Leads

I’m embarrassed to say that there are times in our life when we are treated like dogs. Mainly when the sun is out and our slaves need to let its rays colour their flesh. They put on our harnesses (I’m ashamed that mine is toy-poodle-pink; a darker shade than my sister’s harness but nonetheless – pink) and they attach leashes and we have to wait by the backdoor while they find sunglasses and butter themselves with sun cream. We are allowed out but like dogs we are hassled by leads.

Our garden has a high stone wall and beyond that are noisy mechanical slave carriers that hoot and screech and squash creatures like hedgehogs into raw mince mounds. What’s more, I once had to be carried inside a plastic cage and put on the seat of one of these cars and taken to a veterinary clinic where I had my “doings” removed. So these speeding machines are not high up on my treat list, believe me. And we know that our predecessor is buried in a planter by the wall because he was too fond of the tarmac and one of these metal monsters knocked him down.

All of these things make us understand why our woman and man want to keep us in the garden and away from danger but why oh why do we have to wear leads?