2009. Day 64.
That Whippet is still here. After the chaos that was Christmas and New Year (blimey, people really like going to the pub round them don't they????) I was looking forward to an early rehoming of the hairy one and then a nice quiet reversion to me being the Only One in the parents eyes.
Apparently not. We are now expected to get along famously. There will be no scraps (no, not food, the other kind, though I don't seem to be getting scraps either, must write a memo to Mother about that). There will be no shenanigans. There will be fun. There will be brotherly love (yuck yuck yuck). There will be occasional sharing of the sofa. There will be 'doing as you're told'.
I tell you, the regime in this house has to be experienced to be believed. Other rules include:
No barking at the binmen at 6am on a Wednesday morning
No barking at people passing by the pub, especially if they have dogs or small children
No barfing and then eating it up (ha! just let them try and stop me)
No running across the room and taking That Whippet's dinner from under this nose (well, if he will let me, then why shouldn't I?)
No chewing up of random items to spite parents who have gone out without us (that's for Dylan mostly)
No stealing logs or bark from the wood pile and then crunching it up and strewing the wreckage around the pub (well, what else is the wood pile for?)
etc. etc. Fun is being squeezed out of my life.
I need a dog swap. If you have a luxurious house with polite and intelligent gundogs in residence who enjoy chase, wrestling and barking, preferably with a dog bed in every room and no objection to me using yours for my most excellent roaching, and you have plenty of meat to feed me, then please let me know. Ideally, you should have a stupid bouncy highly excitable fast running annoying ball of hair that can come and live in my place here with That Whippet, then the parents might not notice I have emigrated to a Better Life.
Only serious swap offers please, I have high standards.