Sunday, 24 December 2017

Scotland’s First Dog Cafe

As you'll have noticed, I've not been doing a lot of writing recently. I only wrote this because a loud master fart woke me during the night and I needed to get up. He slept on but the curry smell was atrocious.

Something interesting happened the other evening. It was during the cold spell when the pavements on our estate were hazardous with black ice. Even I was slipping. The master looked like he was skating badly, arms waving randomly with every wobble. As we were tied together by a leash, I was scared if he fell he would crush me. After a couple of close calls, he decided to return to the house and put me in the car to drive to Barshaw Park. Not that he allowed me to drive. I was in the boot. 

It had been ages since we'd been there. Upon arrival, I jumped out of the back and immediately smelled my old pals, Pat and Rick. They're labradoodle twins and completely mental. I've known them since we were pups. We used to run up to the joggers and bark at them, 'that's not how you do it.' Then we'd run rings round them really fast. It was great fun, although our masters did get some abuse to 'keep those animals under control'. That's joggers for you. No sense of humour. That's why they run so slow, cos the life's draining out of them like a used battery.

Speaking of which, the master's amazing torch failed that night so he had no way of knowing where I was. Pat, Rick and I had a great toodle around in the dark. We were sniffing everywhere. 

I heard a woman calling "Ball... Biscuit" and went to investigate. I thought she was advertising. Looking back it was a silly thing to do. She could have been a Barshaw witch luring me in for her pot. Fortunately, she wasn't. It turned out those were the names of her two dogs. They were chihuahuas. They weren't very happy and snarled at me as I approached for my anticipated treat. I growled back and things got a bit heated until the master angrily summoned me back. I got told off for misbehaving and put back on the lead.

I then overheard Pat and Rick's owner discussing how those dogs were always angry because they'd been turned down for the Edinburgh Dog Cafe, as he called it. My ears pricked up at this point. Disappointingly, he didn't elaborate so I had to wait til later to look it up.

I didn't know quite what to expect. I knew it couldn't be a cafe with Dog on the menu. Even in the exotic, eastern wilds of Edinburgh, they wouldn't let witches serve up dog commercially. It was possible (but highly improbable) that the chihuahuas had been turned down because they didn't have enough meat on their bones but they might still have qualified as a starter or as tapas*. Anyway, I dropped that suggestion. 

Then, just as I was getting excited at the thought of a cafe specifically for me, I found the website and howled with disappointment. It is the "Edinburgh Chihuahua Cafe", a place where humans can go to interact with the cute little monsters while eating cake. I think it's the humans that eat the cake or else quickly it would be known as the Fat Chihuahua Cafe. 

The website has a profile page for their dogs, making them out to be like reality show stars with descriptions of their personalities. I think I'm just jealous because they get to receive lots of hugs and cuddles all day as a job and I'm not welcome. It is for humans only, although I did spot they had a special "doggy friends social" event recently. It was for well-behaved dogs so I guess that rules me out.

So if any of my human friends are interested in a session, you can book online on their website. Entry costs £10 per person for fifty minutes.    

I think the smells cleared in the bedroom now. It's just as well the mistress has a cold. 

Good night.



* That's what I'm going to call those two bitches if I ever meet them again: "Starter" and "Tapas".