At last it seems to be summer, although that seems a bit odd given it is now officially autumn. I suppose I can just add that to the pile of things that I presume I don’t understand because of being a dog. Take yesterday, the couple who run our pub got married. My Mistress seemed very pleased with the picture she took of the bride and the wedding car outside the pub. I asked what she was going to do with it and she said she could put it in the book on the local history that she is writing. Now, how can it be history when it is happening now?
I asked her that and she said, “Alfie, what time is it?”
I looked at the clock, which quite honestly she could have read for herself and said “2 o’clock”.
“Right,” she said, “and what time did I take the picture?”
“Well, 12 o’clock.”
“There you are,” she said, “It’s already two hours in the past, so now it’s history.”
I couldn’t say a lot to that. I’d always thought that history was things that happened before I was born, all the things I didn’t experience first hand. Having said that, I didn’t experience the bride leaving for the wedding first hand either. I stayed home with my Master in the ‘why do you want to do that?’ camp. I’m told it’s probably a girl thing.
You may be pleased to know we are getting closer to understanding the problem with my GPS system. You’d be forgiven for thinking that this one didn’t work either, but the reality is that it does but there is no reception in our little pocket of the middle of nowhere. Their next experiment will be to see whether that is just in this house or whether it is the whole village. If I’m going to get lost, I may need to go further away to do it.