26/08/2026
Oslo and the Big Secret
There are towns in which a secret may remain secret for many years.
Usk was not one of them.
In Usk, a secret disclosed at nine o’clock in Priory Street could be bought sliced, wrapped and mildly exaggerated from Neil the butcher by half past nine. By ten, Monica at the Co-op would have added a witness, a motive and an unexplained woman in a red coat. By lunchtime, Simon at the Nags Head would be confidently explaining that he had known about it for months.
This was unfortunate, because Oslo had been entrusted with a Big Secret.
It began on Tuesday morning at Priory Street Dental Practice. Miles emerged from the surgery carrying a cardboard box, three rolls of bunting and the expression of a man attempting to organise something without the entire town interfering.
Oslo sat beside the reception desk, jet-black, upright and attentive.
Oscar, the elderly rescue dog and senior partner in all matters not involving stairs, was asleep beneath a radiator. He had his nose tucked under one paw and was snoring gently, like a lawnmower running several gardens away.
Miles crouched beside Oslo.
“On Saturday,” he whispered, “we’re giving Oscar a surprise birthday party.”
Oslo’s ears rose.
“There’ll be sausages, a cake, presents and everyone he likes.”
Oslo’s tail struck the filing cabinet.
“But Oscar mustn’t find out.”
The tail stopped.
“This is a secret.”
Oslo gazed solemnly into Miles’s eyes.
“I’m trusting you.”
Oslo placed one paw upon Miles’s knee.
It was an oath.
Unfortunately, Monica was standing outside the practice pretending to examine the opening hours.
She had heard only three words.
Saturday. Oscar. Secret.
This was more than enough.
At ten past nine, Monica entered the Co-op and told the woman behind the till that something was happening to Oscar on Saturday.
At twenty past nine, the woman behind the till told Robert the street cleaner that Oscar had an appointment on Saturday and Miles was keeping it quiet.
At half past nine, Robert told Neil the butcher that Oscar was undergoing a secret procedure.
Neil stopped halfway through arranging a tray of pork chops.
“What sort of procedure?”
Robert lowered his voice.
“Dental, probably.”
By quarter to ten, Oslo entered the butcher’s with Darren, who wished to purchase bacon and emerged with bacon, black pudding, six sausages and information he had not requested.
Neil leaned over the counter.
“Is it true about Oscar?”
Oslo froze.
Darren looked puzzled. “What about him?”
“You know.” Neil tapped the side of his nose. “Saturday.”
Oslo remembered his oath. He turned his head away and examined a display of lamb shanks with exaggerated innocence.
Neil’s eyes narrowed.
“Aha.”
This was the problem with Oslo. He was extremely good at keeping secrets in the technical sense that he did not actually speak. However, he had a very expressive face.
By eleven, it was widely understood that Oscar was having all his teeth removed.
At midday, Simon at the Nags Head heard the story and rejected it immediately.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You don’t remove all the teeth. You do them in batches.”
Nobody asked how Simon knew this.
“What I heard,” he continued, polishing a glass with the authority of a consultant, “is that Oscar’s having a complete set of gold replacements.”
“Gold?” said Monica.
“Solid gold.”
“Why?”
Simon shrugged. “Image.”
At that precise moment, Oslo and Oscar passed the pub window on their way to the river.
Everyone fell silent.
Oscar paused outside.
He looked through the glass.
Eight people smiled at him with the strained tenderness usually reserved for departing soldiers.
Oscar glanced at Oslo.
“Something’s going on.”
Oslo concentrated upon a nearby drain.
“Why did Monica just blow me a kiss?”
Oslo sniffed the drain.
“And why did Neil send me a complimentary chipolata?”
Oslo sniffed harder.
Oscar studied him.
“You know something.”
Oslo walked directly into a bench.
Oscar’s suspicions deepened.
That afternoon, the rumour underwent what might politely be called a significant restoration.
Robert mentioned the gold teeth to Alex, but Alex misheard “gold” as “old” and concluded that Oscar was having his original teeth put back in. Darren said this was medically unlikely. Monica said her cousin in Abergavenny had undergone something similar, although closer questioning revealed that her cousin had actually had a conservatory fitted.
By three o’clock, Oscar was believed to be receiving an experimental mechanical jaw.
By four, the jaw was powered by batteries.
By closing time, it could allegedly bite through a bicycle.
Oscar spent the evening watching Oslo.
Oslo spent the evening not watching Oscar.
At half past eight, Miles came into the kitchen carrying a carrier bag.
“What’s in there?” Oscar asked.
“Nothing,” said Miles.
The bag squeaked.
Oscar looked at Oslo.
Oslo looked at the ceiling.
Miles hurried away.
“That was a toy,” said Oscar.
Oslo yawned.
“A new toy.”
Oslo scratched his ear.
“My new toy.”
Oslo suddenly discovered an urgent need to go outside.
By Friday morning, the people of Usk had divided into two camps. One believed Oscar was being fitted with an indestructible jaw. The other believed he was retiring from public life to open a small hotel in Tenby.
Simon considered both possibilities equally plausible.
Meanwhile, preparations for the party were going badly.
The bunting had become entangled in the dental light. The cake, shaped like a bone, had been delivered to the Dragon Inn by mistake. Neil had made a string of sausages long enough to garland the town bridge, and Monica had volunteered to distract Oscar despite being the least discreet human being in Monmouthshire.
On Saturday morning, Miles fastened Oslo’s lead.
“Your job,” he said, “is to keep Oscar away from the practice until noon.”
Oslo puffed out his chest.
At nine o’clock, he led Oscar towards the river.
At nine fifteen, Oscar turned towards Priory Street.
Oslo blocked him.
At nine sixteen, Oscar tried the alley beside the Co-op.
Oslo blocked him again.
At nine twenty, Oscar attempted a tactical retreat through the churchyard.
Oslo intercepted him beside a yew tree.
Oscar sat down.
“Oslo.”
Oslo sat opposite.
“I know there’s a secret.”
Oslo swallowed.
“I know it involves me.”
Oslo inspected a cloud.
“And I know the whole town thinks I’m having a mechanical jaw fitted.”
Oslo’s ears twitched.
Oscar leaned closer.
“So tell me. Is something bad going to happen?”
For the first time all week, Oslo looked directly at him.
He nudged Oscar gently beneath the chin and then lay down beside him.
Oscar looked into his worried brown eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Not bad, then?”
Oslo thumped his tail once.
“Something good?”
The tail thumped again.
Oscar smiled.
“Well, that’s different.”
At twelve precisely, Oslo led him back into Priory Street.
The practice appeared deserted.
Oscar stepped through the door.
“SURPRISE!”
Bunting dropped from the ceiling. Humans emerged from surgeries, cupboards and one particularly ambitious position behind the steriliser. Neil raised an enormous plate of sausages. Simon produced the bone-shaped cake. Monica fired a party popper directly into a box of floss.
Oscar stood perfectly still.
Then his tail began to wag.
“For me?”
“For you,” said Miles.
Oscar looked at Oslo.
“You knew?”
Oslo stood proudly beside him, the only creature in Usk who had been given the whole secret and had not told anyone.
“Well done,” said Oscar.
Oslo beamed.
The party continued all afternoon. Oscar ate sausages, opened presents and received a blue velvet cushion embroidered with the words SENIOR PARTNER.
Monica apologised for the misunderstanding.
“In fairness,” she said, “nobody ever specifically told me you weren’t getting gold teeth.”
Simon nodded. “There’s still time.”
Oscar settled upon his cushion while Oslo lay beside him, exhausted by the moral burden of confidentiality.
“You kept the secret,” Oscar said.
Oslo gave a modest wag.
“Although your face did tell half the town.”
Oslo covered his nose with one paw.
Outside, Robert was explaining to two visitors that the party celebrated Oscar’s successful recovery from experimental jaw surgery.
By Monday, people in Abergavenny were saying he could bite through a tractor.
Oscar rather liked that version.
And Oslo decided that, next time he was entrusted with a Big Secret, he would spend the week hiding under the radiator.
It had worked perfectly well for Oscar.
