Well super-dog fans, it’s been quite a year.
Obviously, the main thing is that it’s the first one without the Mrs. She went away 12 months ago but she hasn’t gone completely. That will only happen when I can’t smell her any more and I can still smell her, especially when Himself gets her clothes out of the wardrobe. Anyway, it makes Him very sad and I have to leap into action to supply healing wags and slobbery kisses.
Nice people have invited us round for meals and parties this Christmas, but He has decided that we’ll be hunkering down on our own instead at Folly Cottage, which is lovely for walking in the woods, apart from the pheasant-murderers banging away, and then we’ll be going to Lyme Regis for New Year so I can take him walking on Charmouth beach. People are more civilized down there… at least they don’t take potshots at the seagulls.
There’s a rumour of roast beef for Christmas dinner and the promise of a roaring log fire to follow, with the inevitable watching of old movies. I hope he doesn’t make me sit through Lassie again. I hate all that an-throp-o-morph-ism (big word for a small dog, I did have to ask Himself to spell it for me). You wouldn’t catch me getting involved in anything like that, it’s so demeaning.
We’ve had lots of visitors this year. Old friends from near and far including Australia, Canada, America and Scotland have called by to take Himself out for walkies (I go along of course) to cheer him up. I’ve also arranged for Him to meet some nice new people too, using my “babe magnet” super-power, because He’s a bit dopey at that sort of thing.
His lady friends – the tall one and the short one who come round and make him laugh and make sure he has nice food to eat – have gone to South Africa (wherever that is, somewhere the other side of Dursley, I think). Apparently they’ll be back, lithe and suntanned, in the Spring. Himself seems a bit put out but good for them, I say. I wouldn’t mind going; chasing a few Springbok, that sort of thing. But, I digress.
Himself says that he’s quite happy staying at home “being a writer” thank you very much. It took me a while to find out what he meant but I’ve now discovered what “being a writer” is. It’s sitting at the kitchen table staring at a blank screen until his head bleeds. I give him lots of encouragement by snoozing on the bench right next to him. He says it helps but I can’t really see how anyone’s going to be interested in his stuff when they can read mine instead, can you?
Another big thing this year was the five weeks we spent En France in the mobile kennel. It was pretty cozy, I can tell you (see picture above). I managed to get a long rope so he felt less constricted on the lead but he’s very slow so I had to drag him along. I watched a bit of The Dog Whisperer last night to get a few ideas but frankly I think he’s untrainable.
I’m OK now but I have had a few medical mishaps this year: the tail incident and some accidental “self-harming” on my foreleg, to name but two. Any excuse to bang on the cone of shame! It’s a bit undignified but I’ve got used to it. Speaking of undignified, he’s just discovered “dog shampoo” and is experimenting on me regularly. I’m pretty sure he’s in cahoots with those evil G.R.O.O.M.E.R.S.
Well that’s probably enough for now. I only opened the laptop to wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year.
With much and many kinds of love
From your faithful friend
Captain Midnight
[and Himself]
Coming Home to Story 