Bootcamp

You’re probably wondering about bootcamp.  It’s staying with the Irish Aunt, a few streets away, most weekends and where I go if my mum is away so I’m something special: a shared dog, been this way from when I was a pup.  We called it bootcamp because early on I got put through frequent, vigorous training sessions there.

Now, if I’m honest, I go mainly to tease the Irish Aunt’s two cats – Missy and Fudge (no hissing from them) – savour the interesting food which appears in my bowl (love pizza, why doesn’t my mum have lots of pizza?) and sleep on the beds cos I’m not allowed to do that at home.  In fact I’m not allowed upstairs even because that, apparently, is THE CATS’ domain because they don’t like me scoffing any food they leave.  I say I’m cleaning up, we can’t let good food go to waste, can we?

The one thing I can’t stand about bootcamp, total canine embarrassment, is being dressed up in silly clothes – shorts, T-shirts, hats, skirts even – by the aunt’s little girl.

Sh???????????????'e puts me in some rare outfits then her mum splits her sides laughing. They think I don’t have feelings – takes away all my dignity.

I don’t know how I find the patience.  Just look!

 

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