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?  

Coco

It had to happen and I had a feeling it would be soon. The arrival of a rival. Yes, one that is cocooned in striped pyjamas. Eyes like pale sea green marbles; no doubt “mewling and puking” in nurse Nancy’s arms. Meet Coco:

I heard my woman aww and coo when she saw its picture on her family’s blog. It is the new owner of my woman’s sister who is called Nancy.

It’s just not fair. My cuteness and cuddle factor should not be toppled and I won’t let it. To rub more salt into my gaping wound, this creature is named after a well known and much admired French fashion designer – whereas I am named (I’ve just recently learned) after some obscure folk singer probably only enjoyed by my man and woman. I’m gutted.

Mirror, mirror on the wall.....

Snores

Sleep is such hard work. I’m lying next to my sister and listening to her snore. Yes she actually snores. Like a truffle pig snuffling in the earth. I’m sick of it. She’s giving me tunnel vision. My woman doesn’t seem to mind and just keeps gazing over at us with that sickly look of complete adoration. It’s certainly not the same look she uses for the man when he’s nodded off in front of the TV with his pint pot balanced on his belly.