OK, I’ve got this keyboard thing and thought I’d have a go. Don’t tell them because I had to climb up on the chair to get it and I don’t think they’d like that.
Wherever I go, I’m always asked how I spend my days when they’re out, so I thought, let’s have a go at this blogging thing and put it up online so you can all read it.
5.20 am I’m having a fabulous dream on my comfy bed (I’m out in the field and I’m just about to catch that cat) when suddenly I hear the Fat One’s alarm clock upstairs. On the one hand I’ve lost the cat again, but on the other, I know he’ll be down in a few minutes to take me out for my morning walk. It’s ‘swings and roundabouts’ or as we dogs say ‘muddy walks and showers’ – but that’s canine life.
5.25 am The Fat One comes downstairs. He’s expecting some fuss, so I do the whole platitudinous tail wagging thing, lick his nose a couple of times whilst he’s bending down to unlock the door.
5.30 am We set off. Across the field to the gate and up the lane. It’s pitch black – but who cares? I can smell cats, a fox, various birds, and the occasional deer – he was around here a short time ago, so I stop to sniff the air, but the Fat One wants to get going and mutters something about needing to get back so he can be ready for work (whatever that is). He’s wearing that hat – thank goodness it’s dark: if Danby (the labrador at the farm) saw him wearing that, I’d die of shame.
6.10 am We’re back. He gives me a cuddle and then gets the bucket – it’s time to have my feet done before I go back into the den. Don’t ask me what this ritual’s about – I’ve simply no idea. I stand there lifting up my feet in turn like some kind of morris dancer whilst he gets some water and rinses them down and then the nice warm soft towel to dry them. To be honest, it’s not that bad once you’re used to it – except there was that bit of sheep dung on my left foreleg that I’d been planning to save for later. Still, never mind.
7.10 am The Fat One comes downstairs again – he smells different and he’s wearing those funny clothes with the bit of cloth round his neck that dangles down and tickles my nose. Nearly breakfast!
7.40 am They’re putting those things on their feet with the long whiskers that they bend round and seem to tie. All I know is – I’ll soon be snoozing. Hang on a minute, yep, the Fat One’s leaving – I follow him into the porch he puts down that floppy mat and, yep, here it comes: a Gravy Bone biscuit. Delicious. I settle down and drift off to sleep: there’s a cat to catch from this morning.
11.10 am I’ve spent much of the morning dozing in my porch (I love it – it’s my personal space and it’s warm and dry) – but I need the loo so I pop out through my dog door into the garden (I call it my ‘Jackdaw’ – do you see what I did there?). I amble round sniffing – hang on just a minute, there’s a cat over by the trellis. “Bark! BARK!” The cat streaks round the pond at top speed, so I set off after it. I’m gaining, there’s a fence, he’ll never get over that (like all the others have) I’m in with a chance this time. Damn. He’s over the fence. Maybe next time.
12.20 pm I hear the car. It’s the Thin One come home for lunch. Fantastic: he’s brought that woman with him. She’s great, makes a big fuss of me. We spend a good hour with everyone telling me how beautiful I am. Whatever.
1.30 pm I settle down for a little sleep – it’s been a difficult morning after all.
4.40 pm The Thin One’s back. FANTASTIC. It’s time for my long walk – and it’s daylight (and he’s not wearing the daft hat the other one has). It’s so exciting like winning the doggy lottery – we’re going ON A WALK! We cross the field, a sheep gets a bit too close, so I warn her off with a little bark. I’m told off: well I’m a German Shepherd, what do you expect?
5.40 pm We’re back. A cuddle and the foot thing again.
6.40 pm Dinner. Best part of the day. A lovely bowl of Royal Canin: it feels like days since I ate so I bolt it down.
7.10 pm The Fat One’s back. I do the tail thing again and amble over for a cursory cuddle. Hmm, his trousers smell good: a springer spaniel and a labrador if I’m not much mistaken. What has he been up to today? Slapper.
7.46 pm I hear the door open to that cupboard in the kitchen where they put the dirty plates on those sliding rack things. Brilliant, I go and lay down in front of it and look longingly up at the Fat One. Hang on, here it comes – I’m in luck – a bit of left over fat. Very nice, thank you. Any more where that came from?
9.00 pm They settle down in front of that big rectangular thing that lights up in the corner (don’t tell anyone but I know there’s a dog trapped inside it – I heard it barking once). The thin one gets the brushes and calls me over to be groomed. I lie on my side and lift my foreleg into the air. “Don’t mind if I do mate. Off you go!”
10.07 pm “Toilet Jack!” – I leap up and trot out through my Jackdaw. Quick cat patrol (we’re clear), water a plant or two, back in to my comfy bed again for the night. They disappear upstairs and I settle down for a well-earned night’s sleep. I’ll be honest, it’s a tough life – and all for minimum wage: warmth, love, interesting walks twice daily and the best food money can buy. And cats. Lots of cats.