Free the Toys Campaign Day 5
Days without toys = 7
Hypnotising Dad: Well, I have done lots of research, and found a suitably shiny medallion with which to put Dad under the influence but I have run into an insurmountable problem. It seems I need to be on a level high enough to dangle the darn medallion in front of his eyes. But that means getting on some furniture (the coffee table is particularly suitable) and Boot Camp rules mean that I am shooed off anything that is the least bit comfy or useful. 'Off Clive' is the bane of my life! Oh for a few more inches on these furry legs of mine! So, for now, hypnosis is off the agenda.
Blow doors off Prison Door: I was originally planning to just buy some explosives online, seemed like the easiest option, but Mum appears to have hidden all the credit cards. I'm really not a cash kind of guy, plus I'm not sure any of the shops I have seen in town are that kind of shop. Also, these two numpties who call themselves my "parents" haven't got a decent chemistry book between them, so its not as if I can manufacture some here at home! Sadly this exciting option is going the way of hypnosis.
Teleport Toys out: Absolutely out of the question. No way. I saw a clip of a documentary on YouTube that showed a creature being teleported and it was...I can hardly write the words...it was turned inside out!!! I simply cannot risk such a horrible fate happening to my (sorry, our) toys. It would be nightmarishly bad. No way. No.
Chew through door: This is our backup backup plan, for when things get really bad and they are clearly not going to return the toys any time soon, and everything else has failed. Partly because it requires them to leave us for a substantial amount of time, which they don't do very often, but mainly because I suspect (in my 3 years of experience as a dog) it will get us into serious disgrace. And Disgrace is what caused the Toys to be confiscated in the first place. I believe the term might be "counter-productive".
So, I find myself in the grips of a moral dilemma.There is a new option, an opportunistic option created by my muppetish co-campaigner's leap from a great height of yesterday. This option is called "Sympathy". A simple title for a cunning approach. Beseeching eyes, as we have found, are not in themselves sufficient to wrench those hard parental hearts. But gaping wounds? A bit of oh Mum it hurts me? Woe is meeee! What would make me feel better? Well, obviously more biscuits would help...what's that? Peanut butter biscuits? Yes, well, they would be welcome. But what would really make me feel better, what would put the wag back in my droopy little tail, well...that would be a toy, Mum. Yes, a toy.
The dilemma is that Dylan is actually a bit too sore to leap around with a toy. I gave it a good go this morning, and gave him several clubs round the head, ran round him in circles barking my head off, tore up and down the corridor plainly inviting him to play, but no. He just lay there looking pathetic. Every time I got near his pathetic little paw he'd move away pathetically. So, do I make him lie to Mum when it's actually me that wants the toys? When toys might actually make his sore paw sorer? Do I have it in me to practice such deceit?
Of course I do. He's only a Whippet.