Sun, sea and sand – utter bliss this morning on the beach as the sun sizzled. I had the most delicious swim, diving into the waves time and time again.
I don’t really mind what the weather is like but we get to stay out longer when it’s fine cos my mum doesn’t like rain, wind or snow (and she calls me a wuss!). It’s also school holiday time so there were lots of visitors and loads of new dogs saying hello and sniffing around. One or two of them tried to get my ball and I’m such a gentleman that I don’t like to offend them by trying to get it back. I get into trouble for that – not standing up for myself. But possession is nine tenths of the paw – sorry, law – isn’t it?
No! We now have another cat, making me outnumbered two to one. This one is called Cleo. She’s half the size of Marley but twice as loud, miaowing all the time. My mum talks back to her but it’s utter nonsense as far as I can make out.
Me and Marley have learnt to live together – I don’t sniff him and he doesn’t hiss at me – and now I have to start all over again with this one who, to be frank, seems a bit of a madam, chip off the Sherry mould. All I want is a peaceful life – is that too much for a dog to ask?
Look what they did – tied me up behind the fence while they had a picnic in the sun! It was like being in jail – I could smell cheese and ham and cake and crisps and tomatoes; hang on, I don’t like tomatoes but you know what I mean. Trapped on the other side of the mesh and nowhere near to any tasty morsels dropping off the table for me to snaffle. Luckily one of the sprogs heard my plaintive whines and came to the rescue with some scraps.
There’s lots of things I enjoy in my life – in fact, I’m very easy to please – but absolute doggy heaven is a muddy puddle, especially when I’ve been running around and need to cool off.
The other day I found one on a walk around the playing fields near our house. It had rained overnight so it was quite deep in the middle and I had a wonderful romp, splashing in and out until I was mucky almost up to my shoulders.
In the heat – or should I say cool? – of the moment, I chose to ignore my mum’s warning that I would be washed down with cold water from the hose once we got back home. (That’s one of my hates…) It was so delicious, I couldn’t stop. Bet she’d feel the same if she were a dog.
Now usually my mum trims me herself, makes me stand still while she cuts or sometimes – and I prefer this – works around me with scissors while I’m lying peacefully thinking doggy thoughts.
After the trauma
For a treat (for whom??) she decided to book me in for a professional groom. I won’t mention the name of the salon because I made a bit of a fuss and don’t think they will want me back. I was nervous from the start. Got to the door then realised this could be the vet, lino on the floor an all, funny smells, tables, oh ho; tried to back out but mum was having none of it. She gave her instructions – don’t want him shaved to the skin, want feathers thinned out etc – then LEFT. Left me all on my own with strangers in a strange place. Huh, I’ll show her, I thought!
She comes back after an hour by which time they have me in a see-through bath contraption and, not only are they spraying me warm water, they’re rubbing me all over with girly shampoo. That, after being frightened with a buzzy thing they used to trim me. It was AWFUL and I was whimpering pityfully; really, really traumatised.
My mum looked awfully guilty and said they should towel me off and I would walk home wet cos one thing I’m really scared of is the hairdryer.
She can’t understand why I will splash happily into the sea, a pool on the beach or a muddy puddle but don’t like anybody putting water on me. She should stand in the yard and be hosed down with cold water and see how she likes it! There’s no difference, she says. Huh.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll be going to the poodle parlour any more!
I thought life was bad with our original cat, Sherry, but the new one is ten times worse and twice as heavy. Marley it’s called – a big brute of a silver tabby. My mum was very upset when Sherry died as she’d been rescued from a shelter and with her for 14 years. The Irish cousins loaned one of theirs for a few days then Mum brought home Marley who is six and had a lovely home but too many kids.
He didn’t like me sniffing around his purty fur so I got quite a few whacks and hisses. Who would have thought I’d wish the madam was back!