Thursday 21 February 2008


I'm sure it's quite unjustified, my reputation for being a "gannet", necking as quickly as possible even huge bowls of food, maximising the chances of 2nd helpings should either M or H step back from their own bowls, stealing their "sweeties" and picking up any bits of old cast-off take-away dropped by the herberts walking round town. Saturday morning walks are best for this.

Unless I am separated from them at an early stage, I also end up with all the real dog bones and it's therefore me that buries them in the garden, me that remembers where they lie, festering and, eventually me that dis-inters them secretly and slurps deliciously (but surreptitiously) on the rotting remains. Mum and Dad would kill me for this if they saw, and they say "if you don't kill yourself first!...", but they don't.

So, it's nobody's surprise then, that I'm off my food again, refusing an entire bowl. It's not happened for a while. Used to happen every couple of months before I was restricted to only the "Butchers' Tripe" tinned food, but the parents still recall some of the more explosive, looser, "dietary ghastliness". Generally I'd be like this for 24 hours, then it'd all go back to normal (gannet mode), so let's hope that's the case this time.

Mum and Dad keep eye-ing me up with concern, as if expecting to need to grab me and post me out into the back garden at short notice.


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