AFTER successive heartbreaks over a long list of goldfish and rabbits, I vowed never to have another pet in the house. But then came Bella, the irresistible border collie.

We'd gone to London to visit my mate Ted, father of my godson Christopher and his sister Sophie.

Nine-months-old Bella is a recent addition to Ted's family and somehow - -over a bottle of wine -- we were conned into providing a holiday home for her for three weeks while her owners jetted off abroad. Bella's arrival at our northern outpost was greeted with great excitement by the children who immediately fought over who would take her for a walk. "Me first...No I asked before you...But Dad, it's not fair...When can I have a turn?..." You know the kind of thing.

Of course, it didn't last. Who ended up having to look after Bella? You've guessed it.

It was Dad who got up at seven every morning to take her for a walk. Dad who made sure she had enough food. Dad who had to wash the kitchen floor when she bounded in with muddy paws after a game of footie. And Dad who had to become proficient with the pooper-scooper.

Don't get me wrong - -Mum helped a bit, but it mainly came down to me. Having said that, I have to admit that I enjoyed it. In fact, I fell in love all over again. And I think Bella loved me.

Every night, she'd wait excitedly for me coming home from work. There was a time my wife had done the same, but not anymore - not after 14 years of marriage. While she sat on the settee, watching Sex In The City and shouting that my tea was in the oven, Bella would be at the door, tongue lolling out and jumping on me. Just like the old days.

I grew to realise that having a cute dog provided lots of other benefits. For a start, you get lots of exercise. And, more importantly, you meet lots of women. One after another, they come over to say hello during early-morning walks and you immediately have something in common.

"Isn't she lovely," they say. "How old is she? What's her name? Have you lived round here long?"

I found myself wondering why the hell I hadn't got a dog when I was single. All that time spent in nightclubs - what a waste. I'd be lying if I pretended there weren't traumas along the way. Bella had a nasty habit of stealing food, including the slice of freshly-buttered toast she pinched out of my hand as I was rushing to get ready for work one morning.

But that was nothing compared to the water-bomb incident. The kids were throwing water-filled balloons at each other in the garden. With a bright yellow water-bomb in mid-flight, Bella leapt in the air, snapped her jaws shut and promptly swallowed it.

Panic erupted: "Oh my God, she's swallowed a balloon," went the cry around the garden.

We haven't told the owners, but for a while Bella didn't look too well and I started to wonder how they'd take the news that we'd managed to kill their dog with a wayward waterbomb.

Mercifully, nature took its course. The detail must be spared but suffice to say that the balloon reappeared and the emergency call to the vet's was cancelled.

Despite it all, the three weeks flashed by too quickly. Bella was duly collected for her return journey to The Smoke, without any mention of her close encounter with the water bomb, and I have to admit that I miss having her round.

A few days after she'd left, my wife and I were watching a Saturday night film. It was a muggy night so she'd taken off her black dressing gown and laid it on the floor by her feet. As the film finished, I heard her say: "Come on then sweetie -- bedtime."

For a second, I thought my luck was in. Then, I realised she wasn't talking to me at all. She was nudging her dressing gown with her foot, having mistaken it for the dog who'd got into the habit of lying at our feet in the lounge.

"You're talking to a dressing gown," I said.

"Am I? Oh yes," she replied.

I went to bed before she asked me to give it a Bonio and take it for a walk.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

A BUSY week for the Dad At Large Roadshow. First to Northallerton Probus Club where speaker-finder Malcolm Geldard recalled how his daughter Anne, as a six-year-old, saw a woman walking past the window. "Who's that, Mummy?" she asked.

"Don't point - it's rude," replied mum Norah.

A few moments later, the little girl looked out and said: "It's OK, Mummy, rude's gone now."

THEN we took the long and winding road to Edmundbyers, up near Consett, for a meeting of the Women's Institute and came back with these wee gems...

YEARS back, at Shotley Bridge Infants in County Durham, the children were discussing where they were going for their holidays.

A little girl called Susan Bell piped up: "Please Miss, we're going Painting In heaven."

It turned out her family holiday destination was Paignton in Devon.

THOMAS Hill, aged eight, of Durham City, turned to his Grandma and said: "I wish I was grown up." "Why?" asked his Grandma.

"Because then my yo-yo wouldn't keep hitting the floor," came the reply.

GUY Walton, aged seven at the time but grown up now, came home from Consett County Primary School, with a question which wasn't easy to answer.

"What's a prostitute?" he asked his mother.

"Oh dear, you'll have to wait until your dad gets home," she replied, chickening out in a typical mum-like way.

Dad came home and Guy got his explanation but he still looked a bit confused.

"What's the matter, Guy?" asked his mum.

"Well, it all seems peculiar because my nanna's the prostitute of the WI," he announced.

His nanna was, in fact, the local president - and she didn't charge a penny for her services.

A LITTLE boy called Quentin, aged three at the time and living in County Durham, had just lost one of his grandmas.

"Where's she gone?" he asked.

"She's gone to heaven," his other grandma explained.

That was accepted for a few days, but then Quentin came back to his grandma and asked: "When is she coming back?"

"She isn't coming back," his grandma explained, "we'll have to wait to see her in heaven."

But Quentin was insistent: "Oh no, she has to come back - she's forgotten her glasses."

Published: 12/09/2002