Free At Last

I've always been admired for my high spirits and Thursday morning was no exception. Spurred on by my recent weight loss (as dear mama projects her fear of being fat onto me) I am turning more and more into an elite athlete.
I managed to punch the plastic door out of the cat flap in the back door by repeatedly and consistently battering it with my two front paws. Wonderful I thought, an uninterrupted view into the back garden and a marvellous vantage point for me to keep my eye out for prowlers and the postie.
Dear Mama however did not share my enthusiasm and she stuffed a yoga mat through the hole. She was worried I'd be issued with an asbo from the upstairs neighbours as every time they walked past our door they were greeted by me barking insanely. I was wild with grief. The postie always gives me a biscuit if he sees me when he's out on his rounds and having a gaping hole in the back door made it possible for me to beg whenever he delivered our letters.
Oh mama really can be a spoil sport sometimes!
All was not lost. On Thursday when I heard the mail van door shut I immediately started scrabbling at the yoga mat. Hearing the postie's footsteps on the path my heartbeat raced. I knew I had to be quick. Just as the mail dropped to the floor I managed to finally clear the obstruction and fire my tiny body through the cat flap.
That was me free, free, free at last. Outside, untethered and jumping like a jack in the box gleefully hoping for biscuits.
The postie though alerted mama to my liberated state. She immediately rushed to the back door and I was commanded back inside. I didn't go back though until she gave me chocolate.
I fear now that dear mama is most annoyed with me. She has parked my nemisis right in front of the cat flap. Mr Dyson!!!!

Pig

I have a child! His name is pig. He is a dear little thing. No more than the size of a whelp, orange in colour, fashioned from latex and made in China. I love him dreadfully.
Mama presented him to me the other morning. His tiny rubber head was sticking out of a brown paper bag. The moment I spied his sweet little face a feeling swept through me, a rush of familiarity. It was all rather strange.
I've had plenty of pets in the past but there is something different about pig. It's as if our fates are somehow tied and we are destined to be together.
I take him everywhere with me. In fact on the first day of his arrival so determined was I that we should not be parted I was unwilling to even venture as far as the garden. If I am forced to go out for a toilet break then I lay him in dear Mama's bed so I know he is safe.
Maybe not that safe though. I put him in there the other night and Mama rolled over in her sleep and crushed him. The squeal woke both of us up. I sat on Mama's chest and cried until she found him. Then she cruelly tossed him over the side of the bed and said 'Fuck's sake'. I immediately sprung to his aid and put him back in bed beside me licking his little ears and snout in a comforting manner.
Then I fell back into a fitful sleep and had that dream again, the one with the white sheets. Except this time darling pig was lying next to me on the bed and he was made of velvet! There was a woman looking down at us and she was saying, 'The pig will have to go, the pig will have to go'.
It was all most disconcerting. I've been licking the bin all day trying to forget about it. I cant seem to get it out of my head. I feel odd.
Dear Mama has been looking at me a bit weirdly too. I believe she fears she has lost me to pig. Oh Mama worry not. It's true that pig is my dear child but I will always be yours! I hope I get a sausage for supper.

Merry Hell

I fear I have been very remiss about keeping up with my journal. I have been so busy of late that I have been denied time to reflect and gather my thoughts. What to do!

One thing of note! I treated myself to a fourteen hour sleep on Sunday night. When I awoke slightly dazed on Monday morning it was raining dreadfully so dear Mama did not force me out for my morning constitutional. She knows that I am no fan of the rain and she could not be 'arsed' to 'drag' me round my usual circuit.
Well you can imagine how much energy was being stored into my tiny limbs. By the time evening drew in I had become an unstoppable force. Virtually bionic, the six million dollar dog.
I ran around the house like a whirling dervish, my paws barely touching the floor. I sprung from the sofa to the coffee table to the window sill, to the top of the television set, hell bent on mayhem, my appetite for destruction insatiable. After a full half hour of merry hell I collapsed and immediately fell asleep. Then I had that dream again. The one where I am lying in a darkened room with white sheets covering the walls and the windows. I know not what it means but it has been visiting me weekly for some time now.....

God Save The King!

What an agreeable weekend I have had. Aunt Dawnatella came round on Saturday evening for a gals night in with dear Mama and I. Facepacks, pretzels and wine ensued (though only the pretzels for me. The one time I lapped wine from mama's glass I ended up at the vet with a rather nippy case of cystitis!). After much hilarityI fell asleep early and awoke now and then to the sound of laughter as Mama and Dawnatella were scouring youtube for their favourite rockstars. They were observing footage of a young Ziggy Stardust and Mama was saying things like, 'He'd get it' and apparently Dawnatella would 'do' the lead singer of The Kings of Leon, 'Nae bother'. Mama preferred the drummer ('nice arms', 'bit of an animal').

Goodness knows what time they finally retired at but I made sure in the morning they did not oversleep by running down the hall and scratching and barking at their respective chamber doors.

Mama had said that on Sunday if the weather was in our favour we may go to Greenock and applaud the arrival of the QE2. I had visions of Mama holding me aloft over the crowd while I waved a union Jack and barked, 'God Save the King, God Save The King!'. Dawnatella had planned to have a her face painted with a picture of the great ship itself.

It wasn't to be. It was decided we needed exercise and fresh air so we headed off to a big country park stopping only to pick up Uncle Alfonso (mama's brother, Dawnatella's husband) on the way. Uncle Alfonso had been attending a Stag night the evening before and was feeling rather weary. He did his best to keep up but kept making snide comments whenever we were passed by large dogs such as labradors, spaniels, German Pointers etc about how they were 'real' dogs insinuating that I was a mere pest. Mama said sometimes he really could be a wretched c**t.

Good spirits were restored however when we all came back to Mamas and watched a film about transexuals then had a magnificent Sunday Roast. To my astonishment I was permitted a whole portion of chicken to myself. I devoured it then promptly fell asleep on dear mama's lap. How lovely!

An Unexpected Egg

Poor Mama was very tired upon rising this morning. I made sure she got up at six though by repeatedly dropping a tennis ball on her head. She let me out into the garden so I could relieve myself then went back to her sleeping chamber. I tried to rouse her once again with my usual trick of scratching the chamber door but Mama had outfoxed me and had left the chamber door ajar so I was unable to get any purchase. Wily old fox that she is. There was nothing else for it but to join mama in the bed and go back to sleep.

I must admit to being rather weary myself. We had a bit of a day out yesterday. We took the train into the big city as we were visiting my Aunt from Islay and taking afternoon tea. On route to aunties though we bumped into my Godmama and Miss Golightly. It was decided there and then that we would reconvene later for drinks. Mama and I skipped happily down to aunties and from there our joyful afternoon began.

We had a lovely lunch of broccoli soup (I was allowed a whole ramikin!) then walked through the big park to the shops where Auntie bought a rather stylish vintage pillar box hat with a large plummage on the back. We then went to stravaigan and were joined by Godmama and Miss Golightly. The imbibing of alcoholic drinks then commenced.

We returned to the village not too late then dear Mama had half a bottle of wine as a night cap.

When we woke again this morn at eight o'clock mama said she had a terrible droothy. She slipped a fiver and a note under my collar and sent me to the village stores for supplies. Refreshed after a can of irn bru Mama then went and put out my food. She was in the kitchen for longer than usual and I was getting rather annoyed when she returned to the living room and presented me with my breakfast. There on top of my usual dry food sat a beautiful, perfect, shining boiled egg. You can imagine my delight. An unexpected egg. How wonderful!

The sun shone for twenty minutes today! Much excitement. Dear Mama caught sight of her reflection in the window, sprung from her trampoline, immediately ran to the bathroom and scrabbled around in her enormous make up bag for a pair of tweezers. She then ran to the mirror at the window in her dressing chamber and began frantically plucking. Eyebrows, chin and finally her moustache were all tweezed to perfection. She never squealed not even once, Just muttered something under her breath about turning into Frida Khalo (?) and how unforgiving bright sunlight can be. It was almost spooky to watch. Such unbridled focus, such dogged determination.

What a shame she couldn't apply that level of commitment to other things. Like her work for example.

She's also taken to wearing hiking boots in the house (well she should get some wear out of them) Now whenever I release one of my bark attacks or my special songs as I like to think of them (eg. as the postman lightly drops a letter, as a cat takes a stroll through the garden, as a fly takes flight, as a person sighs five streets away) she strides towards me in what she deems to be a threatening manner with some sort of spray bottle in her hand. I've not yet experienced the spray. The sound of the boots and the swearing that usually goes with it is generally enough to dampen my fervour.

I wonder what baw bag means.........