Excluded
I’ve been excluded and I’m not happy. ‘I’m sorry, Wilma, but no dogs are allowed.’ As an excuse that simply doesn’t cut it. Why are my humans arranging anything in a place where no dogs are allowed? They’ve got four of us. Mum has got her book launch today and it’s being held in a big museum. Why do they think I wouldn’t want to see the dinosaurs every bit as much as Dad does? Ok, granted there would be a risk of me gnawing on one of the bones and that’s something I’ve rarely known Dad do… except spare ribs, he quite likes those.
I think the problem is that Mum has been worried by the cartoon that does the rounds, where there is a book signing with two tables. There is a sign saying ‘meet the author’ with no people queueing and one saying ‘meet the author’s dog’ with a long queue. That’s me, I’m the author’s dog!
Looking after Aristotle
My job for the weekend is to cheer Aristotle up. When three of us are left behind, because Shadow now likes to share with Alfie, Aristotle is left out and he’s not enjoying it. It’s not as though he really liked having to share with his mother, but now he hasn’t got her he has realised she wasn’t so bad. Mind you, after a weekend with me I suspect Aristotle won’t think his own company is so bad either. It’s funny how much he minds being pounced on these days. When I was a puppy he seemed much more up for pouncing. I guess he is eight years old now and maybe I shall go off pouncing by then. I did find it a bit much when my nephew, Gromit, tried jumping on me recently, so Aristotle may have a point.
Love
Wilma