There’s a newcomer in my biscuit tin. I’ve been munching Fold Hill dog biscuits since I was a pup but my mum brought some new ones home – a box of long biscuits called Bonio. They look like a bone but are a biscuit…
Well, they had me foxed.
Truth to tell, I’m not fond of bones and Marley Cat has had to show me how to manage them in the past. This was much smaller than what I’d been presented with previously – but just as difficult to get into.
So my mum has to break the up for me. She calls me a wuss…
Lost* the ball in the park, didn’t I, so a big search was instituted which involved me rustling in the undergrowth, diving into bushes and leaping around a wildflower meadow which is going to seed. Ended up with hundreds of sticky burrs and seeds in my coat. Yuk.
Didn’t manage to find the ball, or the Chuck It one I lost in the same place last week.
I had a good brush when we got home but there a still loads to come out. At least my ears are clear.
- As we were leaving, having searched everywhere, another walker shouted she’d found it. In a patch of long grass. How did I miss that when my breed is renowned for its prowess in this field? Field, field – who said field?
I am such a lucky dog: out for breakfast yesterday and extended coffee with a host of my mum’s friends today. I was the star of the show, adored by everyone – even people who weren’t with our crowd. I gave paws, let people fluff my ears and offered my tum for tickles.
My mum’s under the weather with a post-holiday cold (that’ll teach her to go away!) so we got the Metro there and back. Seemed silly not to when we live near a station and the café (another of our dog friendly places) was on the next station – https://olivesatthestation.com/
I was such a good dog on the train, well behaved and respectful to other passengers.
Out for breakfast with my mum today but no food for me. She said 1) I’d already had mine, 2) avocado is a fruit and dogs don’t eat fruit, plus 3) I do not get fed in cafés. But I had lots of fuss and admiration from customers and staff which made up for being starved.
Who could resist my appealing look? Yes, my mum can…
Today it was the turn of Kith and Kin, one of the lovely dog friendly cafés in our town. http://eveogilvie.co.uk
Mum’s away so I have been at boot camp the past week. Mostly had fun: two walks a day, cats that play with me (sometimes even when I’m not feeling playful…) games with the sprog.
Today, however, my Irish aunt said I had to earn my keep and I had to go and work for the day. Boy, wasn’t sure about this but, as ever, I ventured forth with enthusiasm – too much maybe as I got told off for pulling on the lead.
We got to her work and, yes, I remembered the rules:
* 1. Don’t pee on the bags
* 2. Don’t bark at the customers
*3. Only greet a customer if they are dog friendly.
OK, I got it – and whoop, whoop, our day began. Lots of people came and most people gave me loads of fuss and cuddles. This work palaver is a piece of cake! Think I’ll earn my keep more often. Happy days.
I still miss my mum though.
There’s the doghouse then there’s the ultimate doghouse: not being spoken to, in utter disgrace, can’t have pals around any more.
It’s been a sorry week. Blotted my copybook by peeing on a stranger’s bowling bag then overnight I vomited and pooped without a warning bark that I was poorly. She forgave me for that – can’t blame a sick dog, can you – but she was a bit perturbed when she later found another puddle in the same place after the sprog, here for lunch, stood in it. I hadn’t asked to be out.
The clean-up, however, was not over. After lunch my pal Chip and I were playing in the front room when, no idea what got into us*, we had a peeing competition against the floor-length curtains. Screams all round, buckets of detergent, spray stuff and total banishment to the rainy yard for him and me.
My mum wouldn’t look at me for the rest of the day and says I can’t have pals visiting if we behave like street dogs. It could not get any worse. Canis non grata for the forseeable future.
- Truffle’s mum here: presuming this was assertiveness/territorial behaviour. But it’s absolutely not on.
Never known my mum so mad. I’m locked away in the back room with my bed and a bowl of water, no biscuits, no loves.
The morning didn’t start well: my mum isn’t sleeping cos her back is hurting so she didn’t appreciate my enthusiastic greeting. Or pulling on the lead. Or trying to cross the road ahead of her. Or losing my Chuck It ball. Or getting sticky stuff on my head.
No, I kept the best till we arrived at the bowling green. I’ve done a few runs then decide I need to relieve myself – against someone’s bowling bag. If my mum hadn’t shrieked I doubt if any of the players would have noticed. She was incandescent.
I was marched home peremptorily. As we walked back it started to rain. I expect that will wash the bowling bag…
Sticky stuff on my head.