Wednesday, 16 May 2012
A sorry turn of events
Dear Parents ( I mean the 'dear' politely, not from much affection at this point in time).
I feel driven to write this letter and submit it as part of our formal complaints procedure. I have indeed been putting it off for quite some time, but I feel I can stay silent no longer. What has sparked this off? Betrayal by The Thing (is my rump there to be slapped? Is it? Is it?) and persistent annoying denial of basic rights (you do remember what a dog treat is, don't you? hmm?).
Since The Thing came to live with us last year, we (I and Dylan - I use his name as a mark of our solidarity on this issue) have been through a lot. We have put up with a lot. We have survived A Lot. We have been ignored, forgotten, set aside, given paltry walks, fed indifferently, never played with, told off for the silliest things and generally been made to feel like we were Unimportant.
I readily admit that in the early days after Thing's arrival there was some weakness in me and I *may* have slightly used the situation to my advantage to access food that was *perhaps* not intended for me. I still maintain that an open kitchen door is a direct invitation to a spaniel, but I take your point about the kitchen being off limits open or not blah blah blah. And it was Mother's word against mine that I removed half of Grannie's sandwich off the coffee table that time. I protested my innocence then and I protest it now.
As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, both Dylan and I both felt things were getting out of hand. Just as we were beginning to despair a glimmer of hope arrived in the form of improved exercise with Dad. His pathetic health kick is very useful to us in that we now get, most days, quite excellent walks and also substantial runs on a regular basis. This has helped my own god-like physique and I am grateful.
Please don't think, however, that I am satisfied. A nostalgic look back through my early blogging days has made me wonder whether I haven't lost a little of my fire, my youthful vigour. My righteous campaigning for better conditions. I have, dare I say it, gotten a little...middle aged.
Well it ends now. No longer will we be content to subsist on the crumbs of your life. We will regain our rightful place at the bosom of the family. Well, I will anyway. If it pleases you to leave Dylan out in the cold then that's your right to chose and I will support you all the way.
You have been warned Parents, so take heed. I love you, but sometimes tough love is what is required.
I have dusted off my campaign helmet and tested my mettle for a fight.