I find it difficult to believe but I am not the biggest love in my master's life. It drives me crazy. How can a fifty year old TV programme be more important than me?
The BBC was transmitting a special Dr Who anniversary show on Saturday November 23rd, simulcast in 94 countries, with cinema screenings up and down the country, beaming out to homes in HD and 3D on the red button (for those with 3D enabled televisions). It was a big deal with multiple Doctors, Daleks, Zygons and Billie Piper. The story was a strictly guarded secret but you couldn't turn on a BBC channel without hearing a 'Save the Day' clip or a 'Day of the Doctor' trailer being shown. I found it all a bit sickening.
I've got nothing against Dr Who as such, although why he needed a robot dog instead of a real one I'll never fathom. I'm sure the Tardis could restructure itself a garden for long walks and pooing. The Doctor wouldn't have to worry about the console being urinated on if he spent a little time (which he has lots of) training the pooch. If a certain planet had rules against bringing in pets he could leave it behind with a gravy bone. There must be millions of safe planets to play on, the ones that don't need saving. As I said, my gripe is not with the show. It's with my master's love of the show.
I was jealous and wanted to ruin it for him. I couldn't tell him the plot because that was under wraps. I couldn't just bark during the broadcast because he might murder me in a who fan rage attack I needed a subtle plan.
I knew we were heading to the cabin to watch the spectacle in 3D and I also knew he regularly falls asleep on the cabin couch watching TV. All I needed to do was make him so tired, he would fall asleep and miss part of it. That would teach him a lesson.
Playing the long game, I began on the Monday and continued each night thereafter. At midnight I wailed and cried and barked until he got back up and pandered me with attention until the small hours. I didn't let on if I was cold, needed the toilet or was disturbed by an outside menace. I just let him think it could be any of them. It wasn't my fault he was unable to sleep if I needed him.
And it worked up to a point. I hadn't bargained that the mistress might get involved. On a couple of the nights she got up instead and inflicted me with my torture collar, the one that squirts me on the nose at the touch of a button. I had to endure and push through the discomfort to ensure the master was kept awake too. He was going to be gloriously tired for the Saturday night.
When it looked like he might doze on the Saturday afternoon, I insisted on going on a long walk: two trips around the dog walking area and a tour of the entire campsite. My plan was working right up until the point where he stopped at the campsite shop and bought a big bottle of regular Coca Cola. Sugar and caffeine were going to ruin my scheme. I watched in horror as each gulp brought his droopy eye lids back to life.
I had to improvise. I had one last chance at a subtle intervention to pick me over Dr Who. During the evening walk. just prior to the show, when the mistress was watching 'Strictly', I insisted on playing a game of retrieve the ball, getting off lead in the process. Then I made out that I'd heard some wildlife in the woods and ran away and hid. He was forced to search for me. It was a frosty night but I found some deer droppings for sustenance. I heard his whistles and calls but ignored them. He was going to miss the start of his programme and that would drive him nuts. I was gambling on forgiveness, knowing the mistress would back me up for being so silly at letting me off the lead.
Then the plan went wrong. The whistles were getting further away. He was heading back to the cabin. How dare he! I rushed back towards him. He stopped upon hearing me crashing through the ferns. If I delayed him further, by taking him a long route back, we might just be late enough to miss the start. He knew the way though. His torch was picking out the correct route. My lead got reclipped so I had to follow his route. I ducked under bramble vines to tangle the line and cut around bushes so he'd have to circle back. Instead of walking to the forest entrance I slipped sideways and shuffled down the steep slope behind the cabin, hoping for a standoff where he wanted me to return so he could make an easier exit but, no, he practically ran down that slope to get back on time.
I sulked on their bed while the programme was on. The mixture of caffeine and adrenaline from our adventure had made him wide awake and he enjoyed every single 3D minute of it. He loved it so much he forgave me for all the trouble I'd caused. A wise dog once said 'love is forgiveness'. So he does love me after all. But I'll just have to accept if I want him to love me more, I'll just need to get a part in Dr Who. What is Steven Moffat's email address?