She said her name wasn't Sheba and it's not: her name is Bonnie.
The story so far is that someone has been in touch. Her actual owner is seriously ill in hospital and probably won't be able to have her back. Meanwhile his neighbour (my contact) was looking after her informally and she was getting on famously with his eight cats, his wife & two sprogs and his labrador. In fact she was getting on too well with the lab, which his owner described as a runagate and who was encouraging Bonnie to become a scunging devil dog. Which was where we came in. Bonnie's previous minder is only too happy to let us look after her in the meantime.
The Scruff dude is staying with us until the weekend so we have four dogs in residence. Bonnie, despite her size, is the pack junior; Scruff, despite his, is pack senior. Paddy and Rosie are a bit, a tiny bit, peeved and managed to give Bert the slip this morning.
Paddy: It wasn't hard.
Rosie: Too true Pads. Piece of piss.
Paddy: Yeah! Pops is a bit slack in the mornings.
Rosie: Morning! Your hole! It was the middle of the day.
Paddy: Least we got our heads showered Rose. Got away from them pair of feckin', hairy, ball-lickin' hoors for an hour or two.
Rosie: Aye Pads. We'll mebbe get another wee run out tomorrow.
Paddy: Aye we will Rosie. Unless Nelly's about. She'd keep a tighter eye on us.
Rosie: Unless she's paveesing around that oul Sheba or Bonnie or whatever they're calling her this week....