What’s a dog to do? Not just once, Marley is making a habit of snaffling my dinner, beating me to the bowl night after night. My mum just laughs, says there’s plenty and that I’m much bigger than him so could easily barge in. Thing is, I’m frightened; he has claws and teeth and isn’t above swatting me if he feels like it. His food is put up aheight, out of my reach, so I don’t think it’s fair that he should help himself to mine. I could starve to death!
I appealed for help to my mum but she said it was my own fault for hesitating, that I should eat my dinner as soon as it is put down. Also, that I wasn’t above snaffling his food, or Cleo’s, if I managed to get upstairs where they are fed (supposedly out of my way…).
He’s a cheeky cat, Marley. My mum got up to get herself a drink and when she came back to the front room, he’d hopped up exactly where she’d been sitting on the sofa. I have to get down if I sneak up while she’s not looking but not Mr M, mustn’t disturb him. Taking advantage, that’s what I call it.
There’s one of my mum’s friends who absolutely adores me so I made sure I was sitting near her. It was dry and bright so we were able to sit in the yard in the sunshine.
The cats tried to get in on the act but I was the star of the show with a co-ordinating silk neckerchief. Afterwards we were exhausted, my mum more than me cos she’d been baking all week, so me and mum had a relaxing afternoon.
This may just be the best day in my entire life.
Breakfast al fresco then a l-o-n-g walk on the waggonway, rooting about in the undergrowth, berries bursting out all over, a romp in a wheat field, cooling off in a muddy puddle – then, a complete surprise, proper Sunday lunch in the pub. Oh, it was bliss. I am such a lucky dog.
We were out for more than three hours in glorious sunshine and when I got home I was bushed; all I needed was sleep. Complete contrast to yesterday when it rained all day and we were tucked indoors, lights blazing, after a brief foray. Both of us were dripping wet and I was banished to my bed with my Surf Dog robe until I dried out enough to be allowed on carpet.
After the puddle my mum threatened she would hose me down when we got home but it was so warm, and such a long time before we got back to the house, that I had dried out completely, the mud had turned to dust and fallen off.
Wonder if we will go to the pub for lunch next Sunday?
Lunches at The Fat Ox, Whitley Bay.
In the doghouse good and proper. But, really, it’s my mum’s fault for staying in bed and not coming to the beach at 8am.
Our three doggy pals called early and their human said he would take me to the beach if mum wasn’t ready. So I toddled off with them and left my mum reading the news online and catching up on Facebook.
Imagine her surprise when we came back in double quick time, even though the sun was shining and it was a lovely morning. The story unfolded: I would not go with them. They walked one way and I headed back to the car park. I was retrieved, they tried walking the other way and, once again, I headed back to the car park. There were words but no, I was having none of it so we all piled back into the car and came home.
I wanted my mum to share the day and felt bereft without her. She didn’t appreciate my loyalty one little bit – told me off and said I was to have no post-beach biscuits. That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?
Insurrection in the house as Marley puts his paw down and demands parity with my fame. If the dog has a blog, he has to have an outlet for his exploits, he says. Mum said she wouldn’t upset me by letting him have a blog, which takes so much more skill (tee hee), he could have his own page on Facebook. I’m going to have to monitor this carefully, there’s no telling what he might say. He’s already very adept at keyboard skills.