She lost my ball.
Traumatised, I was. The special ball… the only ball. Well, okay, I may have a couple of dozen more, but this one is the ball.
And it wasn’t my fault, whatever she says. It wasn’t me who let the hoover monster out of its lair. Well… I wouldn’t, would I? Ever.
There I was, just minding my own business… and, well, okay, maybe hers too a little… though I was not being nosey, just taking an interest, you know? She was wandering around with the sneezy stuff that she likes, the stuff that makes everything shiny and slippery (she really should try these wooden floors with paws one day). And if she should happen to be on all fours, is it my fault if I think she wants to play with the ball? ‘Specially as she was playing while she did stuff.
So, when she went into her bedroom, I sort of followed her in… just in case she might fancy a game. Anyway, she seemed to be a bit occupied, so I went over to help and we did stuff together. Then she let the hoover-monster out… without warning too… and I was obliged to beat a strategic retreat.
She doesn’t understand why I don’t like it. She thinks it might be the noise… as if I’m scared of that! No. The problem is that she has this thing about dog hair, you see… and the hoover monster has a sucky sort of brush on the end… and we all know where most of the dog hair is attached! I don’t exactly trust her not to go to the source of the problem….
So while she wrestled the hoover-monster, I
hid waited under the desk. Then, when she’d put the thing back in its lair, she started running a bath. Now that’s always a good time to make myself scarce…
I watched her wallow for a while…from a safe distance… then afterwards, she made cheesey stuff in the kitchen, so I had to help with that. And by then I was exhausted… so I had to have a nap.
When I woke up, it was dark. She let me out into the garden and she stood there oohing and ahhing at the stars. They’re not new, you know. I hate to tell her, but they are there every night…have been for years. But ‘pparently, they were extra special stars, ’cause even her camera-thingy could see them. I can’t see the point myself… a few coloured spots on blackness, but she was happy…so I let her watch them in peace for a bit… while I took up my position for the ball-throwing ceremony.
This happens every time I go outside. It has to. It’s tradition. Not, as some two-legses would have it, obsession. She says I fixate o the ball too much… and that I ‘dentify with it… whatever that means… so that when it is lost, so am I.
“Where’s your ball, girlie?” says she. I just looked at her… she does this a lot. She thinks I’m daft enough to believe she doesn’t know. “What have you done with it?” She stood there looking at me. I looked back. “I can’t find it anywhere.” To be fair, she seemed to have looked everywhere by now…then she brought the torch out into the garden. Still no ball!
“Where is it, girl? I can’t find it…” The trouble was, neither could I! By now, I’m panicking. She’s looking in all my hiding places… even the treat cupboard and the washing machine… still no ball. I was getting desperate…
She hides it sometimes and pretends… but this time she looked serious. She went off for yet another look, while I waited at the door getting more and more dejected by the minute.
“What is this doing here?” I hear… then finally she comes out with the ball! I’d completely forgotten I’d put it under her pillow… and she wouldn’t have known, ’cause she says I’m not allowed on the bed…
So, I have to give her some credit. Even though it was her fault for letting the hoover monster out… She really tried hard to find it. She says its ’cause she loves me… even if I am a daft dog. So she’s not getting too much credit…
Anyway, I’d better go. She’s in the kitchen cupboard… and there are treats in there that need acquiring 😉