Well, this is sooooo embarerssing for a dog. You won’t beleeve why hewman is blogging today instead of yesterday. She had her ortum covid booster vaxinashun on Saterday and she sleeped neely all of yesterday like sheed been nocked out.

Wen I have my vaxinashons I never carry on like that and I get vaxernated for lots of nasty dog deezeezis all at wunce. Hewman reely is a wimp.

A post should appear every Sunday

April 24th 2023

Oh yes, now we’re on the subject of Isis eating, here is the angelic little animal waiting to be given the gentle tap under the chin which signals ‘Now you can eat’.

She always sits like this, head in the air, concentrating hard, every muscle tense with anticipation. Once the signal is given, she seagues into feeding dog, and doesn’t look up until her bowl is empty. Although she wastes no time, she never gobbles her food; nowadays she eats very politely, and, what is even more admirable, all you can hear are little well-mannered crunches.

Since Lee (of Chester’s Corner) explained to me that she was not eating her food because she wasn’t hungry, and we adjusted her diet, she always clears her bowl, and, miraculously, has never regressed to her previously ear-shattering madness.

Nowadays, I am able to move around at the other end of the kitchen, doing whatever I need to do while she is having her meal. This still feels utterly liberating.

The only thing which provokes a growl is my stepping over her while she’s eating, and that feels fair enough.

Once she’s eaten and had a drink of water, she walks into the back room, steps into her dog bed and snatches up one of her soft toys. Then she’ll lie there mouthing it, occasionally tossing it into the air or flinging it out of the bed, until I’ve finished eating and am stretched out on the day bed.

Very much a creature of habit, when she’s spent an hour or so tormenting her toys, she leaps up to join me. Now she feels a pressing need to jump up and down on my shins for a few minutes and to bark as she does so.

It hurts. I hastily withdraw my legs until she’s finished, but keep a close eye on her because I know that her next move will be to occupy the space I’ve vacated, and if I don’t reclaim it as soon as she ceases to leap, I’ll be very cramped until she decides to move.

Usually, she simply turns over, but if I’m very lucky, she comes up and settles against my body, resting her head on my thigh, and shuffling closer.

I am priveleged indeed, and try very hard to keep still and enjoy her warm furriness for as long as I can.

All too soon, she feels overheated, and changes her position. Now, very sneakily, I attempt to smuggle the soles of my cold feet into her fur without waking her up. If I’m not careful, she’ll utter a warning growl, and shift further away, so it’s a millimetre by millimetre move.

The reward is a gradual foot defrosting, and, eventually, warm feet. Contented, I read my Kindle for hours uninterrupted.

When I eventually persuade myself to get up, then tap her to follow, she springs to her feet immediately: it’s dog treats time. When we reach the kitchen, though, and I unlock and open the back door, she hangs back.

She doesn’t like going out into the garden when it’s dark! I always have to go to her and encourage her with pats to walk the length of the kitchen. She stops at the threshold of the door and doesn’t move until I put a reassuring palm on each of her sides, gently urging her forward onto her special step. Usually she moves forward reluctantly. If there is a scary scent outside or a strong breeze, I have to accompany her. Usually, duty done, she returns hurriedly to the door.

Now, at last, it’s treat time. She waits just inside the back room, with her face round the door until I unscrew the lid of the jar of gravy bones; now she smells them, withdraws her head and scampers into her dog bed where she sits statue still and extremely excited.

I take out three gravy bones, break two of them in half, and add two bits of Lee’s Pet Munchies.

Timing is of the essence. Quickly, I drop half a gravy bone into her bed, then scurry to drop another half a few yards away, before doubling back to the day bed to hide all but one of the remaining treats under her two cushions before she shoots back to sniff them out. It takes her only seconds to find and demolish them.

She walks to ‘my’ end of the bed and waits patiently for the finale. I break the last gravy bone in half, hold it in my left fist and make the fist dance around and up and down. Her challenge is to bring the fist down hard with her paw in order to win the treat. She’s become very good at this, and enters into the battle with gusto.

Finally, we have a calmer game: I grip the last treat as firmly as I can between two bent fingers, allowing only about a centimetre to protrude, and she has to grip the end and pull it out. She finds this easy.

Now it’s definitely bedtime, and now I reveal my innate soppiness.

I give her a kiss or two on her head, before draping, one at a time, three dog-sized fleece blankets over her, and tucking her in.

This ceremony is completed with a few more head kisses and an assurance that I’ll see her in the morning.

Er-hum.

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.