Sunday, 19 August 2012

Pet Shop Hindsight

I wanted to go into a pet shop. I figured I'm a pet, it's a shop, I ought to go. It's made for me. And the wonders I found. Toys, treats and more than one flavour of Burns dog food. I couldn't believe it. For over six years I've been getting the same chicken and rice for breakfast and dinner, barring occasions when I'm sick. It's no wonder that I scavenge for a bit of variety. Best case I find a nice nibble, worst I get ill and am given an alternative dinner of scrambled egg and rice. Win, win (but not Winalot: another brand I discovered but have never tasted). It would be nice to be given a menu once in a while for a little choice. "Would madam like the chicken or the fish? The duck or the lamb? With rice or maize? And for dessert...?" One thing I don't understand is why does a dog's breakfast and dog's dinner mean the opposite of one another? My dinner and breakfast look exactly the same (quantity excepting). One's no more a mess or tidier than the other. 

The main problem I encountered in the shop was following shop etiquette. No one explained to me that you had to buy before you eat. It wasn't obvious. I mean if you put food on open display at mouth height, you should expect me to eat some of it. I had a similar problem in the newsagents with the newspapers being on the lowest shelf. Apparently you need to buy them too before soiling them. I never saw any prohibition notices. I think that's why most shops only allow entry to guide dogs. They've obviously read the guide on how to behave in shops. 

We were asked to leave the pet shop but only after my master had paid for my snacking. We're not allowed back. I hope I managed to 'contaminate' enough food (their word not mine) to keep me going till he finds me another food source. I don't want to end up starving. Speaking of which, somewhere in my genetics, I'm told, I've got a bit of whippet. I can't see it myself. I met three muzzled whippets at the campsite and they just looked anorexic. I love food too much to look that thin. Maybe the owner forgets to remove their muzzles at meals times. No wonder they're bad tempered.

I've been following the blog of author, Caro Ramsayin the run up to the release of her new book, 'The Blood of Crows'. In real life she's an osteopath, with a different name. She treats humans and animals. I once tried to get an appointment with her for a stress-relieving massage. With all the cats living on my street and especially with the new one next door, my hackles were cramping. But when I phoned for an appointment, her receptionist couldn't understand me. So I ate a snack instead. In hindsight, I should have sent an email instead. Hindsight is wonderful. It stops you being attacked in the rear, important if you want to protect your integrity. And would have saved me getting a smacking outside the pet shop. 

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