It's been an odd week.
On Monday I found some lovely fresh horse poo. It came back on me dreadfully but tasted delicious. Rich in carrots. In the car back from the Glen I regretted rolling in it though. A bit too fresh. I was caked in it. When we got back to the house and the mistress remarked about the smell, I didn't wait. With my lead still trailing, I trotted up the stairs, pushed open the bathroom door and jumped into the bath. The master and mistress howled with laughter. I was just expediting the inevitable. I knew it was bath time.
On Tuesday I was rewarded with some chips at the park. I found them behind the cafe. Then later I found a nearly whole sliced white loaf in a bin near the putting green. I polished off about ten slices before my hind legs began to feel weak. I think I ate too much. It was awful. I could see the other five slices but my stomach had no more room. My master was concerned when he found me lying down beside them. Not flat out, but on my tummy. He clipped on my lead and checked me over. I burped. He told me it would serve me right if I got ill but I can't help it. I'm a food addict.
All that bread had left me dry and thirsty. I needed a drink. The pond was still frozen so I had to make do with licking at a puddle. I was thinking: if I'd found a little deep fried fish my supper would have qualified as a fish tea. Not that I had any room for fish, or Bonio, as it turned out. A couple of licks and I thought no, I'm going to be sick. And I was.
That meant I was back on the Chappie and scrambled egg for a couple of days and no off-lead walks. I don't enjoy walking on a lead. It's not natural. It makes me nervous, being leashed to a human. You can't relax and enjoy the walk, taking in the smells at your leisure. They're only interested in avoiding a fine for failing to scoop your poop. I'm surprised they haven't invented a special poo pouch to stop it reaching the ground. Or maybe they have. I've never met another dog with a colostomy pouch but they might exist. I imagine it would be quite difficult to attach one to the coat. The owners would probably argue over whose turn it was to change the bag. I wonder if having a colostomy would change my scent. When my friends nip round my rear to say hello if the well was dry would it smell different? Probably.
Not really the thought I wanted to leave you with, so instead I'll end with a confession. It's shocking and I'm not proud of it but I feel I have to clear my conscience (in case it goes to court): I bit my mistress. She has a bruise and everything.
I'll explain what happened next time.