Diary of a Lhasa Apso puppy – Part 8
One of the problems with growing up is that things appear to get smaller as I get bigger. I used to be able to run underneath the sofa without incident when I first arrived, but now I have to perform a limbo manoeuvre to avoid serious head injury. Unfortunately I forget to do this sometimes. I’m also finding that my tail is getting further away from my head, which makes chasing it increasingly problematic.
For the last few weeks I’ve been able to jump onto the settee. I’m not allowed on the settee but that hasn’t got in the way of regular excursions to that lofty area of the house. However, I’ve not been able to make an armchair jump when someone’s actually sitting in the chair, despite a number of unsuccessful attempts, all of which have ended in a heap of puppy on the carpet. Today Mum was sitting in one of the armchairs eating a chicken sandwich, and that’s when I made the most determined jump attempt of my entire life. I chose my moment carefully and just as Mum was glancing at the television I released my hind legs with as much force as I could muster and threw myself upwards, mouth wide open, aimed straight at the chicken sandwich. Mum seemed not altogether pleased by my sudden arrival, and even less amused by the large Robin shaped bite out of her delicious lunch!
I’m very annoyed. Mum collected up all my favourite soft toys this morning and put them in the washing machine. First I knew of this was when I caught sight of my favourite toy, Mr Fox, staring at me helplessly through the washing machine door. Mr Fox is my long term lover, and we play together in a very special way, sometimes with Mrs Bunny too for some three-way puppy-thrusting fun. Mr Fox and Mrs Bunny have been washed before, but they don’t smell right for some time afterwards. Last time it was nearly a week before I got my mojo back.
When I was much younger I got really excited at meal times, bouncing about the place and spinning round like a mad thing, but of late I’ve been getting bored with my plain old puppy food. To make matters worse, my cat brother Toby gets treated to various flavours of succulent meaty chunks in gravy, and multi coloured crunchies, all of which look and smell delicious, but are all out of reach for me. So I’ve decided to take action by bouncing and spinning when Toby’s food is being prepared (to clearly display my desire to try some) and going on hunger strike when presented with my own boring food. Obviously to prevent myself from starving I take occasional nibbles when no-one’s looking, but in every other respect this is a full-on hunger strike. So far this morning I’ve been on hunger strike between 7am and 7.02, 7.03 and 7.09, 7.10 and 7.15 and 7.16-7.20.
Mum and Dad like to watch Masterchef on the television. I only find it interesting when there are sausages, which isn’t very often, but I’m learning some exciting new techniques nevertheless. This morning I prepared Mum a deconstructed leaf. Ungratefully, she hoovered it up.
The floor in my room has had a makeover today. They still refer to it as the dining room, but it’s officially my bedroom. Just has a dining table in it as well as my stuff. Mum decided the carpet had to come up and the best way to achieve that would be for Dad to cut it into small chunks with a sharp knife. Amusingly Dad calls his knife Stanley. I’ve no idea why anyone would name a knife, let alone call the thing Stanley, but Stanley and Dad seemed to be having a great time vandalising the carpet. Apparently the reason for the carpet’s demise is because it’s been messed up by a recently arrived resident. I kept my head down just in case any fingers were unfairly pointed in my direction.
We now have floorboards in my room. Hopefully not for too long because I’d rather have a new carpet, which I could Robinify in no time at all, just like I did the old one. Worryingly Mum seems to like the floorboards, and Dad spent ages chipping the bits of splashed paint off, so it looks like this may be how my room floor is going to be from now on. The major issue is that certain things don’t stick quite as well as they used to, like me doing a sharp turn for instance. But the most frustrating of all, the wooden floor is playing havoc with my love life.
Every time I jump on Mr Fox for a frenzied pummelling session he just skids about the place but I need to keep him still for maximum thrusting pleasure. It’s the same with Mrs Bunny, so I decided to sneak her into the lounge, where there’s a nice bit of secluded carpet. They don’t call be Mr Loverpuppy for nothing.
I’m now regularly going on two mile walks with Mum and Dad. My favourite place is Pigneys Wood near where we live in North Walsham. There are loads of sniffy bits in various areas, bouncy sections where the grass is long at the side of the old canal, dashing backwards and forwards sections along the old railway line footpath and my favourite bouncy bit where tree roots stick up along a bit of woodland path. Throughout my walks I’m attached to an extendable lead, and I’ve worked out that if I try to run more than five meters in front of my lead-holding parent I will come to a sudden and rather unpleasantly choking halt. However, after a few weeks practise I am now proficient at stopping forward dashes at precisely the 4.9m point, unless distracted in the process. Today a tractor appeared loudly and suddenly as we were crossing a small road that cuts across the footpath, so I dashed as fast as I could up the steps to the main path leaving Mum and Dad behind (it’s every dog for himself when something scary occurs) only to garrotte myself while in mid air between two of the steps.
See you again soon
Lots of love,
Robin