What does she expect? Takes me down to the beach in the car then gets mad because I don’t want to get in it again to go home. Tells me I was naughty, willful and an embarrassment, that I didn’t deserve to go swimming and would forfeit my biscuits when she got me home.
She says it was lucky the nice man got out of the car I was circling and offered her a half choke collar to try. I’d really dug my heels in, slipped my head out of my collar when she tried to pull me and, of course, I’m too heavy for her to pick up, being a sizeable 22 kilos of pure muscle.
With the borrowed collar I couldn’t get my head free so she and her rescuer were able to drag and shove me towards the car where I gave in and got in. Yesterday she bought one of those collars…
Her attention was distracted for a while when we got home as she found Marley on the doorstep with a teensy weensy mouse. He put it down, she shuffled him inside but later I saw him follow the trail it must have left scurrying out of the garden.
He was in trouble again later for trying to scratch his way into a new, unopened bag of cat food so I didn’t feel too bad at the end of the day cos it was one point against me but two against the cat. I call that a win-win.
Marley is getting it in the neck again. Been a really bad boy, double bad boy.
Last night mum was chopping raw chicken for risotto (she makes a lovely risotto) when the house phone rang. When she went back to the kitchen after only five minutes, the big grey beast was on the counter top, front paws on the chopping board, helping himself to the chicken! He got down pretty sharpish when she yelled. I just watched, horrified that any pet in this house would steal food. After all, we’re very well fed. (Please don’t look at the Oops! page; that was a very long time ago.*)
He already drinks water from any glass or vase he can find (and the bathroom taps) and, a few days ago, was caught sneaking milk out of my mum’s coffee mug.
Then this morning mum discovers a mangled pack of wet cat food – not an empty pack dragged out of a bin but an unopened pack, all teeth marks and oozing bits of ‘Select Fisherman’s Choice in Gravy’.
The Irish Aunt once had a cat who helped himself to unopened packs, even stealing them from other people’s houses. Helping himself in the house is one thing but I hope Marley doesn’t turn into a cat burglar. We would never live down the shame!
As a very good dog, I was allowed the leftover risotto in with my dinner. Yum, yum.
* Oops, how did this get here?
February 1 2015
I am six or, in human years, 42, which my mum says is HIGHLY significant. It is, apparently the answer to ‘life, the universe and everything’. Wow, I’m the answer to life, the universe and everything? Well, I think it’s well deserved.
I’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, says mum. Stick, stick, there’s no stick in here! Not a real stick, a figurative stick. Eh? There’s a real stick in the yard; I know nothing about figurative sticks.
No she says (getting impatient now), 42 is the accepted answer to life, the universe and everything as discovered by author Douglas Adams. Hmm, so I’m not going to be a famous philosopher. In that case I think I prefer a real stick.