Harry was the only one in the family who could eat a large pickled onion whole. We once had a tug of war over a piece of bacon under the table did he and I. He did like his food, any food, anyONES food. Sometimes he’d sneakily eat other people’s food when they weren’t looking. The bolognaise was the biggest give away, looking up at us with such an innocent expression, his cheeky white face all smothered with sauce.
He was a considerate little guy always cleaning up after himself in the garden or on the beach kicking pebbles and tufts of grass behind him although he always had a dirty bum as unfortunatley westies tend to do. Although a little on the greedy side he was very well behaved and slept at the top of the stairs, he never went any further. He guarded and looked after me, my mum and my brother, his stocky little legs standing guard.
His hair would soon grow so quickly he’d look all shaggy and after a much needed haircut his body would decrease in size by about 50 percent. I sat on the floor to do my homework after school so he could sit with me. My grandad used to call him 'Woots' and Harry always answered to it. Years on my grandad will still call out Woots if he sees a westie and they always turn and look.
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