One Dog and His Man

I'll say one thing abut him. He needs exercising. Fat, I think that's the word. Fat and slow. Old timer. He never chases anything. Not swallows, not hare, not pheasants, not even a stick. Certainly not cars. He just plods round the same old routes, down the same paths and byways day after day. He does wee occasionally.

To be honest I do get bored. It's nice to go and see Biscuitman once or twice a week, for a change of scenery, and the biscuits obviously. Plus I can chase the big red grass-eating machine. It's a much bigger territory than my fat man has. Strictly between you and me I think Biscuitman must be the top dog.

Then again I miss him when he's away, which can be for a few nights at a time. Of course, I affect a certain indifference on his return - I learnt from watching Teasel that it makes him fuss you all the more, usually involving treats, but I do miss him.


It's not just exercise he needs though. There's a sadness there as well. He often sits and stares, especially in the hot room, slowly scratching at a piece of paper. And he shouts at horses on the box in the front room a lot. It seems to make them run fast, though I've noticed the ones he's shouting at don't seem to run as fast as some of the others.

So I try to make him laugh as much as I can. Goof about a bit. Run round in circles for no good reason; ask to go outside just as they're settling down for their main meal; lick my little joystick even though it's never worked properly. Sometimes when he's sitting down I put my front paws on his shoulders and give him a cuddle. I think he likes that.