Wednesday 15th March 2006

I saw another of those strange road names the other day ‘Badger Wood Glade’. I got all excited seeing as how fond I am of the woodland animals and the forest near here. So there I was wagging my tail and running round in excitement but it was nothing short of fraud. No badgers, no wood, no glade, in fact not so much as a tree in sight. I think on that basis I should rename where I live ‘Concrete Jungle Freeway’ so that it is just as far from the truth as all the other road names I see.

I wrote to hedgehog to ask if I can go and see him. The woodland postal service is operated by the Magpies. It is reasonably efficient but the biggest problem seems to be that they rifle through everything first to see if there is anything they want to keep in their nests. You can pay extra to get a carrion crow escort but I didn’t have enough left from my pocket money, so I will just have to hope it gets there ok. I didn’t know the exact address or for that matter hedgehog’s full name, so I just put ‘Mr Hedgehog, The Woodland Prison, The Wood at The Bottom of The Garden’ and hope that the Magpie understands.

I was taken to the vet again yesterday. My mistress said I didn’t need to worry because it was only for a blood test. What she didn’t tell me that a blood test also involves having a needle stuck in me. So why did I not need to worry? How does that differ from an injection exactly? The good news seems to be that as long as the result is ok I can travel to England in 6 months time. What I am not sure about is why that might be good news, are English lampposts better than the ones in Belgium? Is there an endless supply of acorns? Do English dogs smell different? I wonder if there is a travel guide to England that I can get written from a dog’s perspective?

I was talking to my mistress yesterday and well I can’t believe how odd humans are. She was telling me that when she was little they didn’t have home computers. Can you believe that? No internet! She used to type on a thing called a typewriter that didn’t save any of her work. If she made a mistake she had to either cross it out or start again and there was no built in spell checker, she had to use a real paper dictionary. She was trying to explain to me how every so often she had to change the ribbon on the typewriter and how it was a bit like the printer cartridge except you used to end up with ink all over your paws. I said I still do that with a print cartridge, but she said I would have been even worse with a ribbon. They didn’t have colour either just black or red, she really must be very old.