There has been an outrage. I am betrayed. I am still in shock, so bear with me.
It started like any other Sunday. Pub open, quiet, people in, people out. Some ate food (though why they insist on feeding titbits to That Whippet instead of me I shall never know - I alerted Mum to the fact that It was getting fed and she locked the situation down immediately. Ha.) Anyway. We had a darn tasty dinner, some kind of fish with tomatoes, some unidentified soft mush that was probably once a vegetable, a nice seasoning in the rice, a hint of cheese even - in fact now I think about it, an excellent dinner with the obvious exception that there was not enough of it. There never is.
But I get distracted. Pub dinner was over and, excitingly the oven stayed on. I took up position outside the kitchen doorway. There's this tiresome rule that I can't actually enter the kitchen. Something to do with "hygiene" whatever that is. But it does seem to be a Big Rule. That Whippet and I had a conversation early on in our pub careers about this rule and decided it wasn't worth all the finger wagging that went along with so much as a paw hair crossing the threshold. So, for now, we just patrol the borders.
So. The oven stayed on and Mum stayed inside. Soon I could smell cheese, garlic, it was alluring. Then, she ventured upstairs (closely followed by myself) and fetched from the utility room...wait for it...a Tin of PILCHARDS! Now, this can sometimes mean we are about to get fed so I must admit to getting a little ahead of myself, despite having already had 2 (excellent) meals...did I mention breakfast? No, oh okay. Maybe tomorrow.
But the pilchards disappeared into the kitchen with Mum and then the real torment started. The sweet sweet smell of baking pilchard bread. Oh my aching stomach. I sat and sat and waited and waited. Eventually she emerged. Sans pilchard bread! Nope, not a sausage (ooh, sausage!). Instead, I couldn't believe my ears. The perfidy.
The pilchard bread is for Someone Else. Yes, another dog. Not That Whippet, it's not a dog we even know, so it is highly unlikely that they will share with me! It is going in something called "A Parcel" for some damn dog in London. Don't they have pilchard bread in London? I know it's not Wales down there, but even so.
To be honest, I still haven't got over the shock. The pilchard bread is still in the building, so there is hope. Isn't there? I may still find a way to stop the "parcel" taking my pilchard bread away. And I definitely will have to do some research on who this other dog is and what kind of threat they represent to any future pilchard bread batches.
Will keep you posted! Now I have to go bagsy the best bit of the bed.