Noooo... nothing witchy. My yellow frisbee. Tonight we were giving it some serious stick in between racing around on the Rec with sis Ellie, and old-girl Misha (yay! 5 westies!), when Dad gave the frisbee one huge throw and it "burst" on impact with the ground. I'm told this is where I had almost chewed through it, but I can't help it. It's a lovely chewy feel, which yields just right to a girl's carnacials.
Give it some yang-tang-yang-yang between the back teeth and you produce a lovely scallop-edged cut across it, as if done with pinking shears (Dad used to call them "Crocodile scissors" when he was a boy). The poor ring was quite frayed looking by the end and always looked like a new one might be a good idea. Well tonight it's in the bin and a girl is wondering whether it's too late to shove a request up the chimbley for Santa Clause
Mmmmm... thinks.... making a list and checking it twice..... does shouting at Alsatians count against me? Eating that Chanel make-up compact? Chewing Mum's personal stuff.... almost taking Mum and Dad's fingers off when proffered a sweetie.......? What is a girl to do to redress the balance?
Talking of "old ladies", we are pleased that Dad's Aunt (Pud Lady's sister) is through a heart valve replacement op and is currently being disconnected from all the external plumbing, and that Steak-Lady , in the same week, is through her hip replacement operation. Go you ladies. The former is a definite Dalmatian fan, having owned a succession of enooooormous boys, the latter is currently owner to (Yorkies) Cracker and Rosie, but has had boxers and a collie cross in the past. Both, though, have time for westies. Perhaps they'll put in a good word for me with Santa.