Oh dear, Oh Dear. Look what they did to me! That Angel-Betty who is normally on my side! Doesn't she realise I have to face my gang on the Rec and beat them up occasionally. All my street cred will be gone! I can just hear that Ellie now, and Archie.... "They did WHAT to you?" I am meant to be a ruffty-tuffty Scottish Highland dog, out in all weathers, tirelessly pursuing vermin across the heather and bracken, fur full of burrs and wildlife, feet muddy from peat bogs, nose bloodied and eyes gimlet thin, the steely-eyed killer look.
Ah well - thanks for the photo's Angel-B. They are great!
Meanwhile, today finds us back in Portmarnock, at the Steak Lady's house, but the Steak Lady is away on hols, so the house, which is a B+B, is immaculate and quiet, with even the crackin' little Yorkie, Cracker, being dog-sat next door. I've been used to the Silverwood house, baby-M trying out his 1 year old vocals, J-M and Em-J racing about excited by all the Santa provisions, piles of toys and games and wrappings, toys that make tunes and noise electronically, like trains and planes, dog/child-friendly furnishings, dogs Chance and Sam periodically taking us on for bouts of play-fighting, comings and goings, and the voices of Silverwood and Mr-Em, plus our own Mum and Dad rising above it all. Mayhem, but Puppy-heaven.
I am afraid, I'm suited more to that than the peace, quiet and "keep off the furniture" of Mum (nursing, it has to be said, a minor hang-over) and Dad (scared stiff we'll break something or I might leave a small curl of poo somewhere bad). I have already been shoo-ed out of the "best room" when I was caught lifting every thing one-by-one out of a pot-pourri, so now I'm confined to the more dog friendly kitchen area, where there are at least dog toys. One (rather alarmingly) looks like a pink ghost and laughs like the Laughing Policeman when you chew it's arm
Never will suss humans. Why can't we just stay in Silverwood?
Deefer
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