The evil eye

I don’t know there’s such a fuss about Halloween – ghosts, cobwebs, pumpkins, spooks – when I have to live with the evil eye all the time.  I’m never free.  Two cats in my house, THREE in bootcamp where the latest addition is a youngster who likes to swipe my tail and ride on my back.  It’s all peaceful then – whoah! – this tiny terror, black and white fur with claws at the ready, leaps on me and thinks he’ll have some fun!  It’s not funny from my angle cos, although I try not to show it, I’z scared of cats, have been ever since Sherry wopped me on my bum when I was just a pup.  I try to be brave but I’m outnumbered, outmanoevred, all the time.  And the humans just laugh.  They should try being me and see how they like it.

 

Marley gives me the evil eye. 

While the dog’s away…

…the cats will play.  Both of them have been having a ball while I’ve been at bootcamp for the weekend.  Leaping about, pouncing, tugging, hiding – it’s not right, that’s my field.  At least they kept themselves to the dangly toy and didn’t interfere with any stuffed animals, which are mine to tear apart.  I would be very upset if they set about the remains of Rudolph who arrived my first Christmas.  There are only two legs left and they’re MINE!!

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Cleo, the dark tabby, has some brown pigmenttion in her left eye, nothing to worry about.

You want me to eat this?

Now I know I’m a very lucky dog to have not one but two loving homes, to have the beach and playing fields to roam every day, to know where my meals are coming from – but some things are not to be tolerated.

My mum really got me going saying there was chicken in my dinner and then I find she sneaked in potatoes as well!

They were cooked in chicken stock she says – yes, but they’re still potato so out of the bowl they go!

Potatoes, I ask, I’m a dog, a carnivore, I don’t do vegetables.  The cat wouldn’t eat vegetables so should I?

Puddle duck…er, dog

Since I was a tiny puppy I’ve not been able to resist a puddle.  I would sit in them on the beach to cool off after a romp and I’ve been attracted to them ever since.

I get called bad names if they’re muddy but it’s so refreshing after you’ve been running around.  This one didn’t attract too much criticism from my mum cos it was clean rainwater.  If I go in a muddy one I get sluiced with the hosepipe back home and I don’t like that, even if I get wrapped in my surf dog robe afterwards.

A friend once tried to wash me down after a particularly mucky paddle and my mum was in hoots of laughter, said he hadn’t a clue, that you should hold the dog not chase after him…  The yard had the best wash that day!

Will you be my friend?

Cooked my goose…

In the proverbial doghouse (again).  My mum was going out this morning so a friend offered to take me out for a walk with his two dogs.  I know them all well so was really up for it and off we went.

Twenty minutes later he’s on the phone to my mum telling her I’ve run off and can she come help find me.  Well that went down a treat!

Before she could reach the playing fields (in her high heels), there’s another phone call telling her I’ve been recovered and she can go home.

She was not very happy and said I’d cooked my goose this time.  I love roast goose – we’ve had it the last two Christmases – but somewhow I don’t think that’s what she meant…

 

 

Such a full day

I’m pooped.  Didn’t get out until afternoon because we had TWO lots of visitors today (which meant my mum made cheese scones, yum, yum) and looking after visitors takes it out of a dog.

Two of my doggy pals came first and mum played a treat game where she tossed biscuits in the air, let them land and we had to scrabble for them on the yard.  That was great fun.  Then I washed Arthur’s ears and got some ear rubs myself from his owner.

After that some of my mum’s friends arrived so I had to get people seated, make sure Marley wasn’t on the table then keep an eye out for dropped crumbs which needed clearing up.

Finally it was me-time with a street stroll then a gallop on the fields.  Phew.  I think I deserve my sleep, don’t you?

 

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