Pretty pee-ed off to be on the lead still and restricted to a walk round the block when what do I find playing in my street when we get back – a gorgeous young bit of doggy stuff, a chocolate Labrador called Meg. She started it, putting her paws on me and romping around. Apparently she lives only four doors away. Oh, I’m in luurrve!
Not that THE CAT approved. Meg is only ten months old to my three years and she’d never met a cat before so she ran up to the doorstep where the madam was sat and – I knew it – she goes into full attack mode, all puffed up fur, claws and hisses. Meg, like me, can’t be very bright because she wasn’t to be warned off and THE CAT gave her a good few swipes before my mum intervened, putting her own legs in peril I may say. The feline finally went indoors and sat looking out of the window, her face screwed up in barely surpressed fury, just like the tightness of a cat’s bottom actually. (Don’t tell her I said this or I’ll be Whiskas before you know it.)
Better have a rest after all the excitement. I am, after all, on two weeks rest. Wonder if Meg will be out later on? I could ask if she’d like to come out and play.