Lost* the ball in the park, didn’t I, so a big search was instituted which involved me rustling in the undergrowth, diving into bushes and leaping around a wildflower meadow which is going to seed. Ended up with hundreds of sticky burrs and seeds in my coat. Yuk.
Didn’t manage to find the ball, or the Chuck It one I lost in the same place last week.
I had a good brush when we got home but there a still loads to come out. At least my ears are clear.
- As we were leaving, having searched everywhere, another walker shouted she’d found it. In a patch of long grass. How did I miss that when my breed is renowned for its prowess in this field? Field, field – who said field?
Look at me in action – aren’t I magnificent, ears and feathers flying, my Chuckit ball firmly in my mouth?
This is our nearest park, opposite my favourite pub (Left Luggage Room) and not too far from home so that my mum doesn’t have to be pulled too far on the lead.
Sunshine, park, ball – my favourite things! And the biscuits afterwards. Hang on – where are my BISCUITS???
There’s a big patch of daffodils in the park just round the corner from our house and though my mum says I haven’t to romp and knock them over they are sooooo cooling after I’ve been running about chasing the ball.
Sometimes we have daffodils in the house and that Marley Cat stuffs his face in them and tries to drink the water from the vase they’re in. He has no shame – sips from taps, sticks his head in coffee cups and even tries to drink my mum’s gin and tonic.
Stupid, I reckon, when he has his own water bowl and is not shy about slurping from mine.
But then who knows how cats’ brains work. Not me, for certain.
Marley and the daffs