There has been an incident. So much for Boot Camp, I suspect Dylan and I are now in Disgrace. Deep in Disgrace. We 'may' have had a scrap. We 'may' have not wanted to stop scraping. We 'may' have given each other a few little nicks and scrapes.
What is certain is that I didn't get any special birthday treats on Monday (3 glorious years since the day of my birth!). We are definitely not being allowed to commit any argy bargy whatsoever. And, and this one is a shock, so please excuse me if I falter here...we haven't seen a single toy for 3 days!
That means no toys after dinner (a sacrosanct tradition). No toys of an evening when it is quiet in the pub. No toys. NO TOYS! Now, I am mature, I can cope. Really, I can. My main concern is obviously That Whippet, I mean Dylan. He is very keen on his toys. He mopes without toys. He loves being able to give his toys to me. Toys define him.
I am actually considering writing to someone about this. We are being forced to play with each other, for lack of alternatives. Yesterday, we had to make do with running up and down the balcony, wrestling in the living room, chasing each other in and out of the bedroom and mutual ear sniffing. Disgusting to make us resort to this. Does that sound like a happy and content dog household? No, I thought not.
It is hard to know where we go from here. Mum and Dad have given us no timetable for the release of the toys (I know where they are being held captive, but goddammit my paws can't open the latch on the cupboard door). We are being made to work very hard. 3 or 4 times a day there is training. On your mat. Give me paw. Roll over. Watch me. I'll watch them, I tell you. Everyday.
Everyday until the toys are released.
Free the toys!