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‘But I did!’
Eventually he’d settled down enough to say, ‘You didn’t realise that reds under beds is just a figure of speech?’
‘You’re not saying . . .’
‘A turn of phrase? A metaphor?’
I knew about metaphors. ‘No, I didn’t.’ I was defensive. ‘How am I supposed to know what a socialist looks like?’
‘Well, not like a hat!’ Winston was still snuffling with mirth. ‘Sorry, Nelson! It’s just too funny!’ He regarded my downhearted expression carefully before asking, ‘What?’
I had to look away for a moment before replying, ‘It’s just that you’re always talking about the importance of the Golden Rule.’
‘As you sow, so shall you reap. Do unto others. Cause and effect. Taught by all the great spiritual leaders.’
‘Does it mean I will experience terrible things, because I destroyed the Queen’s hat?’
‘Oh, I see,’ replied Winston, before cocking his head. ‘Your motivation was to protect and defend, not to destroy. Intention is key. Besides, the Queen has a way of drawing something good even from the bad. Call it alchemy.’
I sighed. ‘I just wish that beings would say what they mean sometimes.’
‘Ah! Words and the meaning of words. A timeless quest. If you knew the meaning of the phrase reds under beds you wouldn’t have destroyed the Queen’s hat.’
We stood contemplating the truth of this, as we surveyed the Buckingham Palace gardens on what was turning out to be a balmy afternoon. ‘If only I knew what every word meant,’ I mused. ‘That would make me the wisest dog in the land.’
‘Not the wisest, Nelson. The most knowledgeable perhaps, but not the wisest.’
I looked at him, enquiringly.
Winston fixed me with an expression of the deepest significance. ‘Knowing the meaning of words is mere knowledge,’ he intoned. ‘Experiencing the meaning of words is wisdom.’
Sensing my uncertainty, he continued. ‘Wisdom is what happens when our understanding of a thing deepens to the point that it changes our behaviour.’
>
He raised his snout and sniffed the air for a few moments. Take the words stop and smell the roses.’
I cocked my head. ‘A metaphor.’
‘What do the words mean?’
Winston had gone profound on me. ‘Meaning . . .’ I tried to think of an explanation. ‘Don’t be in so much of a hurry all of the time that you ignore the things that can make you happy.’ My stump twitched in anticipation.
‘Many beings know what the words mean,’ said Winston, implying that I had answered him correctly. ‘But how many act like they do?’
My immediate thoughts were of the people who constantly streamed through nearby St James’s Park, where there were often the most beautiful flourishes of verdant flowers. Many of the commuters were deeply engrossed in important conversations on their mobile phones. Or else they seemed intent on hurrying to their destination. From somewhere in my earliest memories came an actual bed of roses, gorgeous and perfumed, not far from The Crown, where the Grimsleys had spent many a Saturday evening. I couldn’t remember them stopping once to admire it or even remarking on the display.
Of course, you can never tell what goes through the mind of another being. But if outward behaviour was any clue, I realised, Winston was absolutely right: knowledge is commonplace. Wisdom, on the other hand, is rare.
I looked over to where Margaret was trotting briskly about the legs of the guests Her Majesty was about to meet. I doubted a single mini pizza had passed her lips this afternoon.
‘Sometimes I think you are the wisest dog in the land, Winston,’ I told him.
‘Very good of you to say so.’ There was genuine warmth in his gravelly voice. ‘But you know, wisdom in someone else is only so good as long as that someone else is around. One needs to cultivate it oneself.’ Then as he followed my glance, ‘And don’t be too hard on those who will probably never find it. Most beings are not on the same path as you and me. At least, not in this lifetime.’
I looked over at Winston with profound gratitude. Although his remark was typically mysterious, I knew enough to gather that he was saying we had something in common.
‘Does that make us special?’ I ventured, hesitantly.
