This concerns a certain characterisation that we invented for Buttons. It probably says more of us than of him, but it's an example of one of the ways in which he became a part of the fabric of our lives.
As has already been established, Buttons was a nervous dog. A big ol' scaredy in fact.
He would also lay on the grass in the sun, and look down at us with an almost imperious look on his face. Quite grand, really.
Over a period of time, we wove these two traits together, in fictional tales of his days in the Raj. Yes, I know the Raj ended in 1947. This is fiction, remember?
In this story, Buttons had been a high-ranking officer in the Raj, a general or colonel, I can't remember which. It may have been both, at one time or another. In any event, he ‘gallantly’ ran away from battle, leading the retreat. As a result, he was drummed out of the regiment, dishonourably discharged, and brought shame upon the family. All of this was spoken in voices reminiscent of bewildered and faded colonial grandeur (“drummed out of the regiment, dontcha know?”, “dishonourable dischaaarge!”)
In this persona, the faded but still grandiose colonial, he would refer to Fiona as ‘dinner wallah’.
It made us laugh as Buttons Braveheart (as my mother called him) looked boggle-eyed at the latest scary incident in his life, which could be anything from us having visitors to Fiona garnishing his dinner with tinned tuna.
We talked of making him kedgeree, to remind him of his days in the Raj, but never did. Just as well, really, because Buttons hated rice.