Toys-r-us

Sometimes life is difficult for a pooch.  Like the other day: I’m pretty pooped after a long session on the beach but wanted some amusement.  Could I decide what toy I wanted?  A  rope, a bone, Gordon (an early stuffed bear named after the Scottish village where I was born), Rudolph’s remaining leg (a favourite), a sock, Piglet?  Nope.

I stuck my head in the toy basket and came out empty mouthed so many times that my mum tipped the basket over to make it easier.  Aren’t I a lucky dog to have such an understanding, helpful mum?

 

Get off NOW!

But mum, I’m just keeping it warm until you come back!

Who did that?

Okay, I wasn’t too keen on it when my mum first presented me with a new chew toy but I thought I’d probably get to like it eventually.

No chance – it’s broken!  How did that happen?  One minute I’m chewing as instructed and the next it’s in two pieces and my mum says it’s ruined cos the ends are sharp and the ball thingies may get stuck in my throat.  Not fit for purpose, I reckon if it couldn’t last a day. Maybe one of the cats sabotaged it while I wasn’t looking.

Actually I like soft toys best; ripping them to bits has to be my favourite thing.

We get a new rug

Excitement today as my mum installed a new rug in our front room.  We had a cream one, thick and soft for me to lie on (except I do sneak up on the sofas when she isn’t looking) but she wanted a different look, even though my white fur hardly showed on it.

We are now the proud owners of a Persian carpet and, if I do say so myself, it was a great choice because it complements my coat beautifully.  I have always liked blue tones.

I’m going to have to guard it carefully against those cats – especially the fringe which Cleo is bound to want to chew and kick.  I will be marshalling the long arm of the paw.

The magic seven

Seven today – can you believe it?  Seven years (well, less eight weeks) with my gorgeous mums and the sprog.  Gone by in a trice.  I remember the first day I came here, brought home in a cat basket!  I was bit smaller then, of course; about the same size as the resident cat, Sherry, who was responsible for whipping me (literally) into shape and teaching me my cat manners.  I wasn’t very happy when she wapped my bum while I was eating but it taught me to be wary of cats and respect their superior ways, warranted or not.

Wasn’t I just the cutest puppy?  Not that I’ve lost the cuteness now I’m a big boy.  I still take a mean portrait.  Agree?

First day