The Tug

Some feelings are never forgotten even though they may  have been  very fleeting. This morning I was standing by the kitchen sink and felt a sharp tug on the hem at the back  of my flowing pink dressing-gown. It was Stan, my bouncy puppy who is all action and full of fun.

The  tugging sensation pulled me back to an early morning over eighteen years ago.  Our eight-week old son was sitting in his tiny seat which was on the kitchen floor. I was in a mad rush getting ready to catch the train to Dublin on what was to be my first full day away since his birth.

A quick tug on the back of my dressing-gown somewhere near ground level brought me to a stand-still. I spun round and saw his tiny hand retreating and his big eyes gazing up into mine. The mad-rush was forgotten as I picked him up and gave him a cuddle.

There is always just one first tug and they are the ones that seem destined to be treasured most.