Oh it’s good to be home. My mistress missed me as much as I missed her. She even let me sleep on her bed with her all night. I had such a lovely cuddle; it was brilliant.
I don’t think I am supposed to be pleased about this, but I am. Despite the man coming to ‘deal with’ the moles whilst we were away, our specially trained ‘wonder-moles’ are fighting back. There is an English expression about being on the side of the ‘underdog’, which I think needs a little adapting. In this battle of mole against human, I’m backing the ‘undermole’ to win. Go Moles!
On a less successful front the boxes in the garage which are waiting to be packed, got wet, something to do with water leaking out of the base of the basketball hoop. I wonder if they will dry out enough to be packed or whether my master will be sent on a mission to buy some more.
I have been thinking some more about the English and the word ‘dog’. They use ‘dog leg’ in a descriptive way and I’m not objecting to that but ‘dog eared’ has changed from meaning simply ‘turning down the corner of a page so it looks like a dog’s ear’ to ‘tatty’ and frankly I take exception to that. At least with ‘moth eaten’ it isn’t actually insulting the moth him or herself. The injustices in the dog world are never ending. It isn’t as though everyone else calls us dogs. To most countries we are ‘hounds’, perhaps my name should have been Alfie Hound or maybe for formal occasions I could be Alfred Hound esq. Perhaps I will just use that when I am knighted, Sir Alfred Hound, it sounds very important, or should that read pretentious?