Starting to sit more in the summerhouse but it was a brief sojourn today. A bit chilly, even in there. My mum could have closed the door but Marley was firmly on her knee and she doesn’t like to move him. That’s fine until she her knee seizes up and she can’t feel her toes! Cleo stayed outside, miaowing loudly. But when does she ever do anything else? Haven’t a clue what she wants most of the time.
I make my needs very clear – a helpless look means ‘feed me’, spinning around trying to catch my tails says it’s time for a run, retreating to the tiled hallway indicates I’m hot and my head on my mum’s knee tells her I want cuddles. Couldn’t be plainer – and she calls me thick!
After my outing at the weekend, followed by a joyous swim off the beach, I am done in, completely bushed. I was so sleepy yesterday afternoon that I hadn’t realised my mum had forgotten to give me my dinner until 7.30pm!
She decided I should take it easy today so it was a trip to the shops instead of running in the park. She was right – I hadn’t the energy to pull on the lead like usual. She had clothes to donate to the PDSA and the staff were so taken with me they said she could leave me in their care and go get her groceries – otherwise I’d have been tied up outside Sainsbury’s.
SIX offers they told her they’d had for me when she returned. SIX – I am such a popular dog!
Marley Cat has disgraced himself two days on the trot – nibbled the top off a cheese and bacon quiche yesterday then licked the butter today. My mum is incandescent.
After lunch with a friend, she put a cover over the last slice of quiche but cleverclogs tipped it off and helped himself. I was the beneficiary because after that it wasn’t fit for human consumption.
This morning she’s making bacon sandwiches and finds him licking the top of the butter in the dish.
She puts the lid on, goes away while the bacon cooks and comes back to discover he’s knocked one slice of bread off the other (supposed precaution to avoid said cat having a go) and licked more butter!
He’s now hanging his head in shame, in the proverbial doghouse. Looks as if he’s in the summerhouse to me. I thought she said the summerhouse wasn’t a dog kennel…
Update July 14
More horrors from the cat! He pinched cake which had been left under a teatowel overnight – crumbs on the counter and a big scoop out of the tin. I was allowed some of the rest for breakfast but the remains went in the bin. I would never steal food…
I am adorned with the cone of shame and am having great difficulty managing myself around the house and yard.
My mum put it on because I wouldn’t stop licking my shaved leg which has become infected and needs steroid cream twice a day. Of course I’m licking it straight off cos it’s sticky. She tried a bandage but I got that off in seconds so it was desperate measures.
But this cone is too much. I’ve not a clue how to manoeuvre and have been banging into things, knocking over plantpots in the yard and got stuck trying to get into the summerhouse. Thing is, it’s see-through so you don’t realise the edge is about a foot away and…whack!!
I also got into trouble for sneaking up to my mum and bashing her legs with the edge. She wasn’t very happy cos she fell while we were out for the first time yesterday and is already very sore.
I’m really worried about not being able to eat my dinner. I may starve to death. How can I possibly reach my bowl with this thing on?
Mum went out today for coffee with friends and left me in charge…of the summerhouse! The sun was shining and it was really warm so she said I could stay outside in the yard but she would leave open the door of the summerhouse in case it got chilly. It’s June but it can still be a bit cool. Mum complains on the beach when there’s wind as it cuts the temperature by several degrees. I don’t notice, of course, being covered in fur.
It stayed lovely and warm but I lay on the rug anyway, just to show I was the boss. My mum was ages, far longer than it takes to have coffee, so when I heard the car pull up I made a big noise so that she knew I hadn’t been neglecting my duty as yard guard. I sound quite frightening if you don’t know me; there’s some power in my bark I tell you. Mum isn’t frightened of course and just tells me to shut up. Which I think is very ungrateful since I’ve been protecting the property while she gossips and shops the afternoon away.
Just look what my mum made for me – the biggest dog kennel in the world! It’s got all the doggy necessities, kitted out with a rug, plants, chairs so that she can join me when I need company and a table at nose height for snaffling leftovers.
Wait a minute, she says it’s NOT A DOG KENNEL, it’s a summerhouse. Could have fooled me. I love it, and the new flagstones in the yard. Sandstone with fossils, I’m told.
Now I should explain for my US fans that an English yard is not like a yard in America with grass and stuff. Our yards are paved and usually at the back of the house, very private, where a canine can have good sniff around, etc, in complete safety. Ours has high walls and is a real suntrap when the yellow thing decides to make an appearance.
We have lots of herbs and other plants, especially hostas which my mum loves. But so do snails so there has been a big snail hunt to get rid of the beasts and mum has put them in high pots so that I can’t do any damage if I’m doing a spot of – er – watering.
She’s good to me, my mum, making such a lovely space.