth cleaned every night. All I can be sure about him is that he cleans his teeth. But although he finds difficulty in negotiating stiles, which I bound over in one leap (unless it is cold weather and my joints are stiff), he still hobbles along at the other end of the lead. And my feelings about him are the same as they were on that December night when he found me in a basket outside the bedroom door. I knew straight away that he was not just for Christmas, but for life.
I knew that we would be friends as soon as he knelt down beside me and rubbed behind my ears like a man who knew about dogs and wanted to make them happy. And he was very good about the vomit. It was barely on the hall floor before he said that it did not matter. Since then I have been sick dozens of times, usually in inconvenient places. But The Man always says that terriers behave like that and cheerfully cleans it up without complaint.
I think that The Man is kind by nature - a characteristic I admire without wanting to exhibit it myself. But he is also immensely competitive. He takes credit for the achievements of others - particularly mine. Whenever he introduces me to a new acquaintance, he always says, 'Buster lived wild for six months, but he's a friendly enough chap now. A bit difficult at first, but love and bribery did the trick.' The clear implication is that he tamed me. This is not true. I tamed myself.
When the canine care home was trying to get me adopted, they told people I 'lacked social skills with both people and dogs'. That was true. Now, you could take me (almost) anywhere. Then, the best that the dog adoption agency could say about me was that I was 'very clean'. That was true as well. But there was far more to recommend me than that. Without strength of character and indomitable courage I would never have survived.”
About the Author:
Roy Hattersley was elected to Parliament in 1964. He served in Harold Wilson's government and in Jim Callaghan's Cabinet. In 1983 he became deputy leader of the Labour Party. As well as contributing to a host of national newspapers, he has written nineteen books, including the much acclaimed Who Goes Home?; Fifty Years On; John Wesley: A Brandfrom the Burning; The Edwardians; Borrowed Time: The Story of Britain Between the Wars and In Search of England. Roy Hattersley has been Visiting Fellow of Harvard's Institute of Politics and of Nuffield College, Oxford. In 2003 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.