God save the Queenie.....

Once upon a time, there lived a mangy, flea-bitten old bitch by the name of Queenie.
Part-corgi, part-King Charles Spaniel, part-British bulldog, Queenie would never have been called the prettiest dog around.
But Queenie had lived a long and happy life with a kind-hearted family called Jones who loved her dearly. And she had outlived many of her friends: inbred and cross breeds often do. Besides, it's amazing what good veterinary care can do, and the Joneses were very well off.
No, Queenie had never been happier but now her days were well and truly numbered and it had nothing to do with her old age!
Queenie's problem was not with her family who loved her dearly, as we have said, but with all the neighbours up and down the street.
For Queenie had become a bit of a nuisance. She had taken to barking at all hours of the day and night; sometimes little dogs do that in a pathetic bid to get noticed. She also wandered the street doing her business on other people's lawns. To put in bluntly, the neighbours had tired of Queenie's message.
Then one day, Queenie's family arrived home to find a note from their neighbours, calling on the Joneses to get rid of Queenie.
"At least seven out of the 10 people who live in this street have signed this horrid letter," said the youngest of the three incredibly pretty Jones children. She ran a finger through the list of names. "Mummy, that's 70 percent opposed to Queenie!"
Mrs Jones comforted her youngest daughter. "It must be some mistake surely. Everyone loves Queenie."
The Jones family ignored the neighbours' demand, and Queenie continued on her nocturnal barking and turd-dropping ways.
Then another note was left on the door. That same seventy percent of the neighbours were giving them an ultimatum: Get rid of Queenie or we'll protest to the local council and have her put down!
Well, the Jones family had never heard of such a thing. They sat around their beautiful loungeroom and discussed all sorts of ways to get back at their wretched neighbours for hating Queenie, but could not come up with a viable solution.
With heavy heart, Mr and Mrs Jones and their three beautiful children decided they'd have to sell Queenie to a nice home somewhere else.
"Oh mumsey," cried the middle daughter, perhaps even prettier than her siblings, if that was at all possible. "No one will ever love Queenie as much as we do."
"That's right," sobbed the oldest child, "Who's is going to buy this silly, lovable old thing?" She gave the dog an affectionate pat and Queenie responded with a silent but very potent fart.
"She's so old and set in her ways, no one will want her."
"That's right. She'll end up being put down!" the siblings chorused.
"Now, girls, don't be so silly," admonished Mrs Jones. "Of course we'll be able to sell Queenie."
They dried their eyes and had to agree with their mother that Queenie was a very special dog indeed.
Mrs Jones strode purposefully over to their very elegant dining room table and drafted an advertisement for the daily paper.
"For sale," she wrote. "Frisky border collie pup. Tri-colour. All injections. Six weeks old. Loves children. Phone the Joneses at etc etc etc."
"Isn't that a little misleading?" said the middle daughter.
"Do you want Queenie to have a good home?" was her mother's curt admonishment.
"It sounds like you're ashamed of Queenie," the oldest girl muttered.
"Do you want to sell Queenie or don't you?" said the mother.
"It seems like the whole thing is based on one great big lie," the youngest girl said, head bowed.
"Do you want Queenie to be put down?" the mother said abruptly.
Her daughters shook their pretty heads and their mother responded quietly and sympathetically. "Look, dears, it's just the way people sell things, okay? There's no real harm done. No one gets hurt."
Well, two days later, the Joneses' phone rang.
The caller on the other end said his name was Aussie and he just loved Australian working dogs.
"Well, this is the dog for you," said Mrs Jones confidently.
"Look, I live out in the bush so there's no way I'm going to be able to have a look at the dog myself. In some ways, I'm going to have to trust you a little."
Well, to say the least, Mrs Jones was very very hurt at the man's comments.
"You make me sound like a politician who can't be trusted," she replied softly, her voice filled with hurt.
Aussie's silence on the line showed he was wavering nevertheless. Mrs Jones knew she had to think up something to clinch the sale and save Queenie's life. She accepted that country people were a bit cautious about city folk and their fancy ways.
"Actually, Aussie, I've got two border collie pups here but there's only one for sale. Would you feel any better if you could get to pick the one you wanted?"
"Yeah," Aussie said slowly. "I guess so,"
Mrs Jones then described the two imaginary Border Collie pups - there was Malcolm, a pushy little pup who vied for attention all the time, and Clem, with a more independent outlook on life. Almost identical yet quite different.
Mrs Jones was a shrewd thing if nothing else.
"The one I think would be best for you by far, Aussie, is Malcolm," she said quite abruptly. "He's definitely the one for you!"
"No," said Aussie straight away. "No. I'll take Clem."
The pair arranged for the dog to be sent out west on the train that very afternoon and Aussie agreed to send a cheque straight away to cover the purchase price and freight costs.
That night, the Jones family were unusually quiet as they ate their evening meal. It was the first time in almost 13 years that their beloved Queenie had not been lying among their feet, filling the room with her putrid Pal dog food farts.
"Do you think Aussie's going to get upset when he finds out that you've really sold him a pup?" asked the very same daughter who had first questioned the wording of the newspaper advertisement.
"Of course not. It's clear that Aussie loves Queenie very very much," said Mrs Jones.
"How's that?" asked the three bright young things in unison.
"Well, he bought her, didn't he?"

Fairy tale by Don Gordon-Brown