Michael – Wire Haired Cross

MICHAEL THE MONMOUTH ARMS‘ ‘ M I C H A E L ’ ’,
The Monmouth Arms, Haberdasher Street, N .1

 From paintings by C.Francis Wardle circa(1929)

 

DURING my pleasant perambulations round London pubdom I
have seen many a fine handyman. In some respects, Michael tops
the lot.
Six years ago Michael arrived at The Monmouth Arms. He was
then little more than a tiny ball of white ,fluff. His master and
mistress hadn’t the slightest idea of what Michael would turn out
to be”large, small, long-haired or smooth, but decided to take a
long chance.

 

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Michael – Wire Haired Cross

Time (and not very much of that) was all that was needed to
see that, in fact, Michael was a wavy-haired dog with large black
markings, joined to a most becoming long tail. What Michael
lacks in pedigree, and we needn’t go into that, he more than makes
up by his sagacity.

Pride of place in the agreeable make-up of Michael’s tempera-
ment must be placed his spirit of helpfulness in The Monmouth Arms.
So long as Michael is in service in this agreeable house there
is little chance of fire breaking out. The Fire Service people are
for ever telling us that lighted cigarette ends are the principal cause
of fires. Our hero simply can’t stand a lighted cigarette end, and
immediately it falls to the ground he stamps on it until it is
extinguished.

Though vital to his master, this fire service is merely part of
his duties.
For example, Michael deals promptly and effectively with
empties. The quickness and ability with which he copes with the
bottles would appear to indicate that he dislikes empties, a sentiment
that is shared by many humans. He can cope, too, with the obstinate
stopper.

But it would not be true to declare that Michael dislikes all
bottles. And here it is my sad duty to record the one lapse in an
otherwise blameless and useful existence. This (let us whisper it)
is a weakness for stout. This was discovered while Michael was coping
in dogged fashion with a bottle of the same beverage that was
proving . . . awkward.

The Monmouth Arms

Fortunately, Michael doesn’t smoke. But he is a very effiicient

tobacconist. I have never discovered whether he uses his sex appeal
in tobacco shops. But when cigarettes were really scarce, Michael’s
services were in great demand. The procedure was relatively
simple: you simply placed the requisite. cash in a copper bag, with
the note stipulating the quantity (and brand!) required”and both
cigarettes and change were delivered by Michael before you could
drink a bottle of stout.

One has to admit that the landlord and his wife have solved
the labour difficulty at their house. This will, or at any rate should,
commend Michael to the Minister of Labour. But you have only
to look at Michael’s portrait to see that he is no ordinary dog. His
I.Q. is as high as anyone could wish.

You could do worse than try it for yourself one of these days.

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