Captain Midnight here reporting from behind the enemy lines.
Himself is back from his American sojourn, gracing us with his presence for a few days before he buggers off again. Meanwhile, I spent the last three weeks with a very nice family the other side of Wotton-Under-Edge. They looked after me very well indeed. Two walks a day and not “tasty toppers” on my biscuits but chicken. Simple enough you might think but apparently too difficult for my man to manage. I ask you!
That aside, it was nice to see himself again. I gave him my very best greeting, which involves climbing up him like a tree until I am sitting on his head. He has no idea how I do it and frankly neither do I. It’s a bit disconcerting all round but just another of my super-dog powers, I suppose.
He drove me back to Folly Cottage (I do like having a chauffeur) and I took him for a walk in the woods. As you know, I’ve struggled to train him to walk properly on the lead but I’ve got a new type of harness so he doesn’t pull as much, which made the whole thing much more fun. He still threw the odd stick away; luckily I was there to fetch it back.
Later on, he made a cup of tea (never offered me any) and told me about his recent trip. It mostly seemed to be about putting Herself’s ashes in the ground in various places. I can’t quite understand why he did it unless he wants to go back to dig them up later and eat them, which does seem rather unlikely. But there’s nowt so queer as folk, as I was saying to my Yorkshire Terrier chums at the Kennel Club the other day.
Apparently, he’s got a bit more travelling to do and then we’re going camping in Ireland later in the summer in Plastic Rosie (our mobile kennel or camper van as he calls it). It should be nice once we get across the watery bit.
I’ve written a special note for him on the holiday shopping list:
Coming Home to Story 