Sunday, 20 November 2016

An Old Dog


Today a stranger called me 'pup'. I've not been called that in a long time. I'm old now, with a grey face to prove it. I enquired at the pet shop if they had any 'Just For Dogs' in brindle. The assistant laughed and suggested I try mixing a few colourants. What a waste of money. If I wanted the 'mud brown' look, I could have rolled in a field of cowpats.

I've also got arthritis. That's mainly why I've not been writing. My joints have been too sore. For a time I was hobbling around on three legs; then I got special medicine, and now the master's got me on cod liver oil to stop my joints clicking. It helps a little but my legs still get shaky after exercise. Licking helps but I keep getting told off about it. Especially in bed.


I've finally achieved my life-long ambition of sleeping every night in a human bed. I've devoted lots of crying and whining late at night until finally, the master and mistress relented. And by that, I mean the mistress.Their bed is big enough for the three of us but I still like a heat so tend to pick a side to warm me, pressing myself against their body. If I share the love on alternate nights they don't get too cranky. A couple of nights ago, I pushed a little too hard to get comfy and the master ended up with his legs on the floor. No wonder he's got a bad back. Maybe he should take cod liver oil too.




My main reason for writing this was to warn all my dog friends about a scam that is being perpetrated by the local estate agents. All across Paisley, they have erected 'For Sale' or 'Coming To Market' signs allegedly selling lamp posts, fences, street signs and patches of grass. Do not be fooled. Not only do you not get exclusivity on the marked object, you also have to buy a house too. I nearly fell for it. I went along for a viewing and was furious when I discovered what was going on. I commented in the middle of the garden and didn't use a poo bag. You don't need one if it's on private property. That's what I think about your despicable behaviour, estate agents. Besides, now I'm old, you said I didn't qualify for a mortgage.



It's just as well I'm settled where I am.

Saturday, 16 January 2016

The Dog-Friendly Pub


I was disappointed by my first visit to a dog-friendly pub. It was not what I expected. It was just a smelly room, full of lumpy people who smiled and laughed a lot, despite being sad inside. There weren't any notices but it seemed like it was competition night: to see who could be the noisiest. As the night went on the volume of the chatting got louder and louder until everyone was shouting. I wasn't even allowed to participate, which I would describe as particularly dog-unfriendly.   

I'm not sure exactly what constitutes 'dog-friendly'. I didn't notice any canine modifications at all. I don't think getting a rub on the head by the tipsy woman smoking in the doorway justifies the title 'friendly', especially as she subsequently blew smoke in my face while calling me cute. As the pub served food, I had hoped to join the master for dinner, or at least hoover the spilled food from around the other tables but that wasn't allowed. I was to sit quietly and not start a fight with any of the other dogs. No fun at all.



My idea of a dog friendly pub would have dog bouncers at the door (dobermans probably); it would have a roaring, wood-burning, open fire to lie in front of; when that floor space was full, the other dogs would have comfortable couches to sit and lie upon; there would be a choice of drinks at the bar, not just what was on tap; it would have constantly refilled bowls of free gravy bones and Burns nibbles to snack on at each low table; the games' room would have tug toys to pull and tennis balls to chew; the toilets would consist of a wet room with tree stumps of varying heights, with a grass patch beside them to scratch at afterwards. It would be a howl when we start to sing. Our anthem would be "Who let the dogs out?" Answer: "woof, woof, w-woof, woof". We could drink as much as we liked and not have to worry about getting arrested when we got caught short on the way home. 



Maybe I should start up my own chain. I like the sound of 'The Brindle Breed' but can you think of any other appropriate dog-friendly pub names? Replies in the comment section please.






Thursday, 14 January 2016

My Girl

This morning I watched from the bed as the master and the mistress passed one another in the bedroom; him heading for a shower; her, already showered, going to another room with a towel around her head, dressed in a fluffy, white dressing gown. They chatted about the plans for the day from their separate locations. The master turned on the radio and the opening bars of the song 'My Girl' were playing. He began to sing: properly, out loud and in tune, in the style of The Temptations.The mistress returned with a big pleased smile on her face. It vanished when she realised he was serenading me. 

'Talking 'bout my girl'. 

It's not my fault I'm gorgeous.