Floyd and a mysterious tin

Floyd was not really sure what the label said, it was wet and the writing very distorted.
“I want it to be a special meal,” he thought to himself as he wandered around the small kitchen at the back of the Charity shop.
The little orange light on the cooker blinked. The oven was almost hot enough to cook the pie he was preparing; although he hadn’t really kept pace with it and was nowhere near ready to put the pie in the oven.
“What does it say?” Floyd puzzled as he walked back and forth in frustration.
 
At that moment Sherbet the dog bounded in from his latest ‘burying expedition’ in the garden.
“What’s that,” he asked, while weaving in and out of Floyd’s path as he walked.
“It’s the filling for my pie,” answered Floyd sharply.
Sherbet sniffed at the oven then the table then returned to Floyd, who by now was getting a little anxious.
“What’s in the pie,” asked Sherbet excitedly, “is it nice?”
“This,” proclaimed Floyd, pushing the tin close up to Sherbet’s twitching nose.
“Oh lovely,” exclaimed Sherbet, now chasing his tail round and round in a circle.

After a few more circuits with no clear winner Sherbet stopped suddenly and announced.
“ I like that…”
“What is it?” he added.
Floyd shook his head from side to side sadly.
“I don’t know Sherbet,” he said,
”I can’t read the label. What do you think?”
“Dog’s can’t read replied Sherbet” in a matter of fact voice that almost suggested he was proud of the fact.

“ I use my nose,” he continued.
“Well what’s in this then” Floyd pressed the tin up to Sherbet’s highly trained nose, which by now was twitching furiously from side to side.

“Don’t know,” retorted Sherbet “It’s in a tin!”

Floyd blamed himself really for expecting any sensible answer. Sherbet was not really the right one to ask. The difficulty was Floyd couldn’t read either; few of the bears could. All would be well if the picture on the tin was clear but it wasn’t.

By now the orange light on the oven had gone out, it was ready.

Floyd didn’t quite know what to do. The pie was ready; the oven was ready, but no filling. He stared at the jumble of letters and squiggles on the tin but it meant nothing.

“What happens now? Quizzed Sherbet in a way that wasn’t intended to be annoying but was.
 Floyd didn’t  know what to do. He shook the tin and listened carefully; sniffed round the top hopefully and gazed at the bright yellow label pointlessly.
“I wish I could read,” he sighed. “Life would be so much better.” Sherbet sat quietly and listened.
“I’ll find out what’s in it,” declared Sherbet, his tail beginning to wag with a swishing sound as it brushed the carpet.
“How! You’ve as much chance of that as you have of opening the tin,” Floyd mocked.

Sherbet lifted his nose briskly in a superior manner, and in a higher pitched voice pronounced,
“I have my methods you know. We dogs know a trick or two.”
Sherbet was now taking on the air of a dog with style, one with refined skills and talent well above his abilities but sensing that for once, just once, he might just manage it.

Floyd was not convinced but by now all his lines of enquiry had ended.
He handed the tin to Sherbet who grasped the tin in his mouth in a very princely manner and set off out of the shop and into the street outside.
Floyd made his way gingerly to the door, to see what Sherbet was up too.
”How could he possibly read the label,” he thought to himself?

Floyd arrived at the door at exactly the right moment. Ms Crotchet was staggering along the pavement outside the shop under the weight of a very large brown cardboard box. Her journey to the Post Office made even more hazardous by the faulty old streetlight that keep going off, and then back on again. One second all was well, the next the square was plunged into an inky blackness without any warning.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Ms Crotchet as the light flickered.
Sarah’s Mother, who was close by, went to her assistance.  Sherbet saw his chance and, timing his move with military precision, made his move.
He Trotted up to Sarah’s mother, sat down, and dropped the tin in her path as she made her way to help the unbalanced Ms Crotchet.

The tin clattered and dinged as Sarah’s mother tripped over the bright yellow tin sending it bouncing off the wall and the Post Office step.  For a moment the two ladies fought a beautiful synchronised dual with gravity. First lurching one way, then almost in perfect harmony with each other, the other. Never quite touching but creating ballet style movements of the highest difficulty.
 
The first to gain control was Sarah’s mother. She reached down and angrily grabbed the spinning tin.
“What are you doing Sherbet?” she shrieked. This tin of Beans and Sausages could have broken my neck.
“Oh are you all right?” came a muffled voice from behind the now partially controlled cardboard tower.
“Oh’ Sherbet you are a silly dog”
Sherbet dipped his head and gave a little whimper, in that way dogs do, walked over to Sarah’s mother and gently took the yellow tin from her hand.

Floyd grasped his head in disbelief. From the Charity Shop doorway he had watched the whole performance.
“Beans and Sausages” he muttered, “well I never would have guessed that.”
Not exactly what I had in mind, he thought, but yes it will be nice.
By now Sherbet had trotted back to the shop and brushed passed, in a very deliberate way, the amazed Floyd who was still staring at the spot where the great event had taken place.
Sherbet entered the shop with an air of superiority that for once he did deserve.

“Beans and Sausages cheif” he proclaimed.