Posting days: Sunday and Wednesday and, sometimes, maybe, extra ‘news flashes’
Wednesday February 21st 2018
You wouldn’t believe the rude things Human is shouting at the computer. She’s
historical histrionic hysterical.
I’m afraid I’ve had to take over. At this time of night as well. Everyone knows it’s past dogs’ bedtime.
It’s the pictures of me again. They’re beautiful of course. She’s cross because the pictures won’t come of her phone onto here.
The words she says smell dreadful and she’s jumping up and down in her chair. Disgusting. She needs putting out in the garden.
She’s just gone into the kitchen. I expect she’s re-heating her coffee in the microwave again.
Quick! Quick! What can I say? I know. I’ll tell you about what she did to me the other day. It was horrible.
Now I’m as quick to know what she’s going to do as any other dog. I may not be able to see or hear but I can smell brushes and combs as soon as she brings them in. Even if they’re in my room already, I can smell them being taken out from under the trolley.
Well, my winter undercoat grew as usual this year. I didn’t let her know I had it on in case she started thinking about grooming. Horrible word, grooming, it makes me shudder.
But the other week little bits of it kept popping through my top coat. She noticed of course. I wish humans would mind their own
bloody – no, I won’t sink to human levels – business. Then, and you’re not going to believe this, she starts pulling the little bits out. Yes, I know they’re not attached and it doesn’t hurt. That’s not the point. They belong to me, not her.
Dog knows what she’s do if I pulled her hair out. She behaves badly enough when it’s just the phone and the pictures upsetting her.
Anyway, I’m just standing there, waiting to see where we’re going next, when next thing I know I can smell the brush in her hand. As usual, I rush for my big box. I’m safe in there. But she’s taken the box away.
My bed’s still here. I get in quick. But she can still reach me. I jump up onto my futon.
But it’s no good. Nowhere is safe. I used to snarl and snap at her hand but that just doesn’t feel all right now. Don’t know why. She needs a
f – no, Isis, you’re a dog, not a human. Dogs have standards. She needs a good, hard bite.
Anyway, I put up with it all, even being brushed under my chin which I hate, even being combed behind my ears. It’s really awful. She hasn’t been able to groom me like this for months because it hurt her. Snigger. Now she’s got
stereos androids steroids she can do nasty things to me again.
She goes on and on and on. Still I didn’t say any of the bad things she’s being saying all night.
I feel the brush getting fatter and fatter and my lovely undercoat getting thinner and thinner.
I know she feels guilty because my nose keeps getting kissed.
I’d rather skip the kisses and be left alone.
At least I get a piece of cheese when she’s finished.
bloo think so too.
I think she’s going to bed now. Thank dog for that.
Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact firstname.lastname@example.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk