For the first time in my life I have a real menu all of my own to choose from. It’s all down to a bit of a mix up on the purchasing front, the result of living some distance from big shops and having to get things ordered in. It turns out that I’m special and my food isn’t stocked by the kennels and pet shop on a normal basis. When my mistress placed the order, she had taken the ‘just in time ordering’ a tad too far and was about to run out. Now don’t say I didn’t offer to eat steak rather than force a 25 mile round trip to the big pet shop. To cut a long story short she bought the chicken and rice flavour from the big shop and then a couple of days later collected the lamb and rice flavour from the local shop. I can be just as difficult as the rest of the house now – do I want lamb or do I want chicken. Chicken, not lamb, no chicken. Both?
I’m trying to persuade my Mistress that she doesn’t need to wait for Andy to be here to go to feed the ducks. I want to feed the ducks. I might pinch some bits of bread but I could throw most of it.
My Master has suggested I could be a PAT dog. He had to explain what that was as I just assumed it meant I got patted. Apparently, it would mean I did voluntary work, going into hospitals so that people could benefit from the calming influence of a dog. My Master thinks my biggest weakness would be my tendency to ask everyone to scratch my bottom, but if you’ve got an itch you need it scratching! I wonder what I’d have to do to qualify to be an official hospital visitor.