In Spite of Myself
A Memoir
CHAPTER ONE
I was brought up by an Airedale. I won’t deny it, ’tis the truth and nothing but, Your Honour—a bumbling, oversized shaggy great Airedale. The earliest memory I have of anything resembling a pater familia, bouncer, male-nurse or God is that dear slobbering old Airedale. My sword, my lance, my shield, he never failed to stand at the ready to rescue me from all my early Moriarties! Wherever I happened to be—on the floor, in my bath or on the potty, there— looming above me, panting heavily, one large, drooling Airedale reporting for duty, sir! If I went for a ride in my little cart, I would look away and pretend there was no one there at all and then when I did look back, of course he was there. He was always there padding along beside me—how could I miss him? He was my only horizon— he filled the sky. Like Romulus or Remus, I was his cub and he was my Wolf of Rome. His name was Byng.
He was christened after another shaggy old Airedale, Field Marshal Lord Byng of Vimy, whom my grandparents had known when he was governor general; and also for the very good r ...
read full excerpt from In Spite of Myself ebook
